A Dangerous Game. Heather Graham

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СКАЧАТЬ falling onto the subway tracks when a train was coming. When a reporter had caught up with Kieran, she had impatiently said, “Anyone would lend a helping hand.”

      For quite some time after, she’d been a city heroine.

      So she had a feeling she knew what he was going to say.

      “Maybe they saw you on TV.”

      “That was a long time ago.”

      “Some people have long memories.”

      There was a tap at the door; the officer who had been standing guard held it open for a stocky woman with a round face and gentle, angelic smile. She was in uniform, and Kieran quickly realized that she was from Child Services.

      “Hi, I’m Sandy Cleveland,” the woman told her. “Child—”

      “Services, yes, of course!” Kieran said.

      Kieran realized that she didn’t want to hand over the baby. She didn’t have a “thing” for babies—her primary goal in life had never been to get married and have children. She did want them—somewhere along the line. But not now. She knew that, eventually, yes, she wanted to marry Craig. She was truly, deeply, kind of even madly in love with him.

      But no wedding in the near future. Maybe in a year. They hadn’t even really discussed it yet.

      She didn’t go insane over babies at family picnics, and she was happy for her friends who were pregnant or parents, and she got along fine with kids—little ones and big ones.

      But she wasn’t in any way obsessed.

      Here, now, in the office, holding the precious little bundle—who had so recently been tenderly held by a woman who was now dead with a knife in her back—Kieran was suddenly loath to give her up. And it wasn’t that the woman from Child Services didn’t appear to be just about perfect for her job. No one could fake a face that held that much empathy.

      “It’s okay,” Sandy Cleveland said very softly. “I swear she’ll be okay with me. We take great care of little ones at my office. I won’t just dump her in a crib and let her cry. It’s my job—I’m very good at it,” she added, as if completely aware of every bit of mixed emotion that was racing through Kieran’s heart and mind. She smiled and added, “Miss Finnegan, the street below is teeming with police officers—and reporters. The chief of police is already involved in this situation. This little one will not just have the watchdogs of Child Services looking over her, but a guardian from the police force, as well. She’s going to be fine. I personally promise you.”

      “I’m sure—I’m sure you’re good,” Kieran said. She smiled at Sandy Cleveland.

      “That means you have to give her the baby,” Craig said, but she thought he understood, too, somehow.

      “Yes, yes, of course,” Kieran murmured.

      She managed to make herself move, and she handed over the baby.

      It was so damned hard to do!

      “Miss Cleveland, can you tell me about how old she is?” Kieran asked.

      “I think about six weeks based on her motor function. And, please, just call me Sandy,” the woman told her. “Her eyes are following you—and when you speak, that’s a real smile. It’s usually between about six weeks and three months when they really smile, and I think this is a lovely, smart girl. Don’t worry! I’ll get a smile from her, too, I promise.”

      The baby did seem to be settling down in Sandy Cleveland’s arms.

      Craig set an arm around Kieran’s shoulders.

      “Sandy, I’m with the FBI. Craig Frasier. You won’t mind if we check in on this little one?”

      “Of course not!” Sandy assured them. She shook her head sadly. “I hear that the woman who handed her to you was murdered. There’s no ID on her. I’m just hoping we can find out who this little one is. She’s in good shape, though. Someone has been caring for her. Yes! You’re so sweet!” She said the last words to the baby, wrinkling her nose and making a face—and drawing a sound that wasn’t quite laughter, but darned close to it. “Hopefully, she has a mom or other relatives somewhere. And if not...” She hesitated, studying Kieran and Craig. “Well, if not—a precious little infant like this? People will be jockeying to adopt her. Anyway, let me get her out of here and away from...from what happened.” She held the baby adeptly while using her left hand to dig into her pocket and produce her business card. “Call me anytime,” she told them. “I may not answer, but I will get back to you if you leave me a message.”

      Then she was gone. The cop who had been watching over Kieran went outside.

      She and Craig were alone.

      Kieran still felt shell-shocked.

      “Kieran, hey!” Craig hunkered down by her again as she sank down into one of the comfortably upholstered chairs in the waiting room. He looked at her worriedly. “The cops are good—you know that.”

      “Craig, you have to be in on this. That detective—”

      “Lance. Lance Kendall. Kieran, really, he’s all right. He’s doing all the right things.”

      “Yeah! All the right things—grilling me!”

      “Okay, I will speak with Egan about it tomorrow, how’s that?”

      She nodded. “Thank you. Get one of your joint task forces going—at least maybe you can participate?”

      “Sure.” He hesitated. “I guess...um, well.”

      There was a tap at the door. They both looked up. Craig stood.

      A man walked in. It wasn’t the first officer who had arrived at the scene—it was the detective who had arrived while others were setting up crime scene tape, handling the rush hour crowd around the body, and urging her to get the baby back up to her offices and out of the street.

      Detective Kendall was a well-built African American man. About six feet even, short brown hair, light brown eyes, and features put together pleasantly. He was around forty-five, she thought. He wasn’t warm and cuddly, but neither was he rude.

      “Detective,” Craig said. “Have you wrapped up at the scene for the evening?”

      “Yes—a few techs are still down there, but there’s nothing more I can accomplish here. Unless you can help, Miss Frasier? You can’t think of anything?”

      “I have no idea why this lady chose me,” Kieran said. “None.”

      “And you’ve never seen the woman before?” Kendall asked.

      “Never.”

      “Nor the baby?”

      What? Did he think that the infant paid social calls on people, hung out at the pub, or requested help from psychiatrists or a psychologist?

      “No,” she managed evenly. “I’ve never seen the infant before. I’ve never seen the woman before.”

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