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What about an alternative healer, someone isolated from medical authorities? “There might be an unlicensed midwife,” he suggested.
Sonya sat up straighter. “I should have thought of that! There’s a woman named Lourdes Garcia who delivers babies with no red tape. I met her once when she brought a woman to the hospital in an emergency.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Mrs. Garcia is smart enough to recognize when she’s in over her head.”
The implicit contradiction aroused Barry’s curiosity. “If she’s operating illegally, why hasn’t she been arrested?”
“A lot of undocumented immigrants in Southern California are scared of authorities. I’d certainly prefer that mothers employ Mrs. Garcia rather than give birth unaided.” Sonya took out a personal organizer, apparently seeking a phone number.
“Got an idea where she works?”
“Usually, she goes to patients’ residences, if they have one. But it’s possible Gina’s girlfriend knows where she lives. Hold on.” After dialing, she spoke tersely and listened for a minute, then hung up. “Okay, I’ve got the address. Turn right at the next corner.”
He followed directions as she guided him through Fullerton, her small body leaning as if to urge greater speed. Eagerness must have displaced her fear of an accident.
“I’ve met some dedicated physicians, but none as involved as you. Don’t you have a private life, Doc?” he queried as he drove.
“Why should you care?” she snapped.
“I’m insatiably curious. It’s one of my finer characteristics.”
“Oh? What are your less pleasant ones?” She indicated an upcoming turnoff. “Right at the real-estate office.”
They veered onto a side street. “I’m antisocial. Hate small talk. Crabby. Sometimes forget to shower on deadline.”
“Women must adore you in—where did you say you’re from?”
They reached a modest residential street lined with cottages and a few duplexes. Across the way, an elderly man walked a dog. On the corner, a couple of kids dodged and squealed as they zapped each other with Silly String.
“Tennessee,” Barry answered. “A town named—”
“There!” she broke in. “The blue house, third from the corner. That’s Duke’s van in front. Obviously, they’ve joined forces again.” As he eased toward the curb, she added, “Don’t stop here. They might get suspicious.”
He found a spot three houses down. “What’s the plan?”
“I’m going in alone.” She started out.
“Whoa.” Barry touched her shoulder. It felt delicate beneath his large hand, and her loose hair played across his wrist. “I’m coming, too.”
“No way. You look like a narc.”
“I’ll get rid of the jacket.” He released her. “Don’t you think I’ve earned a little trust?”
Her expression softened. “You want the truth? I’m scared to march in there by myself. But we can’t force Gina to leave, and I’m having a hard enough time winning her cooperation as it is. I have to handle this alone.”
Barry hated to think of her getting hurt. “This guy Duke seems possessive. He might turn violent.”
She bristled. “Hey, Mr. Reporter, do you have fantasies of playing the hero? Because like I told you, I prefer to handle this solo.”
Only a macho jerk would insist on running the show. “Fine. I’ll wait.”
Her appreciative smile vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “You’ve done your good deed. I’ll have an ambulance transport us to the med center, or get a cab if she refuses. Go home. I don’t want to get used to anyone watching over me.”
She exited abruptly. Her pace along the sidewalk quickened to a near run.
That was odd phrasing. I don’t want to get used to anyone watching over me. As if she feared her own weakness. Preposterous. Barry had never met a person less weak-minded than Sonya.
He supposed he ought to comply with her wishes. Drive to the hotel, throw the remainder of his belongings into a suitcase for the flight tomorrow and spend the rest of the evening writing the tale of ex-townsfolk who’d migrated to the land of overpriced cottages and Mickey Mouse.
But he suspected he’d have trouble concentrating while his thoughts lingered on a brittle woman who’d inexplicably touched his heart. A woman with a determined jut to her chin and, he suspected, heartbreak in her past.
In the rearview mirror, he watched her ascend a roofed porch. A pause, and someone admitted her. Gone. At risk, and not a darn thing he could do about it.
He decided to stick around, just in case.
The man with the dog had vanished. The shrieking kids ran out of string and slammed their way into a house. Long minutes ticked by.
Sonya didn’t emerge. She’d have to assess the situation and persuade the girl and Duke, possibly enlist the midwife’s support. Ten, fifteen minutes at least.
Barry flipped through radio stations and listened to a couple of songs. Then he found an all-news station from L.A., but it was broadcasting the same reports he’d heard earlier in the day.
This was taking too long.
Dr. Sonya Vega might put rescuing a patient above her safety, but he didn’t. A covert glance through a window ought to lay his concerns to rest. Then he’d leave peacefully, with no one the wiser.
After exiting the car, he made his way toward the house. Heavy curtains blocked the front windows, so he circled through a side yard past a couple of garbage cans.
The kitchen entrance stood ajar. Barry surmised someone had been interrupted while taking out the trash.
Nevertheless, entering without permission constituted trespassing. He’d gone to great lengths to avoid trouble in the ten years since his release, aware of how easily an ex-con could land behind bars. Both Tennessee and California had three-strikes laws, which also carries harsh penalties for a second felony, and if his presence was misunderstood, a burglary conviction would put him away for a long time.
Maybe he should mind his own business, despite the fact that retreat ran counter to his instincts. Walk away and never look back.
Then, inside the house, a woman screamed.
Chapter Three
Standing on the porch, Sonya was relieved when Lourdes Garcia herself opened the door. It had crossed her mind, after she’d so blithely dismissed Barry, that СКАЧАТЬ