Bringing Baby Home (3 page)

“Okay. We’ll save that talk for later. But I really would like to get that cut above your eye looked at. Could get infected. Gonna leave a scar, that’s for sure.”

The cat suddenly sprang to the workbench where David potted his cacti that were sold at retail. “Scar. Maybe that’s what I should call you. We both have them, you know. Yours are just a lot more visible than mine.”

David
dumped the fish into a bowl he’d taken from his cupboard. Nothing fancy. A set he bought at Goodwill right after he moved into his place. “I’m using the good china, so no inviting friends over while I’m at work, okay?”

He bent down and put the bowl on the floor. As soon as he was three steps away, the cat leaped down and attacked the meal. He acted starved, but David had left dry cat food out every day since the animal first appeared on his doorstep—exhausted, beaten-down and bleeding—David didn’t have the heart to turn him away, even though he made it a point not to get too friendly with any living soul—man or beast.

It just didn’t pay. Not when he might have to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice. Nope. He didn’t do relationships. Which was why he was stalling. He needed to get back to Canto Lane. Unfortunately, that carried the risk of running into the woman he’d yelled at the day before.

Granted their exchange hardly constituted a relationship, but she’d been on his mind ever since he’d driven away, and that bothered him. Generally, he was a master at living in the present—during the daylight hours, at least. Except on Ariel’s birthday. Maybe that was why the woman with lush black-brown hair and eyes so dark they made espresso look watered down had stayed in his mind. He’d met her in a moment of weakness.

“Well, I’m not bringing in any money to buy tuna by standing here,” he muttered, pocketing his keys. He rinsed out the can and put it in the garbage can under the sink, then walked to the door. A quick glance told him everything was in order. No telltale hint that might give away his true identity if someone came looking. The box with the only photo he had of his kids was carefully buried under a foot of potting soil. He was safe. For now.

Not
that he had any reason to think Ray knew where to find him—or even whether he was still alive. For months, David had led a double life—working for Ray by day, helping the government build an airtight case against the man by night. The attorneys had assured David that the new life they’d chosen for him would be safe. But as a scientist, David left little to chance. He’d gone willingly into the federal Witness Protection Program, commonly called WITSEC. He’d watched the deputy U.S. marshals in charge of his relocation. He’d learned from them and done some investigation on his own. And a few months after his first rebirth, he’d disappeared again—without telling anyone.

WITSEC was entirely voluntary so David was sure the feds wouldn’t bother looking for him. His flight might not have been the smartest thing he’d ever done in his life, but he knew Ray Cross. Ray hadn’t reached the pinnacle of success by accepting anything at face value. Ray would dig into records—hell, he’d dig up a grave—if he thought there was any chance David, or Paul McAffee, as David had been known in his former life, was still alive. Because in Ray’s book, death wasn’t good enough for the person who betrayed him.

Ray—like the Grim Reaper—was coming. It was only a matter of when and where.

“His
name is David. Not Dave. He was quite firm about that.”

“David what?”

“I’m not sure.”

Liz couldn’t tell if her very blond neighbor was being purposefully evasive or if she honestly didn’t know. She and Liz hadn’t connected on any level from day one. Crissy had ambled next door just moments after Liz’s two large, swarthy cousins backed a rented trailer into the driveway and started carrying boxes inside. Hand-me-downs. A few antiques. A treasure or two brought back from her travels. A far cry from Crissy’s place, which—just glimpsed through the window—looked like a page in some home-interior catalog.

“How is that possible? You pay him, don’t you?”

“In cash. It’s a big pain with the association’s two-signature system, let me tell you. I just know someone is going to accuse me of embezzlement because I have to make the check out for cash.”

What a drama queen, Liz thought. They weren’t talking six figures here. “How do you contact him?”

“I leave my number with an answering service that’s listed on a flyer he had up at the market. He usually gets back to me in a day or two.”

“That
seems like an odd way of doing business.”

Crissy shrugged. “This is Vegas.”

As if that explained everything. And maybe it did. People came to Vegas to leave their old lives behind, whether for a weekend or for good.

“Can I have that number?”

Crissy crossed her arms just under her perky bosom. Blond, size zero, always perfectly dressed, the woman was so the opposite of Liz it was no wonder they didn’t get along. “What for?”

Like it’s any of your business.

Liz shrugged. “He left a hand trowel here yesterday.”

“Give it to me. I’ll see that he gets it.”

Damn. No wonder I never lie. I’m really bad at it.
“I also want to talk to him about doing something different with my front planter.”
Not.

Crissy leaned forward to glance at Liz’s house. “It could use a fresh look. Just a minute.”

“It could use a fresh look,” Liz muttered under her breath. Was Crissy’s world really that small that she only cared about the outward appearance of the houses in her neighborhood? Liz recalled the expression on her neighbor’s face at a community meeting when Liz suggested the money the association was spending on speed bumps and beautification might be better served on a skate park for kids like Crissy’s stepson. Crissy had actually blanched at the idea and intently argued that sort of thing was Parks and Rec’s responsibility.

Later, after the meeting was over, a lady from down the street had pulled Liz aside to whisper that Crissy’s stepson was a thorn in his stepmother’s side. “Eli chooses to live with his mother in Phoenix for a reason—Crissy. Make that two reasons. Apparently his ultracute little sister can do no wrong.”

That
hint had been the first—and only—crack Liz had seen in her neighbor’s picture-perfect facade.

“Here’s the number,” Crissy said, returning a moment later. “But you’re probably better off grabbing him when he’s in the neighborhood. That’s how I pay him. Just watch and wait.”

Like I have nothing better to do than stalk a man.
Liz thanked her and left. She had a small window of time to work in her herb room before the heat of the day turned her garage into a sweatbox. After she made the tea she had in mind for David-not-Dave—her way of apologizing for yesterday’s fiasco—she would phone Zeke and call off the hunt for information about the man her sisters were calling the mystery gardener.

Maybe
David
wasn’t so mysterious. He was just another Las Vegan doing his best to fly below Uncle Sam’s radar.

Two hours later, Liz sealed the last of the tea bags containing her newest blend. The steam from the iron, which she used to run along the edges of the preformed bag, added to the ovenlike atmosphere in the garage. She used her sleeve to erase the mustache of sweat below her nose.

She was very happy with this mix, which was specifically designed for a man who spent a great deal of his day outdoors in the sun. She could only guess at David’s age. Early forties, maybe? He’d had the look of a person who knew more about life than he cared to reveal.

“Takes one to know one,” she muttered.

She pushed back from her workbench and looked around. She’d converted one corner of her garage into a small herbal pharmacy. She’d used a roll of thick opaque plastic, which she’d stapled to two-by-fours held upright by diagonal cross members. She stored her herbs in the
house to protect them from the heat, but this area provided space and fresh air while mixing them.

The oscillating fan at her feet helped stir the hot air. Her morning visit to her mother’s had cut into her cool time. She shifted her shoulders to catch the caterpillar of sweat inching down her neck. Usually, she didn’t mind the desert climate. She’d traveled on four continents and had grown pretty flexible when it came to hot, cold, rain and snow.

“Leez,” a voice called from the door leading into the house.

One of her roommates. Lydia, she guessed. “Yes?”

“The man. Dig in dirt. Now.”

Lydia and Reezira, who had been living with Liz since the day Charles was arrested, had spoken practically no English when she’d met them. Television, the Internet and the Clark County library system had changed that. They now knew lots of words. But putting the hodge-podge vocabulary into complete sentences was another challenge.

“Thanks. I’m almost done here. Keep an eye on him for me, will you?”

“One eye? Or two?”

Liz turned back to her mix so Lydia wouldn’t see her smile. “Your pick. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“O…kay.”

Liz had no idea what was going to happen with her young friends. The police had finally tracked down an interpreter who got their story. It wasn’t a pretty one. Orphaned at very young ages, both girls, who weren’t related, had turned to prostitution for survival. Prisha might find a similar fate awaiting her if Liz wasn’t able to rescue her. Although in Prisha’s case, her physical handicap might make any future questionable.

The thought strengthened her resolve to do whatever
was necessary to procure her loan. She planned to turn in her application as soon as she was done making amends. She’d acted like a nincompoop yesterday when the gardener yelled at her. She should have apologized and insisted on paying for the plant right away. Laughing had no doubt added insult to injury. Being rude and insensitive wasn’t her style. Self-control and kindness were her trademarks. She planned to prove it.

T
HE DRY HEAT
was a stark change from what David was used to in northern Virginia. It had taken some getting used to, but the vastness of the desert more than made up for the weather. The second half of his childhood had been spent in his grandmother’s claustrophobia-inducing brown-stone in Pittsburg. She’d believed in keeping the curtains, which in later years were thick with dust whenever he visited, closed. Maybe that explained why he liked his sky—and his life—uncluttered.

Another aspect of his adopted city that he approved of was how easy it was to remain anonymous. That could be true of all large cities, David thought as he worked a second cup of fertilizer into the soil he was preparing for the next planting on Canto Lane. He’d already replaced the flattened cactus that he’d lost his cool over yesterday.

He glanced toward the house where the woman he’d accosted lived. Her car was gone. But there was some kind of activity going on in the backyard. Music emanated from behind the stucco fence.

The pushy one wouldn’t like that, he thought.

Crissy Somethingorother. He’d known a number of women like her in the pharmaceutical industry. Aggressive, focused and intensely concerned about keeping all their boats in the water and at the front of the armada at all times.

Kay, his
ex-wife, had been just the opposite. Gentle and kind. Too forgiving for her own good. She’d forgiven her ex-husband over and over—until he took a swing at one of the boys.

He rocked back on his heels and reached for the succulent he’d brought from his greenhouse that morning. A hearty survivor. Like him.

“Hello.”

He nearly dropped the plant. The woman from yesterday. But her car…He glanced at the driveway.

“My sister has my car, if you’re wondering why it isn’t in the driveway. Her fiancé bought her a new SUV as a wedding present, but it was missing a couple of bells or whistles. I’m not sure which or how many. I followed her to the shop then she dropped me off. Getting ready for a wedding is no easy task, you know.”

He didn’t say anything and she gave a little laugh. “More information than you needed, as they say. But you looked curious.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When did I look curious?”

“Just now.”

He gave her a look that usually made people take a step back. “What are you? A mind reader?”

To his immense surprise, she smiled and nodded. “Um…I have my moments. My mother is a bona fide Gypsy fortune-teller and most of the people in my family think I’m next in line to fill the role of Puri Dye.”

Pure what? Gypsies? Did she think he was an idiot as well as an antisocial caveman?

“You think I’m making this up, don’t you? Well, it’s no big deal. I don’t usually mention my background because
people have all kinds of misconceptions about the Romani, but you don’t strike me as the kind of person who would be prejudiced.”

Why? He wondered. Because he was a day laborer. Because he drove an old truck and worked with his hands? He didn’t ask. He had no intention of allowing himself to be drawn into a conversation.

“Well, whatever,” he muttered and returned to his work.

“I came outside to offer you a glass of cold tea.”

“Not necessary.”

He leaned over to position the plant correctly. Placement was everything in the landscaping business. Put the wrong plant in the wrong location and you wound up making work for yourself a few years down the road.

“I know it isn’t necessary. I didn’t run over that plant on purpose. But I don’t want you to think that I’m a heartless fiend who purposely mows down defenseless succulents.”

“It was a cactus.”

“Don’t be obtuse. I’m trying to apologize here.”

He leveled the dirt around the base of the plant then stood up. She was a good foot shorter than him, but she seemed taller. Maybe her no-nonsense attitude gave her added height.

“As you said, no apology is required. I don’t like losing plants, but, hey, sh…stuff happens.”

Liz was amused by his attempt to watch his language. She’d traveled with legions of men who’d cursed a blue streak regardless of the women and children in their company.

“Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I like what you’ve done so far on the street, and I wouldn’t mind picking your brain about how to make some cheap improvements to my landscaping. Key word in that sentence being
cheap.
” If her refinancing went through, she’d need most of the
money for India, but she had to do something to keep the garden zealot next door off her back.

He tugged on the brim of his odd hat. The gesture was less of escape from the sun as it was escape from her gaze. Why, she wondered? What does he have to hide? Her Romani sixth sense began to tingle. Not in a get-out-of-here-fast way, but in a this-is-intriguing way.

“Please,” she said, giving him a smile she’d seen work for her sister Grace. “Just a glass of tea on my front porch. Surely, you’re entitled to a little break. The association is paying you by the job, not the hour, right?”

He nodded in answer to her question, but still hadn’t agreed to join her for a cold drink. “It’s my own herbal blend.”

His brows, which were two shades lighter than his mustache, moved together in question. “You grow herbs?”

“No. I buy them from a wholesale distributor. Some are from India and some are Western.”

“This is your business?”

“One aspect of it. I’m a licensed physical therapist, but lately, I’ve started leaning more toward holistic healing—for a number of reasons.”
Again, I’m giving him more information than he needs.

“Come on,” she said, “you can be a taste tester for a new blend. I’m calling it Please, Refresh Me.” She felt her cheeks heat up. “A play on an old Engelbert Humperdinck song title. My mother was listening to a CD of his greatest hits the other day and the tune got stuck in my head. When it came time to name my tea…well, you get the idea.”

She trotted ahead of him once she was certain he was following her. Unlike most of her neighbors’ more traditional homes, Liz’s house had a covered overhang that stretched from the wall of her garage to the corner of her living room. The house had been built on a concrete slab, of course, so
this nook was nothing special, but she’d added some white pickets between the columns to give it a cottage feel.

“Morning glories,” he said, lingering by the single step that led to her front door. “You don’t see those much.”

“My mother gave me the seeds. She grows everything in her backyard. She has the only green thumb in the family. Have a chair. I’ll be right back with your tea.”

David started to protest. He was dusty and grubby and her white plastic lawn chairs, though inexpensive, looked well cared for. Everything about the place, from the white rock borders to cobweb-free rafters said someone who lived here cared.

He respected that. Too many of the people he worked for never seemed to enjoy the elaborate living art, which is how he thought of his masterpieces, once they had them. The landscaping was for their neighbors’ benefit, not their own. He would have resented their attitude if he hadn’t been the same way…in his old life. Too busy to see the roses, let alone smell them.

“Here you go,” she said, returning.

Elizabeth Radonovic. He knew her name from the roster of homeowners the head of the association had given him.

She handed him a tall glass filled with dark amber liquid. No ice cubes. He found that curious.

“I brewed this last night to test the blend and just finished putting the tea in bags. It’s been chilling all morning. Ice cubes dilute the efficacy of the herbs. I hope it’s not too sweet for your taste. The stevia leaf is one of my favorites, but it can be a bit much for some people.”