Detective Daddy Read online

  “Do about it? You think you’re going to do something about it? Unless by do something you mean ask Rachel to marry you and buy a house and get ready to be a husband and a father, I can tell you right now, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Ash leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his hair. He sat there, palms cradling his head. “Tell me about it. But, Nat, I have never been careless. Ever.”

  Natalie frowned at him, her head cocked to one side. “Come on, Ash. Haven’t we had this conversation? Not even condoms are one-hundred-percent effective.”

  He stared at her. “I know that, but—”

  For a short moment, Natalie held his gaze. Then she stood. “But what? Do you think the baby’s not yours?”

  He blew out a breath between his teeth. “Oh, I know it’s mine. Rachel wouldn’t lie. Plus, I know exactly when it happened.”

  “Great. So when are you two—you three—getting married?” Natalie grinned at him.

  Ash sat up, rubbed the spot on his chest where the hollow feeling resided. He clamped his jaw and forced his mind away from the confusing question of how he felt about Rachel.

  “There’s another issue,” he muttered. He wiped his face and looked up at her. “Rachel’s the one who ran the DNA.”

  Natalie looked puzzled. “The baby’s DNA?”

  “No, no,” he said, leaning forward and again propping his elbows on his knees. “She’s the one who ran the samples from the murders against Campbell’s DNA.”

  Natalie’s initial reaction was shock. The color drained from her face. She was quiet for a second, staring past him at nothing in particular. Then her gaze returned to his. “That’s her job, isn’t it? I mean, doesn’t she run all the DNA tests? Did she know whose it was?”

  “She says no. She says the paperwork that came with the samples was redacted. But she should have known. It’s not like St. Louis has had that many double murders.”

  “Well, that’s true. Wow.” Natalie was quiet for another moment. Then she leaned forward. “She didn’t say anything about the results, did she?”

  “Nope. Not a word.” Ash studied his younger sister. “I’m sorry, Nat. I didn’t want to upset you, but I thought you should know. I know you like Rachel.”

  “I do. Better than most of the women you’ve dated. She’s a really good person. All that and gorgeous, too. Your baby is going to be a knockout.”

  Ash groaned.

  Natalie drank the rest of her juice and headed toward the kitchen. At the door she turned around, frowning and rubbing her forehead. “What’s really bothering you, Ash? From what I know of Rachel, she’s honest and kind and good at her job. I don’t know a lot about DNA, but from what I understand, it’s pretty specific. Either the DNA is Rick Campbell’s or it isn’t.”

  She set down her glass, propped her fists on her hips and cocked her head. “You have no idea what’s wrong with you, do you?”

  Ash spread his hands. “With me? What are you talking about?”

  She stalked over to stand directly in front of him. “Come on, Ashton. It’s so obvious. Ash Kendall—Ashanova—” she held up her hands as if displaying headlines “—finally hoisted by his own petard.”

  He stood, shaking his head and digging his car keys from his pocket. “You’re not making any sense. I’d better go. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “Liar. You wanted me to tell you that everything is all Rachel’s fault. Well, I won’t. You can’t turn and walk away from her like you have every other woman you’ve dated.”

  “I’m not planning to. I’ll provide for the baby.”

  Natalie poked a finger into the middle of his chest. “You’ll do more than that. You might as well accept it. Rachel’s different, and not because of the baby. You’re in love with her. Everybody knows it. We’ve just been waiting for you to figure it out.”

  “You’re nuts,” he said with a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “I’m not in love with her, and you’d better not say a word about this to anyone, especially not Aunt Angie and Uncle Craig. They’re upset enough as it is.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Swear?”

  Natalie held up her right hand. “Swear. It’s going to be fun to watch you squirm. Because sooner or later it’s going to dawn on you that you haven’t stopped thinking about Rachel since the moment you first noticed her.”

  Ash ignored her and headed for the door. He turned back. “Nat, you’re sure you’re all right?”

  She nodded and smiled. “I’m fine. Thanks for taking care of me. Ash?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What happens now?”

  He wasn’t sure which shocking event she was talking about—Rachel’s pregnancy or the reanalysis of the DNA.

  “I mean, if Rick Campbell didn’t do it.”

  He shrugged and let out a long breath. “Then I guess I’m going to have to find the man who did kill our parents.”

  Chapter Four

  By the next afternoon, Ash was sick of hearing Natalie’s voice in his head. You’re in love with her. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He didn’t fall in love. He had fun, sure, and he did love women. But there was no place in his life for a family. He’d decided a long time ago that he didn’t believe in forever.

  “Okay, okay,” he muttered in a last-ditch effort to shut up Natalie’s nagging voice. “I’m working on a plan.” He’d start by apologizing to Rachel for being a jerk about her pregnancy and officially offer his help with raising the baby. He’d provide for the child’s rearing and education. And if Rachel agreed, he wanted to be a part of his son’s or daughter’s life.

  He’d woken in the middle of the night and discovered, to his surprise, that he wanted his child to know him. He knew Rachel would eventually get married. But she wouldn’t refuse to let him see his child—would she?

  He’d tried to call her but she hadn’t answered, so he’d gone over to her apartment. As he stepped up to the door, he noticed it wasn’t locked. It swung inward a fraction of an inch. He frowned. It wasn’t like Rachel to leave her door open. Then he saw the splintered wood on the far side of the door facing.

  Rachel! Someone had broken the door in. Adrenaline surged through him, upping his heart rate and tensing his muscles in fight-or-flight response.

  He instinctively rose to the balls of his feet as he glanced around at the other three doors off this breezeway, then pulled his Sig Sauer from the paddle holster at the small of his back.

  For two seconds, he stood perfectly still, taking deep, long breaths, working to calm his pounding heart. Then he held his gun in his right hand, his left supporting it, took one more deep breath and angled around the door. The sight before him ratcheted up his racing pulse. Rachel’s living room had been turned upside down.

  He eased forward, his gun held at the ready, as he took in the tossed couch cushions, DVDs scattered on the carpet, chairs overturned. Where was she? Was she hurt?

  He didn’t dare call out until he’d cleared the apartment. He moved across the room to check the bedroom. It was a mess, too, mattresses on the floor, bedclothes scattered, drawers ransacked. But no sign of an intruder.

  “Clear,” he whispered, glancing into the bathroom. Crossing to the kitchen, he eased around the door facing and saw Rachel.

  She was sprawled on the floor, dark blood staining the crown of her head.

  The sight sheared his breath. Only his strict military training and crime scene experience kept him from rushing to her side until he’d verified that there was no one else here. He checked the back door. Locked—a double dead bolt.

  Then he crouched down beside Rachel. She was breathing. Relief doused him like cold water.

  “Rach, wake up.” He put out a shaky hand. “It’s Ash. Are you okay?” The dark blood in her matted hair was wet and shiny. It had started to ooze down her neck and drip onto the floor.

  She stirred, moaning. “Ash?” she muttered. “My head—” She moved to
sit up, but he stopped her.

  “Careful,” he said. “You’re bleeding from your scalp. Does anything else hurt?”

  She turned her head so she could see him, and grimaced. “No. Maybe my knee. He pushed me down.” She got her hands under her and pushed. “Let me sit up,” she demanded.

  “Just wait a second. I don’t know if you should move. What about—?” He reached out toward her stomach. “What about the baby?”

  Rachel’s head snapped up and her golden eyes searched his. “The baby’s fine,” she said. “But I need to sit up.”

  He helped her. When she did, he saw her keys on the floor under her.

  She moaned a little, grimaced and then relaxed. She touched her head. Her hand came away stained with blood. “Oh,” she gasped.

  Her pain, shock and especially fear rekindled Ash’s anger—not toward her this time but on her behalf. His hand tightened on the gun and his vision darkened. Whoever had hurt her would have to answer to him.

  “How long has he been gone?” he asked as the urge to give chase tightened his leg muscles.

  “I’m not sure—maybe five minutes.”

  “Damn it.” Ash considered running outside to see if he saw anyone suspicious, but he’d already been here three or four minutes. The man was long gone by now.

  She touched her head again. “I was afraid to move. Afraid he’d hit me again or kill me. When I first heard your footsteps, I thought he’d come back.”

  “You’re sure it was a man?”

  She nodded gingerly. “I could tell by his voice.”

  “His voice? What did he say?”

  “Nothing to me. He was muttering to himself and cursing.”

  “Did you get a look at his face?”

  “No.”

  “His build? Complexion? Clothes?”

  “I—don’t know.” Her gaze met his, wide-eyed, worried. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. How are you feeling? No other pains? Are you sure—?” He stopped, his voice strangled by an odd tightening in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Are you sure the baby’s okay?”

  Her fingers spread across her tummy and she met his gaze. Her brow furrowed slightly as she shook her head. “I didn’t hit my stomach or land on it. I’m sure the baby’s fine.”

  “Turn your head. Let me look at that cut,” Ash told her. He examined the wound closely. “How badly does it hurt?” he asked.

  “Just kind of throbs and stings a little.”

  “I don’t think it’s more than a cut. Scalp wounds bleed like crazy.” He took out his phone. “But I’m going to call an ambulance anyhow.”

  “No,” she said emphatically.

  “Sorry, standard procedure.” He dialed. “This is Detective Ash Kendall. I’ve got a home invasion with injuries,” he said and gave the address. “And send an ambulance.”

  Rachel’s hazel eyes sparked with anger. “You’re getting an ambulance out here to bandage a cut on my head?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, standard procedure. They’ll check you out and issue an official report of your injuries. Don’t worry about it. Here, let me help you up.”

  He took her hands and helped her to her feet, then guided her to a chair. She seemed so small. His anger at whoever had done this flared again.

  He sat across from her, watching her closely. Her eyes weren’t dilated and she looked directly at him, so she wasn’t having trouble focusing. At least she didn’t have a concussion. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’d just lain down for a nap when I heard something. Like wood splintering. I realized someone had broken in the front door. I grabbed my keys and tried to run out the back door, but—” She paused and shuddered. “He grabbed me from behind and hit me on the head.”

  “With what?” Ash asked.

  “I don’t know. It hurt. I guess I was knocked out for a while, but I could hear him throwing things around and cursing.”

  Ash glanced back toward the kitchen. “He didn’t go out the back,” he said.

  “No. It’s a double dead bolt, and I guess I fell on top of my keys. He had to have gone out the front.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. “They’ll be here any minute,” he said. “As soon as the EMTs are done with you and the detectives question you, I’ll get you out of here.”

  “No. The way it sounded, he tore up everything. I need to put things back.”

  Ash stood and held out his hand. “You won’t be cleaning in here for a while.”

  “What about my clothes?” she asked.

  “Not ’til CSI gets through. You know the drill.”

  Her face shut down. She nodded. “Do you think I could have a drink of water?”

  Ash smiled at her. “I think we could manage that.” He filled a glass from the cold water dispenser on her refrigerator and handed it to her. She sipped it carefully, trying not to tilt her head much.

  He sat at the table across from her. There was dark, dried blood on her neck and occasionally she’d brush at it with her fingertips.

  Ash closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sight of the dried blood catapulted him back twenty years, just as it did every time he worked a violent crime, to the morning he’d woken to hear Natalie’s screams. He’d worked dozens of murders and assaults in his eight years on the job, and every one of them evoked that awful morning.

  He’d been thirteen, too young to have prevented his parents’ deaths, but old enough to feel guilty that he hadn’t. Time and wisdom had allowed him to forgive himself.

  After all, the kids’ rooms had been in a separate wing of the mansion. The police had said that if their bedrooms had been near their parents’ room, they all might have been killed.

  Ash knew himself well enough to know that he’d chosen law enforcement as a way to make up for not saving his parents. Every time he collared a murderer, he felt a little less empty, a little less damaged by his mom and dad’s violent deaths.

  Now he was going to be a parent himself. That odd tightness started in his chest again. He’d come over to Rachel’s apartment to acknowledge his responsibility to her and the baby, but now, seeing her so hurt and small, he realized his heart hadn’t really been in it. He’d resigned himself to doing his duty toward her and their child—nothing else. Just his duty.

  But now, someone had hurt her and could have hurt his baby—their baby. Something primal swelled up within him—a fierce protectiveness—adding to the mix of anger and that other emotion he couldn’t name.

  “Rach,” he said, glancing over at her.

  Her eyes met his.

  “I swear to God, I’m going to find who did this. And until I do, I’m not letting you out of my sight. You and that baby are my responsibility, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone get close enough to hurt you again.”

  Rachel’s brow wrinkled and she looked down at the water glass.

  He watched her trace the condensation on its side with a finger. She hadn’t liked what she’d heard, and he knew why. His intention had been to reassure her, but it hadn’t come out exactly right. He’d sounded harsh and angry.

  From the look she’d given him, it appeared she didn’t believe him. She had to know he could take care of her. So why did he get the feeling she didn’t want him to?

  THE POLICE AND the EMTs arrived at the same time. Rachel found herself in the hands of two young men in scrubs who cleaned the blood from her scalp wound, then called over a policeman who took photographs. Once he was done, one of the EMTs applied something to the cut that stole her breath, it stung so badly.

  “I’m putting sterile strips on the cut,” he told her. “It’s not bad enough for stitches. It’s shallow and about two centimeters—that’s about three quarters of an inch.” She nodded.

  “Don’t wash your hair for a day or two, then have it looked at. It should be closing up by then. If your head hurts, take some acetaminophen or ibuprofen. And it would be a good idea if you stayed with someone tonight, so they could check on you about ev
ery four hours, just to be sure your pupils are equal in size and you aren’t feeling dizzy or seeing double.”

  She didn’t have anyone she could stay with, certainly no one she could call at this hour. But that was okay. She felt fine, except for the throbbing headache and the blurred feeling in her brain.

  As she thanked the EMTs, she saw Detective Neil Chasen coming toward her. He was a big man, tall and muscular, with skin so dark it almost looked black. She smiled at him.

  “Rachel, how’s your head?”

  She made a wry face. “Hurts.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Neil sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ll get this over with as quickly as possible. I need to ask you some questions about the person who attacked you.”

  She nodded gingerly. Every movement of her head increased the throbbing. She much preferred the intense but quickly gone burning of the medication to the persistent headache she had now.

  “Take me through what happened,” Neil said. “Start with when you got home.”

  “I stopped at the grocery after work, so I got home about six. I put the groceries away, and decided to lie down for a few minutes.” She paused, debating whether to tell Neil she was pregnant. She decided it wasn’t relevant. “I don’t think I went to sleep. I heard a crash, like wood splintering, then I heard the front door swing open and hit the wall. It squeaks. So I knew someone had broken in.”

  “Do you know what time that was?”

  “No.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. It read 7:15. “Maybe 6:15 or so?”

  “Okay.” Neil was scribbling in his notebook. “Go ahead.”

  “I grabbed my keys and ran for the back door, but before I could get there, he grabbed me from behind and hit me on the head.”

  “When you say grabbed—”

  She closed her eyes, trying to relive the terrifying feeling of his hand stopping her. “I think he caught the back of my shirt.”

  “Where’s the wound? Can I look at it?”

  “Sure.” She turned her head and pulled the hair away so he could see the cut.

  “It’s on the left side.” Neil sat back down and wrote some more. “He must have grabbed you with his right hand and swung the weapon with his left.” Neil acted out his theory. “Maybe a lefty. Then what?”