LITMIR.BIZ

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went into labor.”

      Watley stopped fooling with the camera. “And you took her to the hospital?” he asked.

      Dylan scanned the street below. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening at the Den of Thieves. This was the restaurant’s busiest hour, but there was no one entering or leaving who aroused his suspicions. So far, none of the usual players in what was reported to be a money-laundering scheme were evident.

      “It was too late for that.” He took off the lid from his cup and dropped it on the table.

      “So you did what?” Picking up the discarded lid, Watley dropped it into the empty box he’d converted into a wastebasket. “Helped her deliver?” he prompted.

      “Yeah.”

      With his wife a brief six weeks away from delivery, Watley was facing his first time up as a new father. Thoughts of the restaurant they were staking out were forgotten. “So, what did it feel like? Holding that newborn in your hands? You did hold it, right?”

      “Yes, I held her.”

      “Well, what was it like?”

      “Messy.”

      Usually a very easygoing man, Watley threw his hands up in exasperation. “Dammit, McMorrow, you’ve got a heart made out of stone, you know that? There you were, with the miracle of life happening right in front of you and you’re thinking of cleanup detail.”

      “Somebody has to.” Dylan paused, taking a long sip of the coffee that was already getting cold. His thoughts kept returning to the event. He’d felt like a bystander and a participant all at the same time. “It was kind of strange,” he finally added.

      Watley’s interest was instantly piqued. “Strange?”

      “Like it wasn’t real.” Dylan looked at his partner. “Except that it was.”

      “Right.” Watley slanted him a glance, then grinned. “That’s probably the most eloquent I remember ever hearing you get.”

      Dylan didn’t feel like being eloquent. He didn’t feel like being anything but the cop he was being paid to be. It was too complicated any other way. Dylan nodded toward the building across the street. “Anything going on in there?”

      Clearly bored, Watley shook his head. He took the lid off the puzzle he’d brought with relish. “Nothing more than usual. I’m beginning to think this is just a wild-goose chase. Haven’t seen any of the big boys go in or out yet. Maybe the tip was bogus. God only knows where that accountant disappeared to.” The operation had begun in earnest on the word of one Owen Michelson, the restaurant’s accountant. But neither he nor the information he’d promised had turned up at a rendezvous he’d arranged last week.

      “Chambers said he thought he saw someone he recalled seeing on a poster going in this morning, but he’s not sure,” Watley remarked. Dumping out the puzzle’s pieces on the table, Watley smiled to himself. “I think it’s just wishful thinking on his part, but we sent a copy of the photo he took to the feds for positive ID.”

      “And?”

      Watley shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

      Dylan blew out a breath. “And the wheels of justice turn slowly.” He took another swig from his coffee before setting the cup down in disgust. It hardly met his criteria for coffee beyond being liquid. Restless, he ran his hand along the back of his neck and told himself to calm down. “Doesn’t matter, we’re not going anywhere.” Watley groaned his agreement.

      Dylan wished he had a cigarette.

      Dylan pulled up the hand brake on his beat-up sports car. He’d bought it with the first money he’d earned the day before he left home. It still ran well. A single turn of his key cut off the engine and the low murmur of music that had been playing on the radio.

      He sat in the stilled vehicle, looking at the back entrance to Harris Memorial and wondering if he’d lost his mind.

      Getting off work half an hour ago, he’d had every intention of picking up some takeout at the new Thai restaurant near the stakeout and heading straight back to the place where he slept and ate when he wasn’t on the job. It wasn’t really home, but it served in lieu of one. Dylan hadn’t thought of a place as being home since his mother had died.

      But instead of doing that, somehow, he’d ended up here instead, with no takeout sitting on the seat beside him and no claim to sanity even remotely in the vicinity. The smart thing, he knew, was to send either Alexander or Hathaway here. They were the ones handling the case, not him.

      He frowned, absently watching a couple rush through the electronic doors.

      Lucy didn’t need to see him again, it’d only upset her. And he sure as hell didn’t need to see her again.

      Dylan began to turn the key in the ignition, then stopped, silently cursing himself. He couldn’t do it. There was a sense of right and wrong instilled in him, the one thing his mother managed to accomplish with her rebellious son.

      He dragged his hand through his hair. It was his mother’s fault that he was here.

      And his father’s fault that he shouldn’t be.

      C’mon, fish or cut bait, McMorrow.

      Biting off another curse, Dylan got out of his car and slammed the door shut behind him. Might as well get this over with, he thought.

      As he strode almost militantly toward the bank of elevators located in the rear of the building, the hospital’s small gift shop still managed to catch his eye. The little teddy bear with a jaunty pink bow over one ear in the center of the window display all but popped out at him. Stopping in midstride, he went in before he changed his mind.

      The shop, with its cheerful clutter, was empty except for one other customer who was browsing on the opposite side.

      “How much for the bear in the window?” Dylan asked.

      His question, snapped out the way it was, startled the mature-looking, pink-smocked woman behind the counter. As she looked up, her features softened into a grandmotherly smile. “Twelve ninety-five.”

      Dylan dug into his front pocket. The wad of bills that comprised change from the twenty he’d given the cashier at the coffee shop earlier tumbled out onto the counter. He isolated the proper amount.

      “I’ll take it.”

      “And anything for the mother?”

      Head snapping up, he looked at the woman sharply. “What makes you think…?”

      The beatific smile was understanding. “You have that harried, new-father look about you.”

      The hell he did. The woman was probably just trying to push merchandise. Almost against his will, he saw the light blue negligee that hung just behind the woman on another display against the back wall. For a fleeting, insane moment, he was tempted. But then good sense returned.

      “Just the bear.”

      “Fine.” The woman accepted the money he handed her. “I’ll ring it up for you. Would you like it wrapped?”

      “The baby’s only a few hours old, she wouldn’t be able to unwrap anything,” he answered stoically.

      “Perhaps her mother—”

      “No.”

      The woman inclined her head good-naturedly. “Very well, sir.”

      Three minutes later, Dylan was jabbing the up button at the elevator bank. When two elevators arrived at the same time, he chose the empty one, then pressed five. The steel doors closed, locking him in.

      He had no idea what he’d say to Lucy.

      Part of him hoped that she was asleep, that he could just place the teddy bear on some available surface in her room and retreat, saying he’d done his duty.

      Getting

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