In The Arms of a Stranger (6 page)

She'd known from the minute she'd seen her ransacked apartment that Paul Gonzalez had been involved. When his phone calls hadn't persuaded her not to testify, he'd upped the ante. His madness had lingered in the air like smoke, permeating every inch of her home. Dana felt her skin tighten, felt the familiar dizziness that signaled her emotions were spiraling out of control.

She stared at her hands, at the perfect manicure and subtle gold bracelet that were supposed to distract viewers from the absence of her wedding band, and began to cry.

As if from a great distance, she heard the shuffle of panicked cameramen and muted whispers of the producers.

John's voice rang clear next to her, picking up the story. “And now we'll go live to the scene of the tragedy…”

 

Dana slapped her hand over her mouth, silencing a sob. What kind of business rewarded a tragic mistake with accolades and superior ratings? And job promotions, she mentally added. Worse, what kind of person accepted such a reward? She lifted the gun from the dresser with trembling hands and stared out the window, wishing for the form of Paul Gonzalez to appear.

If he did, she would pull the trigger. And send him straight to hell where he belonged.

L
uke peered over the bluff. His feet were numb with cold and his fingers so bloodless they barely functioned. Even Sam, who had bounded through the snow like a puppy when they'd first set out, now voiced his displeasure with throaty whimpers. He honestly hadn't known what he was up against when he left the cabin. It literally looked as if a bomb had dropped, trees and limbs littering the landscape like scattered toothpicks.

He squinted, scanning the side of the mountain until he finally spotted the vehicle. There was just enough paint to reveal the car, the unnatural color making it visible against the sea of white. The snow had thoroughly coated the roof and trunk and blown ice against the dark-blue sides like frosting on a beer mug. Unfortunately, the coating of ice was also thorough enough to conceal the tag. The victim would go unidentified. At least for a little longer.

For a minute he forgot how cold he was, forgot about the razor-sharp wind that was slapping him in the face. He was
sad, sickened, relieved that the baby had survived. Grateful to Dana. Most of all he felt helpless. There was no way he could reach the car without rappelling equipment.

Luke lowered himself down the bluff, scrambling for a secure foothold as he reached the frozen ledge below. Had this been where Dana pulled the baby from the wreckage? As he shuffled through the snow, his boot hit something hard. Luke knelt, plunging his gloved hand through the snow until he felt the object. He lifted the jagged shard of a whiskey bottle, turning the obscene object in his hand. The accident scene was exactly as Dana had described it. He tossed the glass back to the ground and watched it sink into the snow. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something just didn't feel right.

Sam yapped, and Luke looked up to find the dog pacing the bluff above him. From his vantagepoint, he could barely make out the form of Dana's car to the right, resting near the edge of the mountain in an area of thick underbrush. Hidden from the road. Again, just as Dana had described.

He huddled into his coat, taking one last look around the scene. What was it that bothered him? Maybe it was just that Dana had described it so precisely, but it all seemed so clean, so convenient.

A ripple of uneasiness pricked the skin on the back of his neck. Something was up. He shouldn't have left Dana and the baby alone. Whether Dana was a victim or somehow involved was beside the point. He needed to get back to the cabin. Now.

Luke was surprised at how difficult the climb back up the bluff was. It was rough going, even at his height. How had Dana managed with the baby in her arms? Luke dug the toes of his boots in and grasped handfuls of scrub brush and rough mountain rock. For several minutes he lost more ground than he gained, his grip hindered by the cold. As he
finally dragged his body over the top, Sam bounded toward him in a frantic welcome.

Clumsy from the cold, Sam lost his footing and fell, sliding toward Luke like a canine bowling ball. Luke reacted on sheer instinct, grabbing for Sam as they both tumbled down the face of the mountain.

He felt the pain only for an instant as his head collided with rock. Then there was nothing but sweet darkness.

 

Where was he? The cabin's bedroom was exactly six strides in width. Dana knew because she'd been pacing it for hours, trying to obey Luke's instruction to stay in the bedroom. She'd slipped out once to make the baby a fresh bottle, dipping into the precious powdered formula. She hadn't exactly known what she was doing, but she'd managed by following the instructions on the can. The tap water wasn't sterile and the bottle had been cold, but the baby had seemed grateful nonetheless.

Now the baby watched her pace with a curious expression, even abandoning his favorite toy, the potholder, to focus on her. Dana stopped and smiled at the little guy. He'd been her saving grace, summoning her from suffocating memories with his cries. He had needed her and she'd had no choice but to pull herself together and get busy. After making the bottle, she'd taken inventory of the disposable diapers in the bag and decided that, with careful planning, they should have enough to see them through.

She'd found something else, as well.

Dana withdrew the piece of paper from her jacket pocket and stared at it. Emergency: 555-5309. No name, no other identification. The slip of paper had been inside a zippered interior pocket of the diaper bag, along with a cassette tape marked “Lullabies.”

She slid the paper back into her pocket. At least it was a
clue as to the mother's identity. And the baby's, she realized. What was his name? Who would come for him when this ordeal was over? She tried to imagine what his father would look like. His mother had been blond so the baby's father would likely have dark hair, like Luke. An image of Luke holding the baby popped into her head. He was a natural with the infant, even if he refused to admit it.

Dana glanced at her watch, then out the window. It was only four o'clock but the sky was still overcast, making it seem much later. It would be dark before she knew it. What if Luke was hurt or… She pushed away the image of Luke being under fire as she'd been last night. No, there hadn't been any gunshots, no sound other than birds and the relentless wind.

A new sound echoed through the cabin, startling her. It was Sam, she realized with relief. She recognized the unmistakable tapping of his toenails against the cabin's porch. She opened the door, and Sam scooted past her legs and into the cabin. “Hey, buddy, where's Luke?” she called. She leaned out the door, scanning the snowy landscape for Luke. Sam returned to sit at her feet, trembling. She laid a comforting hand against his head and ruffled his ears. He instantly yelped in pain and backed away from her.

She looked down at her hand. It was coated in blood.

Dana stared at her hand in horror, then dropped to her knees next to the dog. There was a deep gash next to his right ear, and blood had matted the thick fur beneath it. She examined the wound with trembling hands. The cut was deep, but he would be okay.

Sam circled the tiny kitchen and jumped against the door. He yapped, circled, yapped some more. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the dog was trying to tell her.

He can be pretty single-minded when he wants to find me.

Adrenaline surged and her mind went into overdrive. She
had no choice but to assume that Luke was in trouble. And if so, it could take hours to find him. And with darkness closing in on them, she didn't have hours. Dana didn't stop to ponder the situation. Her decision-making skills were never as sharp as when a crisis hit. It had made her a good field reporter. With any luck it would see her through this.

She walked calmly to the bedroom and lifted the baby, cooing to him gently as she zippered him into her jacket. She lifted the gun, switched off the safety and made her way back to the kitchen. Sam looked immensely relieved when she opened the kitchen door, scooting around her and flinging himself headlong into the snow.

As she made her way down the ice-coated stairs of the cabin and out into the open, she felt a tremor of alarm. The security of the cabin was one thing, being the only moving object in the middle of a world of white was another. Dana bit her lip and forced her feet through the snow.

Sam ran ahead, then halted abruptly at the edge of the clearing and began a high-pitched yapping. Dana squinted through the glare. She stilled as she made out the silhouette of a person leaning against a tree. Someone was there, intentionally staying in the cover of the woods. Was it Luke? The person was tall and the dark clothing looked right. Sam's bark was a bark of discovery, not the deep-throated bark of a dog who felt threatened. But if it was Luke, why wasn't he moving? Maybe someone was holding him captive, tricking her into searching for him.

Dana slid her free hand into her jacket pocket and gripped the gun.

The closer she came to the edge of the woods, the more certain she became that the figure was Luke. A mixture of suspicion, concern and anger battled within her. When she finally closed the distance between them and stood face-to-face with a relaxed and smiling Luke, anger won.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, her voice a near shout.

Luke leaned casually against an oak tree, his blue-jeans-clad hips resting against the scaly bark and his right leg cocked against the trunk. His grin turned into a frown. “You're pregnant again,” he whispered.

“What?” She blinked, trying to make sense of his words.

“I don't think I did that,” he stated seriously, pointing to the outline of the baby beneath her coat. His eyes slid upward to meet hers. “But I wanted to.”

“What?”

For a moment Luke's gaze held hers. There was no mistaking the desire she saw there. But his eyes were unnaturally bright, different.

Dana watched in horror as Luke's eyes fluttered shut and he slid to the ground, using the tree as an anchor against his back. “I think we should call the doctor,” he stated flatly.

She knelt next to him. “Luke! Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He looked up, his eyes clear again. He pulled the glove from his right hand and touched the back of his head. “It's not too bad.” When Luke withdrew his hand, the tips of his fingers were covered in blood.

Luke and Sam—both injured. And Luke was obviously dazed. Her mind tried to solve the puzzle. “You hit your head?”

He nodded.

“What happened?”

“Sam fell.” He paused. “I fell.” Then a huge grin came over his face. “We all fall down,” he whispered, then threw back his head to laugh at his own joke.

“Oh, God,” she muttered. “Dr. Jekyll and Mister Rogers.”

“What was that, missy?” he asked, a comically offended look on his face.

Dana didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He wasn't dead and he wasn't lost. He was wounded. But not mortally. He was even making jokes. Bad ones. She grasped his shoulder and squeezed. “You've got to get up.”

“It's Saturday,” he responded, closing his eyes. “I don't have to get up.”

Dana bit her lip, searching for an angle to use. “Yes, you do,” she commanded in her deepest, most authoritative voice. “You've got to get up.”

He slid his hand down her arm until it met the bare flesh of her palm. His blue eyes turned smoky and his gaze flickered over her mouth. “Trust me, I am up.”

Despite the circumstances, Dana felt her face flush and her body react to the mental image that flashed in her head. He wasn't in his right mind. She knew that. But the hungry way he looked at her mouth…

Dana shook off her thoughts and decided to make the best of it. She stood, offering him her hand. “I need you to come with me to the cabin where it's more private.” She smiled suggestively. “We need to hurry, Luke.”

The tactic worked and he stood. A little too quickly. He gasped and threw both hands over the back of his head, swaying. Dana steadied him as best she could with one hand still gripping the baby beneath her jacket. Finally he found his balance and looked at her as though they'd just met.

“We're on our way to the cabin,” she stated calmly, pointing toward it. “Take my arm.”

He grasped her arm as though she were the one needing help. Dana grinned but didn't argue. As long as they were headed in the right direction, she wasn't about to correct him. Sam, who was relieved to have retrieved Luke, circled them frantically.

When they reached the cabin stairs, Luke released her arm and grasped the hand railing, his eyes remarkably clear. “Sam, sit,” he commanded.

Sam, who had been slipping and sliding on the ice-coated porch, plopped down at the sound of his master's voice.

Dana turned toward Luke in surprise. “Are you feeling better?” she asked.

“Like hell,” he replied, taking the stairs slowly.

Dana followed Luke and Sam into the cabin, immensely relieved to close and lock the door behind them. Luke stood in the center of the kitchen, one hand against the back of his head and one hand against the wall, steadying himself. Dana tugged him toward a kitchen chair, and he slid into it without argument.

Her mind was still in overdrive, making a mental list of all that needed to be done. First, she needed to settle the baby down, hopefully for a nap, so that she could examine Luke's wound.

“Stay here.” She held up a hand for emphasis, and Luke and Sam both looked up, twin expressions of curiosity on their faces. “I'll be right back,” she added with a shrug, knowing the lucid moment Luke was having could be gone in a flash.

Dana ran to the bedroom and unzipped her jacket, drawing the baby out and into her arms. From what little she knew the baby was being incredibly patient. She kissed him on the cheek without hesitation and laid him in the center of the bed. Panic rippled through her as she stared down at him. She was no longer responsible for one helpless person, but two.

Knowing that Luke would need the bed, Dana went to work, jerking an oversize dresser drawer from the bureau and dumping out its contents. It hardly qualified as a bassinet, but it would do. Staring at the floor, she felt a little
vindicated for all the bad luck that she'd had lately. The drawer had been filled with extra bed linens. She selected a cotton blanket and stuffed it into a well-worn pillowcase. Voilà. Crib mattress.

Now for the real test. Dana assembled the makeshift crib, tucking the padding inside and sitting it on the floor. She laid the baby inside and watched with more apprehension than a bomb squad officer defusing a bomb. There was no need for concern. The baby took to his new bed with a contended sigh, drawing the soft fabric of the pillowcase against his face and popping his thumb into his mouth. Dana sent up a quick prayer of thanks.

She was out of breath when she made her way back to Luke. “Oh, no, you don't!” she cried when she saw that he'd leaned against the table, his head cradled against his arm. “No sleeping!” she literally yelled.