on the seat to face Marshal Jones, determination firming his resolve. “I am going to meet my daughter. With or without your help.”
Chapter 4
Clearly sensing a lengthy discussion was in the offing, Marshal Raleigh pulled away from the curb in front of the hospital and circled the block, finding another alley to park in. Jones and Raleigh took some convincing to cooperate with Connor’s insistence on meeting Savannah. But with some brainstorming help from Darby and Connor, they developed a cover to get Connor into Darby’s house without raising any red flags with the Gales.
“Wait. What about Hunter?” Darby asked as they headed back toward the hospital.
“Who’s Hunter?” Raleigh asked.
“My youngest brother,” Connor said.
“Hunter was with me when I got the call from the doctor’s office asking if I could explain why Sam Orlean’s DNA tests showed such a significant parental match.” She glanced from Connor to the marshals. “He knows I was trying to intercept you at Dr. Reed’s office to find out who you were, why the tests showed you were Savannah’s father.”
“All the more reason to go with the one-night-stand story,” Jones said.
Darby shook her head. “He won’t buy it. Hunter knows me better than that. He knows I suspected Sam Orlean was Connor.”
“Then tell him you were too late to catch up with Sam,” Raleigh offered. “Tell him the doctor’s office realized they’d mixed up records and apologized for the confusion.”
She snorted her disagreement. “I can’t lie to Hunter. He’ll see right through me.”
“My brother is trustworthy,” Connor said quietly, turning toward Jones. “Now that Darby knows the truth, maybe it’d be best to tell Hunter about WitSec, as well. He can keep it quiet.”
“Yes!” Darby nodded her agreement. “Let me tell Hunter the truth. He won’t believe that anyone but Connor is Savannah’s father, and he reads me too well for me to lie about any of this.”
In the front seat, Raleigh groaned.
Jones rubbed his face with his hand. “You understand that the more people who know who Sam is, the more risk there is of the wrong people finding out?”
Raleigh pulled to a stop once more at the hospital entrance and turned toward the backseat. “Do I need to circle the block again?”
“Hunter won’t talk.” Connor narrowed a certain gaze on Jones. “We can trust him.”
Jones and Raleigh exchanged a long dark look, as if communicating telepathically.
Darby twisted her hands in her lap, her heart still racing from adrenaline and her brain muddled with the surrealism of the past half hour. Finally, Raleigh sighed and turned back to the front window, while muttering under his breath about hell in a hand basket.
“Okay.” Jones flipped up his palms. His expression said he was far from happy about acquiescing. “But tell Hunter as little as possible until we’ve had a chance to debrief him and impress upon him the urgency of his silence.”
Darby gave a jerky nod and opened the car door. “I understand.”
As she slid out of the backseat, Connor caught her arm. “Darby.” She faced him, waiting for him to continue. Emotions played over his face, clearly telling her how conflicted he was, deciding what he wanted to say, what he could say. As if he were torn between what was in his heart and the masquerade he was playing.
The longer he hesitated, the more irritated she grew. The Connor she knew had never hedged, never held back from sharing his heart with her. But then, that Connor was dead, wasn’t he? This Connor—or Sam Orlean—had lied about his death, had stayed away for almost five years.
“See you in about an hour,” he said at last, his frown saying he knew how lame he sounded.
“Right.” She snatched her arm from his grip, frustrated, hurt and so angry with him she was shaking.
She hurried back inside the hospital and onto the same elevator car she’d ridden down some forty or so minutes earlier. As the doors closed, she marveled at how the elevator could look the same when her life had changed so completely in such a short time. Connor. Connor was alive!
The air in her lungs stalled, just as it had when she’d recognized the man with the dye-darkened beard and sunglasses in the parking garage. She braced a hand on the wall of the elevator and bent at the waist to catch her breath.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” an orderly on the elevator with her asked.
She peeked up at him and shook her head. “No. Not really.”
They arrived at her floor, the door sliding open with a ding, and she straightened. Flashing a forced smile to the orderly, she stepped off the elevator, waving the hospital employee away when he made a move to help her. “No, thanks.”
“Mommy!” Savannah called to her as she ducked back into her hospital room.
She managed a smile for her daughter and bent to kiss her temple. “Hi, Miss Priss.”
Hunter spun to face her, his phone at his ear, his expression impatient. “Cheese and rice, Darby!” He waved his cell, thumbing the disconnect button. “Why haven’t you answered your phone? I’ve called you at least ten times!”
“Because...” She blew out a deep breath and slapped a hand to her empty shoulder where her purse usually hung. “Crud! I left my purse at the doctor’s office.” Raking a hand through her hair, she dropped her shoulders wearily. “Will you stop by there to let me grab it on our way home?”
He pulled a face. “Uh, yeah. Whatever.” Spreading his hands, he raised his eyebrows and huffed. “Well? What happened? Did you see him?”
Darby cut a side glance to Savannah, then scowled at Hunter. “Ixnay about Onnorcay.”
Hunter looked ready to strangle her. “Just give me a yes or no. Was it him?”
“Did someone die, Mommy?”
Darby faced Savannah, her pulse stumbling. “No, honey. Why?”
“You told somebody on the phone that Connuh was dead.” Savannah wrinkled her nose. “Who’s Connuh?”
“Um...” She fumbled, glancing to Hunter for help. She’d put off telling Savannah about her father until she thought the little girl was old enough to fully understand the concept of death. Then Hunter’s elderly dog had died a few months ago, and she’d had to explain where Bo had gone and why he wouldn’t be back.
But Connor came back.
“Connor is...” She rubbed the spot on her forehead where a killer headache was forming.
“My brother,” Hunter supplied.
Savannah tipped her head in confusion. “But Uncle Gwant is your bwother.” Savannah had just started speech therapy that spring to help her pronounce her Rs, when they’d been handed the challenge of cancer. Rs would have to wait.
Hunter grinned. “A guy can have more than one brother. In fact, I know someone who has seven brothers!”
Savannah’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of bwothers!” She sank back against her pillow, her face sobering, her tenacious curiosity and keen memory not letting Hunter’s attempt at distraction work. “Did your bwother die like Bo?”
“Um...” Hunter stalled and looked to Darby. “Did he?”
“Priss, why don’t you watch TV while I talk to Uncle Hunter for a minute.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and led him into the tiny bathroom out of Savannah’s earshot.
“What’s going on, Darby?” Hunter asked as she closed the door