The Baby Thief Read online

  “Press them against his wound, please.”

  For six long minutes, they worked together over Arthur, their faces inches apart. Jenna became aware the stranger had had pesto for dinner and was clean shaven. His presence gave her comfort and she didn’t know why.

  Finally, the paramedics arrived.

  Chapter 3

  Wednesday, Oct 25, 1:03 a.m.

  Eric Troutman had quietly taken a few pictures of Jenna as she gave compressions to the wounded man. He still had guilt about observing and recording other people’s trauma. But this was the best story he’d ever witnessed, and he couldn’t let it go without at least a couple of shots. He’d almost bolted when she asked him to help. The sight of blood sometimes made him queasy. But she had been so determined, so fearless; how could not do his part?

  Jenna McClure. He’d learned her name from one of the restaurant staff. Eric was impressed. She was more than just good copy. She was someone he wanted to know. He’d stopped by the hospital long enough to find out Brentwood had died and was now headed downtown to the police station, hoping to find Jenna. He had visions of an in-depth interview and a front-page story in the Oregonian. Maybe even a second piece, a personality profile, for Northwest Lifestyle. His career needed a good jolt.

  He’d been freelancing since being laid off the newspaper a year ago. He had a lot less money now, but he liked the features he writing a lot more. After ten years on the crime beat, the stories all started to sound the same. No one ever told the whole truth anyway, not the cops, the criminals, or the victims. He’d become desensitized to people’s traumas and had hated himself for it.

  He was happier now, but sometimes he missed the excitement, the adrenaline rush of being a half-step ahead of a big breaking news story. The year he’d won the Pulitzer had been the best and worst of his life. His series on abusive foster parents and the Children’s Services personnel who looked the other way generated the largest response the paper ever had. Before the ruckus died down, the Children’s Services director was replaced and a citizen review board established. But the children still haunted him.

  Eric shuddered and reached for the radio, needing to shake off the images of the battered children. The gaping hole in the dashboard reminded him the radio had been stolen a few weeks back. Still wanting to brighten his mood, he sang the chorus of “I Feel Good,” an old James Brown song.

  It was his own fault the radio had been ripped off. After he sold his police scanner and CB radio, he’d quit locking his car, figuring no one would bother a ’72 Firebird. If they did, he wanted to make it easy. Used radios were cheap and easy to come by; windows were not. He could afford a nicer car, but he couldn’t bring himself to spend the money. Not yet, anyway. His Firebird still ran fine and had a good working heater. Besides, he liked old cars. Today’s designs didn’t compare to the classics.

  The downtown streets were deserted at one o’clock in the morning except for an occasional party car, the occupants oblivious to everything but their own music. Eric ignored the speed limit signs. After working the crime beat for years he knew most of the cops and could probably talk himself out of a ticket. He was determined to get to the police station before they finished questioning Jenna. He had to see her tonight. The compulsion was overwhelming, and Eric never ignored his instincts. It was more than just a story. Jenna was too special to let her slip away, unexplored.

  Eric was surprised by Jenna’s attractiveness when he saw her pass through the open security door and walk into the police department lobby. He hadn’t noticed it during the chaos. He’d been aware of the overall package, her athletic build and sun-kissed complexion, but hadn’t really taken in the caramel-colored eyes and sensuous, unpainted lips. She’d let her hair down now, a thick mass of curls that matched her eyes and seemed slightly out of control.

  Eric shook his head. He’d sworn never to get hung up on a woman’s looks again. The gorgeous ones were always trouble. Fortunately, she wasn’t really his type. The executive-style matching skirt and jacket were a turnoff. Eric hated suits on anybody, male or female. They intimidated him, made him feel instinctively rebellious. But as she stood there, eyes blinking, Jenna looked so tired and vulnerable that Eric wanted to put his arms around her. Instead he offered his hand.

  “Eric Troutman, freelance journalist.”

  She hesitated, then leaned forward and gave his hand a quick powerful squeeze.

  “Jenna McClure. Thanks for helping back at the restaurant. What do you want?”

  “To buy you a cup of coffee. Hear your story.” He smiled his best ‘you’re-gonna-love-me’ smile.

  “You were there. There’s not much more to tell. ”

  “I was in the dining room and missed most of the action.” Eric kept smiling. “I want to hear your backstory too.

  “I have to go home and get some sleep.” She turned away.

  “Tomorrow?” Eric couldn’t let her get away. He had to see her again. “I’ll buy you lunch. Anywhere you like.”

  Jenna turned back, lips pressed tightly together. Little flecks of dark brown glinted against the lighter shade of her irises. “I just spent two hours with the police, going through the whole ugly thing over and over. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m sorry, but I have to go now.”

  Eric reached for her arm, but Jenna jerked away. Eric wanted to kick himself. The poor woman had just been robbed at gunpoint. The last thing she needed was some stranger grabbing her. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Oh shit, why had he called her ‘ma’am’? Women under fifty hated that. He tried again. “You’ve had a rough night. Do you have a ride home?”

  “I can call a cab.” She walked toward the exit.

  Eric called after her. “Sooner or later you’ll talk to someone from the press just to get them off your back. I’d be honored if you’d let it be me.”

  Jenna stopped. “Why you?”

  Her expression was stern, but her eyes smiled. He was getting through. Or maybe she liked his perseverance.

  “Because I was there. Because I won’t ask you stupid questions like, ‘How did it feel to have that gun at your head?’ Because,” Eric paused for dramatic effect, “I know what a hero you are, and I have an obligation to share that triumph with a public starved for some good news among all the chaos and fear.”

  Jenna threw back her head and laughed, an uninhibited roar. The front desk officer looked up and smiled.

  “What a load of crap,” she said finally. “You’re gonna make a buck off someone’s misfortune just like everybody else in the news business.” She half smiled. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, I’ll take that ride if it’s still offered.”

  * * *

  Jenna had never felt so tired in all her life, not even after the first time she’d done a full hour on the stair-stepper at Court Sports. At least a heavy-duty workout made her feel stronger, more worthwhile. Standing in the shabby lobby of the police station at one in the morning made her feel diminished.

  But the reporter seemed to vibrate with energy. And that grin, what was that about? Jenna chewed the inside of her cheek as they headed outside. He was attractive and charming in his own way, but she wished she hadn’t accepted his offer of a ride. She would have to do the interview now as a payback. Where would they meet? The idea of sitting in a public restaurant made her uneasy. Maybe she could cancel at the last minute, tell him she got called into work. The thought of going back into Geronimo’s also filled her with dread. Jenna shivered.

  “Are you all right?” The concern in his voice warmed her heart, but the trembling in her arms and legs wouldn’t stop.

  “No, not really.”

  He moved in closer and put his arm lightly around her shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink. If anybody ever needed one, you do.”

  Jenna let him guide her across the empty downtown street to an older, slightly beat-up car. She had no idea what make it was and didn’t care. It was big and comforta
ble, and Eric opened the door for her, which seemed amazingly sweet.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes, Jenna thinking that under any other circumstances she would never get into a car with a man she didn’t know. Yet after what she’d been through, Eric felt as safe and comfortable as a cup of hot chocolate.

  A green station wagon with a glowing yellow taxi light passed them. In an hour, when the bars closed, there would be a little surge of traffic, but now the streets were empty. Even with a population of 130,000 and more than its share of world-class runners, Eugene was still a small town.

  “How long have you lived here?” Eric wanted to know, as if reading her mind.

  “Five years. Up until tonight, I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to move.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I moved here from Seattle, but I was born and raised in Astoria.” Jenna shuddered as the memory of Bob’s voice and the pressure of the gun played in her head. She’d left Seattle to get away from an escalating crime rate. Eugene had been her first choice because it was close to her mother who lived in Florence, a small town sixty miles away on the coast.

  “A real native. By the way, where are we going?”

  “Riverside Apartments, just past Valley River Center.”

  “I was going to buy you a drink, remember?” Eric glanced over with a look she couldn’t read.

  “I think I’d better go home. I’m starting to feel shaky.”

  “You’re entitled. I couldn’t see what was happening from my chicken-shit place on the floor, but it sounded rough in there.”

  Jenna was silent. Every response she came up with sounded trite. Earlier, the police detective had referred to the robbers as “the clown and the cowboy.” It bothered her that the men had nicknames, as if it were all a game not to be taken too seriously. She might not ever be able to talk about this night, she realized.

  Jenna shivered again. The heat of an Indian summer day was long gone, replaced with the chill of an October night. She wanted desperately to be home.

  “Should I turn on the heat?”

  “Please.”

  “They’ll get these guys. I have a good friend in the department who never gives up.”

  “What if they do catch them? I’ll have to testify. I’ll have to sit in the same courtroom with those assholes.” She fought for control, but her fear gathered strength and poured out in an angry stream. “There’s only a fifty-fifty chance they’ll ever go to jail, and if they do, they’ll be out again in a few years. Our justice system is insane.”

  “I know how you feel.”

  “I’m not sure you do.”

  Jenna didn’t think she would ever feel safe again. Nobody was ever safe anywhere. The papers proved it every morning. Innocent people gunned down by some lunatic having a bad day.

  The car slowed, and she realized they were almost there. They turned into the complex and Jenna pointed to the left, her throat too dry and tight to speak. Suddenly the thought of being alone in her apartment terrified her. What if someone had broken in while she was gone? What if he was hiding and waiting? Jenna knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t get the image out of her mind.

  She swallowed hard. “Will you walk me up please? Maybe take a look around my apartment. I’m not ready to be alone just yet.”

  “Of course.” Eric pulled into a visitor’s space and shut off the engine. He reached over and found her hand. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. Scout’s honor, and I mean that in the most gentlemanly way.”

  * * *

  She smiled when he said that, and Eric was pleased that she trusted him. He tried to imagine how vulnerable she must feel and failed. He hadn’t been physically threatened since his big growth spurt at age twelve and didn’t know what it was like to be afraid for his life. This woman needed him to make her feel safe. It would be tough not to take her beautiful face in his hands and press his mouth against those luscious, trembling lips, but he wouldn’t violate her tender trust in him no matter how badly he wanted her.

  Jenna’s hands shook so much she couldn’t get the key in the lock. Eric gently took her keys and opened the door.

  “I’ll check everything out first.” He opened the closet door in the foyer and stuck his head in to demonstrate his intentions. A blanket on the shelf caught his eye, so he brought it to Jenna and encouraged her to sit on the couch.

  He watched her for a moment, then methodically went through her apartment. He could have cheated, feeling quite confident that no one was in her apartment, but he didn’t. Jenna had asked him to make her feel safe and he wouldn’t let her down.

  Her bedroom was a little messy, with books and clothes scattered around. But that was all right; superficial clutter he could deal with. The bathroom sparkled with a recent cleaning, and Eric was relieved. He couldn’t stand a crusty bathroom or kitchen. The most surprising think about her apartment was the sparseness, the lack of knickknacks, the wide-open wall spaces. It looked as if she hadn’t lived there long.

  In the kitchen, he poured two glasses of wine and carried them to where Jenna sat, wrapped in a big comforter.

  “I see you found bottle of white Zin that’s been in my fridge forever.” Her smile was gone and she sounded far away. “I don’t usually drink much.”

  “Me either, but it sounds good right now.” Eric stood for a moment trying to decide if he should sit next to her on the couch or in the rocking chair by the window. He wanted to be comforting, but without making her uneasy.

  “Come sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

  Eric eased himself down on the couch, leaving a large space between them. Now what? he wondered. Do I make small talk? Or do I encourage her to talk about the robbery? Eric suddenly felt inadequate. He picked up his wine and drank it down. He noticed Jenna had already finished hers. “Can I get you another glass?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

  She shook her head. Her eyes misted over and her lips pressed together in a tight line. Eric realized what she really needed was another woman, a good friend who would let Jenna cry on her shoulder. He could do that; he could be there for her. Eric eased over and gently draped his arm around Jenna. Her body relaxed.

  “Tomorrow will be better. I promise.”

  * * *

  Jenna leaned against him, instinctively knowing she could trust this man. In a moment she started to cry. She was too exhausted to be embarrassed. She gave in to the sobs, purging herself of the day’s poisons. Eric stroked her hair and whispered soothing sounds. His kindness made her cry harder.

  How long had it been since she’d felt someone’s arms around her? The warmth of Eric’s body, the softness of his flannel shirt, the faint scent of aftershave. It seemed so natural, so necessary. How long had she lived alone without the simple touch of another person? What if today had been her last?

  Jenna kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, hoping he would not misunderstand, yet wishing with all her heart he would stay.

  “My pleasure.” He tried to sound casual, but his voice betrayed him. His eyes searched hers for understanding.

  She kissed his mouth this time, with only the slightest touch, feeling her lips tremble as they met his. His body tensed, and her heart began to hammer. Eric’s lips swelled against hers with a heat that made her lightheaded. He held back, giving her a chance to change her mind. Jenna couldn’t have stopped herself if she wanted to. It felt too right. Her other choice was to let him leave, and that she couldn’t bear. She pressed her mouth against his, letting him know the depth of her need.

  Eric responded with equal passion, his big hands pressing her into the circle of his strength. Slowly and gently, he melted the tension from her body with his touch. In time, everything around her disappeared, including the horror of the day. Jenna’s only awareness was Eric, his strength, his passion, his tenderness.

  Her joy came as a surpri
se, bringing tears to her eyes. Jenna would have been content to simply not be alone.

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday, Oct. 25, 5:55 p.m.

  “Let us have a moment of silent prayer.” Reverend David Carmichael lowered his voice to the softness of a caress. Moments earlier he’d been shouting, caught up in his sermon about unconditional faith. But his mind was on money. The church was broke, few donations were coming in, and Carmichael was worried. They’d been in financial binds before, but never like this one. He clenched his hands together and begged God for a miracle. The women and children kneeling before him were his family. They counted on him, and he couldn’t let them down.

  When the children got restless, Carmichael looked up. “Who among us has a special need for prayer?” He scanned the room, stopping to make eye contact with Tamara, who’d been withdrawn lately. Tamara, along with Rachel and Marilynn and a few others, had a special place in his heart. They’d been with him from the beginning, when the church was meeting in rented basements and sharing Bibles. But the dozens who’d joined over the years had been welcomed with open arms. The more the merrier, as his mother always said. His family had grown from within, too. Women were blessed with the gift of life.

  Carmichael sighed when Sarah raised her hand. He knew verbatim what she would say.

  “Please pray the Lord will purge my mind and body of desire so that I may serve him with a pure heart.” Sarah was a very sweet sixteen, but the issue of her overactive hormones was becoming tiresome. Carmichael had been tempted more than once to initiate her in the joys of the flesh. But he had resisted. Sex between unmarried adults was not a sin in his church, and few of his followers would condemn him for it. But Tamara would never forgive him if he slept with her daughter.

  Carmichael kept it brief. “Dear Lord, watch over and guide Sarah so that she serves you in every thought and deed.” He gave the girl a quick nod, then looked around. “Anyone else in need of prayer?”

  Silence. Heads bowing to avoid his gaze.