LITMIR.BIZ

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have a couple. But with the work he did, he viewed babies and small children as victims. They had no voice, no way to protect themselves against whatever rotten deal their worthless parents happened to hand out to them.

      Just like the baby in this case. So what if the mother had named him—the Biblical name of a young man who slew a giant? And so what if she’d left him on the doorstep of a wealthy home—a place where he was obviously wanted and would have every advantage?

      None of that made a difference. Not to him. No matter how the facts were dressed up, the story was the same. Some young woman had gotten herself pregnant and had the kid. Then because the kid would inconvenience her life, she’d dumped the responsibility on someone else.

      In Mel’s book, that was a crime that deserved prosecution. And he was just the man to do it.

      “Meow.”

      He was pulled from his thoughts by sharp claws in his shin. He looked down into the green eyes of the sleekest black cat he’d ever seen.

      “Meow.”

      “What?” He looked around to make sure no one had heard him talking to the cat.

      The cat turned quickly and went to the basket, which had been put beside the sofa. With one expressive black paw, the cat patted the basket.

      Mel picked it up and examined it. His fingers brushed against the blanket the baby had been wrapped him. Soft. Very soft. He pulled the pale blue wrap out of the basket and shook it out. He’d never felt a baby blanket so soft. His fingers rubbed the texture. Cashmere! Incredible.

      And the cat was tipping the basket over to indicate a tag. He looked at it. Not just an ordinary wicker basket—this one was signed. A handmade basket. Now that was a clue. As discreetly as possible he returned the blanket to the basket.

      “I’d like to take these items as evidence,” he said.

      “I’d prefer that you didn’t,” Rose Johnson said quickly. “Those may be all this little boy has to remember his mother by. I’d like to hold on to them and give them to him when he’s older.”

      Mel sighed. He was going to have his hands full now. In her mind, Mrs. Johnson had adopted this child. She was already planning his future.

      “The baby will have to be taken to DHR,” he said as gently as he could. “It’s the law, ma’am.”

      “Surely we can work something out, detective,” Preston Johnson said, stepping forward. “We’ll assume complete responsibility for this child.” He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll hire a full-time nurse, if that would help. We’ll start a college fund.”

      Mel held up a hand. “I don’t doubt that you’d make the most wonderful parents in the world. But that’s not up to me to decide. I’m only a detective. The Department of Human Resources handles all of these cases. All I do is follow the procedure.”

      He saw the frown pass over Preston Johnson’s face and knew these weren’t people who gave up easily. Too bad the baby’s mother hadn’t wanted him one-tenth as much as these strangers. He felt a flush of fury. At a strange woman. At the cruelty of fate.

      “Detective, I don’t mean to usurp your authority,” Preston said carefully. “Would it offend you if I made a call to Judge Patterson? I believe he handles these cases, and we’re old friends. If he said we could keep the child—just until Monday morning—would you feel comfortable with that?”

      Normally, Mel knew the suggestion of going over his head to a judge would ignite his sense of outrage. But for some reason—probably because the Johnsons so obviously cared for this abandoned baby—he felt only hope. “Judge Patterson has the final say. If he gives me the green light to leave the baby, I’ll do it with a glad heart.”

      Preston Johnson smiled. “I’ll make the call. While you’re waiting, could we make you some coffee? I’d offer champagne, since we had to hustle all of our guests out the door.” He chuckled. “But I know you’re on duty.”

      “Coffee would be nice,” Mel said. Actually, he just wanted to get back to the department, where he’d left a stack of paperwork a mile high on the last case he’d finished. A double homicide. What he wanted more than anything was ten consecutive hours of sleep.

      Everyone else in the room was so involved with the baby they failed to hear the disturbance at the front door. Curious, Mel slipped out of the room, down the hallway and to the front where the butler held firmly to the door.

      “I’m sorry, miss, but no press was allowed to attend tonight. I don’t believe the Johnsons want to change that policy now.”

      “I heard that someone dropped a baby.”

      Mel recognized the crisp tones of the reporter and he stifled a groan. Lily Markey. She was a pitbull disguised as a fashion model. Of all the hundreds of reporters in Washington, D.C., Lily Markey was the one he dreaded most. She wasn’t unethical, and she wasn’t sensational—what she was was a pain in the butt because she was so ethical. She had a reputation for being tough but fair, and she lived up to it every day. In a city where law enforcement viewed most of the media as egotists and liars, Lily had everyone’s respect.

      And here she was with a tip about the baby.

      “Miss, you can call Mr. Johnson Monday at his office. I’m sure he’ll talk with you.”

      “It’s Saturday night. I can’t wait until Monday,” Lily said sweetly. “In fact, I’ve got an hour until deadline. I have to see one of the Johnsons right this minute.”

      “Impossible,” the butler said sternly. “Now remove yourself or I’ll have to take appropriate steps.”

      Mel sighed again. He could deal with Lily now, or he could wait until later, but deal with her he’d have to. He walked up to the door. “I’ll take care of this,” he said softly to the butler. “Thanks.”

      He opened the door, stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

      “Mel?” Lily showed genuine surprise. “The baby’s okay, isn’t he?”

      Mel was struck first by Lily’s intensity. She was a woman who gave her heart and soul to her work. He noticed her beauty and her word choice almost as a simultaneous second.

      “He? You must have one helluva source at the department because I haven’t phoned in the gender of the baby to anyone.”

      He’d caught her off guard, and he was pleased to see her flush. Lily Markey had a very powerful source. Someone way high on the food chain in law enforcement was feeding her facts. And he’d nailed her on it.

      “Oops,” she said, biting her bottom lip in a way that said she was a silly child. Only Mel knew she wasn’t silly, and she wasn’t a child.

      “Oops is right. With a clue like that, I might be able to figure out who your source is.”

      “Unlikely,” she said, recovering her balance. “Now tell me about the baby. Will the Johnsons keep hi—it?”

      “How did you know—”

      “I’ve been to numerous cocktail parties thrown by Rose and Preston. Everyone in their circle knows how much they want a child.” Lily waved one graceful hand in the air, dismissing the personal knowledge she’d obtained.

      “Even a Washington Post political reporter?” Mel didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Sane people, especially those who lived in the fishbowl of Washington politics, would gnaw off an arm before allowing a media person to know any of their personal business. Especially something as private as a desire for a child.

      “I’m not an ogre. I can understand the desire for a child.”

      There was a defensive tone in Lily’s voice and Mel wondered if he’d hit a nerve. “I thought it was newspaper policy that you had to eat at least three of your young to prove you were tough enough.”

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