In Broad Daylight (8 page)

have to go through morning sickness again."

Morning sickness.

God, could she certainly identify with that, Brenda thought. But at least his mother had

had his father to lean on. Someone who was there, who wanted to have children with her.

She and Wade had never really discussed having children, something else he kept putting

off talking about. She'd discovered that she was pregnant and that Wade had been

accidentally killed during maneuvers all in the same day.

Getting pregnant had been an accident as well. She and Wade had been separated for

almost four months when he'd come to her, asking her if she'd be willing to try to make a

go of their marriage again. She'd felt so guilty over marrying him in the first place just to

get away from home that she felt she owed it to him. So she had said yes.

Wade put in for a three-day pass and they went down toSan Diego. They'd stayed at a

little bed and breakfast inn just off the beach. She could hear the seagulls calling to one

another.

The long weekend had gone by without anything being resolved. Wade went back to his

world and she to hers, their future still up in the air.

She'd been sick almost from the start, but had been afraid to take a pregnancy test,

afraid to put her suspicions into words. She fervently prayed that if she ignored it,

somehow, it would all go away.

But it hadn't, and there was life growing inside of her now. A life that she vowed to love

and protect the way she had never been herself. The way she hadn't for Annie.

She looked at Dax. "Then where did the eleven come from?"

"Cousins as well as siblings."

He took it for granted that everyone knew. It was such a way of life, such a given for him

that at times he forgot that not everyone was aware of the fact that he had cousins and

brothers who liberally populated various departments within the Aurora police force. That

his Uncle Andrew had once been the police chief of the city before he retired and that his

father, Brian, was now the current chief of detectives.

He grinned. "I've got tons of cousins."

Cousins. A big family, all there for one another if she was interpreting his expression

correctly. "And you're all close."

He heard the wistful note in her voice. "Sometimes too close," he told her. "There's always someone looking over your shoulder."

"Always someone looking out for you," she countered. When he didn't try to correct her, she knew she was right. What would that have been like, to have someone to turn to when

things got tough? "You have no idea how lucky you are."

His grin widened. "If I forget, there's always someone around to tell me." When he was a kid, he saw a downside to that. "And I never got to get away with anything. There was

always someone who saw or found out about it and word would always get back to my

parents."

She heard the affection in his voice. She would have given anything to have had his life.

"You're close to them, too? Your parents?"

He thought of his father. Other than a few years of typical teenager rebellion, he'd

always been able to talk to the man. Like the old joke went, the older he got, the smarter

his father became.

"Yeah, I guess. To my dad. My mom died a little over five years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry. But at least you had her for a long time."

There was something in her tone that told him they had this in common. "When did your

mother die?"

Brenda looked up at him, debating changing the subject. But he had allowed her a peek

into his life; it seemed rude somehow to abruptly terminate the conversation. Besides, it

had all happened such a long time ago. She was beyond hurting now, she told herself. Or so

she liked to believe. "She didn't. She left."

Things began to fall into place. That was why Brenda was so passionate about Rebecca

Allen-Tyler's lack of maternal love. Because she identified with the kidnapped little girl.

He thought of his Uncle Andrew. Aunt Rose had walked out after an argument and had

gone missing for fifteen years. In her case, there'd been an accident with the car and

they had all thought she was dead. Everyone except for his uncle. And, as it turned out,

everyone except for his uncle had been wrong. Aunt Rose had been a victim of amnesia.

"Just like that?" he prodded.

She reflected. "No, not just like that. It was probably a long time in coming. My father

wasn't exactly the easiest man to live with. She finally couldn't take it anymore. Neither

could I, but I was too young to pack up and go." She saw the question in his eyes. "I was nine at the time."

"A lot of kids run away at nine. Younger." He'd seen the files to prove it.

He had a point, she supposed. There were times when she sat in the dark in her room

after a particularly bad confrontation with her father, sobbing. Wanting desperately to

find a way out of her life. But there had been no one to turn to.

She gathered the flyers together, placing them on top of the others.

"Maybe I thought things out too much. I didn't like the idea of living on the street.

Besides, I kept hoping that one day my father would wake up and have an epiphany—" It all

seemed so silly now. She should have known better, even then. "That he'd realize that I

was one hell of a little girl and that he should appreciate all that love I had to give him."

Dax felt something protective stir within him, even though the events had taken place in

the past and there was nothing he could do about them now. It still didn't change the fact

that he wanted to hold her to him, to comfort her. "But he didn't."

She blew out a breath. "No, he didn't." She turned and looked at him. How had all that

come out? She'd shared more with him in this short space of time than she ever could with

Wade. "So, how much do you charge by the hour, doctor?"

He smiled and shook his head. "The first hundred hours are free. Call it my cousin-

training."

"They all come to you with their problems?" He didn't strike her as the counseling type.

Yet here she was, running off at the mouth around him, she reminded herself.

Dax felt he had no particular claim to that position. "We all come to each other whenever

the occasion calls for it. I guess it's a little like having your own support group," he

decided.

He'd never really thought of it that way before, but it was true. None of them had ever

felt alone, not even his cousin Patrick, he guessed, and Patrick was the one who along with

his sister, Patience, had had a troubled childhood. Uncle Mike, he'd discovered after

piecing things together he'd overheard and had been told by his cousin Shaw, had been the

insecure brother. Sandwiched in between Andrew and Brian, Mike always felt as if they

outshone him with their achievements. Early on it had frustrated him and he'd taken it out

on his family, drinking too much, being verbally abusive, finding solace with other women.

Dax knew that both his father and his Uncle Andrew, especially his uncle, had tried very

hard to smooth things over for Patrick and Patience, to give them as secure a feeling of

home and hearth as they could. Patience was the optimistic one, she was easy. But Patrick

had presented a challenge when he was growing up.

Things had eventually turned out all right and now Patrick was married and expecting his

first little Cavanaugh.

Yes, Dax thought, he was lucky. They all were. A simple roll of the dice and fate could

have given him the life of the woman next to him.

And yet, Brenda seemed unscathed by it. Sharp, dedicated and passionate.

It was the passion that was arousing him now, he realized. Passion in anyone always made

them appear more alive, more vivid. In a woman as beautiful as Brenda York, it was

especially alluring.

He rose to join her. "So, is there anyone special in your life right now?"

Brenda nodded. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he'd lost

something. But that was ridiculous, he told himself, because he hadn't had anything to

begin with.

"A classroom full of special someones," she told him.

Somewhere deep inside of him, a ray of hope nudged its way forward. "You're talking

about the kids in your class."

She smiled and for the first time, he saw a light enter her eyes. The sexual pull he felt

was almost overwhelming.

"Yes."

"I was talking about someone taller." Initially, when he'd come to the school, she and

Harwood had seemed rather tight. "The headmaster—"

Her eyes widened at the suggestion. "Matthew? No. Oh God, no. He's just a very kind

man."

He'd picked up something in the headmaster's manner toward her. It had made him

wonder if they'd had a prior or present relationship. "Looked as if he'd like to be kinder if you let him."

Was it that evident? She felt protective of the man who had given her a job when others

wouldn't. She'd been more than a few credits short of her teaching credentials when

she'd come toHarwoodAcademy. He'd allowed her to teach while working on her degree.

"Maybe, but I don't have that kind of relationship with him. That would be mixing

business with my private life."

"And you like the lines to stay clear." It wasn't a guess. He could tell by the way she spoke.

"It keeps things simpler."

What he was feeling right now wasn't simple. It was very, very complicated. Although he

liked women in all sizes and shapes and had a social life that would have contented any two

normal men, he'd always been careful not to step over a line, not to mix his professional

and private life.

But right now, he was entertaining thoughts that definitely crossed all the lines.

"It's getting late." He nodded toward the printer. It had stopped humming several

minutes ago. "Have you finished doing what you came to do?"

By her count, she'd printed up a thousand flyers. She took two boxes that the initial

paper had been packaged in and deposited the eight-by-ten-inch sheets into them. It was a

start. "Yes, for now."

"Good." Stacking one box on top of another, Dax picked them both up. "I'll walk you to your car," he told her.

The entire time he'd spent with her at the school, she couldn't shake the feeling that she

was keeping him from something. Maybe he'd driven up here for a reason other than the

one he'd given her.

"You don't have to."

He was already standing in the doorway, waiting for her to join him. "I don't have anything

pressing to do at the moment."

Closing down the computer and switching off the printer, she picked up her purse and

then joined him. "You're just afraid I'm going to stay here."

"Maybe," he allowed.

Waiting for her to cross the threshold, he shut the light off.

The night was warm and musky, one of those spring evenings that acted as a preview to

the summer that was barely waiting in the wings. The dusk that had been there when she

arrived had given way to a velvety night.

The full moon shone on the lot, casting a pool of light on the asphalt. It illuminated their

way far better than the two street lamps located at the far end of the sidewalk.

Like two strangers seeking company, his car was parked beside hers. Dax watched her

open the passenger door. She indicated that he should place the two boxes of flyers on

the seat.

He set them down on the passenger seat. "You didn't lock the door," he admonished.

"I forgot." She didn't tell him that she often left it unlocked. It was easier that way. And maybe she was too trusting for her own good. "It's an old car, I didn't think anyone would

think it worth stealing."

Brenda closed the door, then walked around to the driver's side. She turned to face him.

She could feel the heat from his body even though he gave her a little space. Her

hormones, she thought, were giving her a hard time. The warm night didn't help things

either.

She raised the hair from the back of her neck, wishing for a breeze. Her silent entreaty

went unanswered. "Well, thank you for not busting me."

Busy memorizing the gentle slope of her neck, he didn't follow her meaning. "For what?"

"For disregarding the yellow tape and going into the school."

He grinned, vainly trying to summon up cold thoughts. "Don't make a habit of it."

"I won't, I promise." Opening the driver's side door, she hesitated.

"What?"

Brenda bit her lip, then forged ahead. "The kidnapper said he'd call tomorrow. I should be

there to talk to him."

He knew what she was thinking. That since she'd pretended to be the housekeeper, she

should be there just in case. But that had been just because neither of theTylershad been

there to take the call. That had since changed.

"Mrs. Tyler is probably going to want to handle that," he pointed out.

He was right, of course, but she still wanted to be there, even though she knew she

wasn't exactly welcome. The thought of being excluded, of being on the outside and not

knowing what was happening, was painful to her. "Right. I just—"

"Want to be there," he supplied. It wasn't difficult to guess what was on her mind.

"Yes."

He looked at the boxes of flyers on the seat. "You could always bring those by tomorrow.

That'll get your foot in the door."

She could see Mrs. Tyler taking them from her then closing the door on her face. "But