Daddy Protector

As the two of them exited by the front door and walked to their cars parked around the side, Connie thought about Hale’s protectiveness on Saturday, and of the fact that he lay in the hospital after saving Skip. For heaven’s sake, she’d never sleep tonight for worrying about his condition. Might as well drop by the med center. If the nurses were restricting visitors, they ought to at least allow a delivery from the gift shop.

It was closed now, but the concessionaire had privileges.

HALE HAD HEARD A VARIETY of opinions about the Mesa View Medical Center. Captain Ferguson, grateful that cell phones and pagers had silenced the old public address calls for doctors, had declared it an oasis of calm following his hemorrhoid surgery. Sgt. Derek Reed, the PD’s leading babe magnet, claimed the nurses got friendlier every year, but another officer had contended they were too preoccupied with paperwork to pay attention to patients.

Hale reluctantly agreed. His ankle throbbed—a sprain, the physician had said—and one side of his body had suffered massive bruises. Instead of offering sympathy and coddling, the nurse had instructed him to press a button on his intravenous line if he needed more pain relief.

Effective and modern, but not very warm.

The presence of fire investigator Andie O’Reilly, who’d been debriefing him for the past half hour, provided a change, although she wasn’t exactly the nurturing type, either. And in his opinion—which he kept to himself—fire officials shouldn’t have flame-red hair.

Andie had arrived at the scene while the firefighters were tackling the blaze. She’d spoken briefly to Hale until the paramedics removed him, then begun interviewing Yolanda.

Her boss was supervising the chemical spill probe, Andie had explained, which left her to spend the afternoon locating and questioning the building’s tenants before catching up with Hale again. Once the fire scene cooled and the building proved structurally safe, she’d comb it for clues.

Most fires began with cooking equipment, but to Hale it appeared this one had started in the living room. Although the place must be a charred, sodden mess, analyzing the burn pattern and sifting through the debris could, he knew, reveal amazing details.

“You’re sure you didn’t observe anyone when you arrived other than Mrs. Rios and Skip Enright?” Andie asked as Hale sipped a cup of tea to settle his smoke-irritated stomach.

“Only those gardeners across the way, as I mentioned, and a few passersby who helped Yolanda,” he said. “Why?”

She didn’t answer. Since Andie had posed that particular inquiry twice before, there must be a reason.

“Hey, I was frank with you,” Hale pointed out. In answer to a query, he’d confided the real reason for his visit, to which she’d replied that Chief Lyons had already informed her about the tip regarding Ben. That upped his respect for the chief, who seemed to be bending over backward to avoid the appearance of a cover-up. “Did you talk to Ben?”

“He denies any involvement with drugs. I didn’t tell him about the rumor, by the way,” Andie added. “Based on his history, I considered it a logical line of inquiry.”

“So what’s this about someone else at the scene?” Hale pressed.

She appeared to be weighing the advantages and disadvantages of disclosure. Possibly since he’d already provided his statement and therefore wasn’t likely to be influenced, openness won.

“Mrs. Rios saw a man exit the building about twenty minutes before the fire started. Only glimpsed him from the rear.” She consulted her notes. “Male, wearing a dark suit, stocky build, about six feet tall with brown hair. Might have been a salesman, although nobody knocked on her door.”

“It wasn’t Vince Borrego?”

“Mrs. Rios described our guy as taller and heavier. Also, Mr. Borrego was at his office with a client.” Although there’d been a few earlier break-ins in the area, that suspect’s description didn’t match, either.

She switched off the tape recorder and shut her notebook. “Good thing you showed up there, Hale. Thanks to you, the kid’s fine.”

“Joel told me.” Also that Skip had been removed from Paula’s custody. And a darn good thing.

Hale hoped the DA brought child endangerment charges against the woman, who, according to Joel—on duty as watch commander—had gone out to buy baby clothes for her new grandchild. The fact that she’d been distraught about the situation softened his anger only marginally.

Rising, Andie brushed a wave of auburn hair behind one ear. The gesture might have struck him as flirtatious if not for Andie’s no-nonsense manner. “Sure you’re okay?” She cast a dubious glance at the untouched plate on his tray.

“I’d love a Twinkie,” Hale hinted, not at all subtly. “Sugar usually settles my stomach.”

“Sorry. I’m fresh out.”

A tap at the entryway announced the arrival of a large floral display with slim, stocking-clad legs. He couldn’t discern much of the newcomer’s face. But he’d have recognized his neighbor’s shapely limbs anywhere.

“Wow!” the investigator said. “That’s a fantastic arrangement. Who sent it?”

“Courtesy of the gift shop,” Connie announced from behind the flora. “These were the leftovers that wouldn’t keep another day. And you are—?”

“Andrea O’Reilly. Fire department.”

“Oh. You’re investigating.” The floral extravaganza navigated to a window ledge that already held several bouquets. “I’m Connie Simmons.” Returning, she thrust out a hand, which Andie shook.

His new guest appeared to believe that introduction sufficed to explain who she was. And so it did. “Ah,” Andie said. “You’re Joel’s ex.”

“Precisely.” Connie folded her arms, an action that emphasized the curves beneath her suit. It was startling to Hale how readily he responded even in his semidebilitated state.

“I guess dreams do come true, Detective,” Andie remarked.

Was his reaction that obvious? Hale tugged the scanty covers higher over the hospital gown. “Yeah?” Luckily, before he said anything awkward, he realized she referred to a small bag that dangled from Connie’s wrist. Imprinted with the legend Sandie’s Tea Shoppe, it yielded an aroma so sweet and appetizing it penetrated the lingering scent of smoke in his nasal passages.

“Dessert?” Hale croaked.

“I doubted the hospital came up to your culinary standards. For junk food, anyway.” She grimaced at the plate he’d been ignoring. “What on earth is that?”

“A liquid diet.” Bouillon and flavored gelatin, neither of which he’d touched. “Do I smell baked goods?” Astonishing how rapidly his appetite returned.

“Enjoy your treat, folks.” With a wave, Andie sauntered out.

Connie waited a couple of beats, then asked, “That was about the fire, correct?”

She sounded jealous. Unbelievable, yet gratifying, too. “She put me on the rack. I’m dying for sustenance.”

“I’m glad you’re not dying for real,” she admitted.

“Really? You were worried?”

“That was brave of you.” From the bag, Connie removed an array of the little snack cakes for which Sandie’s had won local fame. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to Skip.”

“The little guy behaved like a trooper.” When Hale attempted to reach for a pastry, his body throbbed like crazy. Sinking against the pillow, he pressed a button to increase his dose of painkiller and waited for the misery to pass.

The bed dipped as Connie eased onto the mattress. When a soft hand stroked his temple, he felt like purring.

Man, what was wrong with him? Hale wondered. Another minute and he’d let her feed those pastries directly into his mouth. Must be the effect of the medication.

“Taste this. It’ll distract you.” She pressed a small portion of cake to his lips.

Vanilla. Too good to spit out. And never mind the crumbs. He suddenly decided he liked crumbs in bed. Tonight, he’d be happy to roll in crumbs. “Fantastic.”

“Try some more.” Another taste of heaven.

If the guys saw him like this, he’d be the laughingstock of the force. So what? Connie’d been worried. She’d brought him food. Which meant that maybe she found him as attractive as he found her.