Daddy With A Badge. Paula Riggs Detmer
“Yes, I think that one way or another he was responsible. The evidence was too sketchy to make a case, however, and the charges against him were dropped. We kept him under surveillance, of course, but he managed to slip out of town undetected during a bad snowstorm.”
It jolted her, he saw, but she pulled herself together enough to ask calmly, “When…when did this happen?”
“December 2nd last year.”
“I met Jonathan on December 27th.”
“Where exactly was that, Doctor?” Seth asked.
“On board the SS Holiday Pleasure. My father and my brother had arranged for the cruise as a surprise.”
“You went alone?”
“Yes.” She took a breath, then looked down at her hands. Her nails were filed short with clear polish. She wore no rings. A platinum-and-emerald wedding set had been included on the list of stolen property. Hers from her marriage to Fabrizio, he assumed.
“My daughter Lyssa was severely injured in the accident that killed her father. She was in ICU for weeks with major internal injuries and then in and out of the hospital for months after that.” She drew a breath. “The paramedics said that it had been a miracle Lyssa had survived. As it was her legs had been broken and one side of her face had been badly cut.”
“No airbags?” Gresham asked quietly.
She shook her head. “My husband had just finished restoring an old Jag XK-150 and he’d driven it that weekend because he wanted to show his father. The state trooper who investigated said he probably would have survived if he’d been driving my Lexus or his Cherokee, both of which have airbags.”
“You weren’t with them, then?” Rafe asked, although he was pretty sure she hadn’t been.
“No, Mark and Lys had gone down to the vineyard for the weekend, but I’d stayed home to catch up on case notes.”
“Vineyard?” Gresham asked.
“Mark’s family owns Fabrizio and Sons Wine. My father and brothers run Mancini Vineyard. The two properties adjoin one another in the foothills west of Ashland which is close to the California border.”
Gresham’s eyes lit up and he broke into a grin. “Great wines! I especially like Mancini’s Pinot Noir.”
Rafe shot him a look and he lost the grin.
“Thank you,” she said with a brief smile.
“How is your daughter now?” Rafe asked before lifting the mug to his mouth for a sip.
“Bouncing back, finally, but it was a long haul.”
“How about you? Are you bouncing back, too?”
Following his example she took a sip and tried to decide how much of herself to reveal. “It’s funny,” she said finally. “I ran a workshop in grief management when I first started practicing. I had all the tools, but somehow I was so busy taking care of Lys and trying to keep my practice going I guess I forgot to use them.” She lifted an impatient hand and skimmed back the thick hair that still shimmered like a raven’s wing in the sun when she turned her head. Her face had grown pale, highlighting the freckles splashed over the bridge of her nose. He’d counted them once between teasing kisses. Now he no longer remembered—or cared—how many there had been.
“I had sort of a meltdown on what would have been our twelfth anniversary. My family was already worried about me, and after that my father decided I needed to get away and relax. He arranged everything, even had my secretary reschedule my patients for the ten days I’d be away. I flew from Portland to L.A. the day after Christmas and boarded the boat the next day. I met Jonathan when he sat next to me at dinner the first night out.” Her face tightened. “If he’d come on to me, I might have been suspicious, but he was a perfect gentleman.”
She rubbed her palm up and down her arm as though trying to warm herself. “It seems even more horrible when I think about him touching me with the same hands he might have used to…to kill someone.”
Suddenly, her cheeks turned the color of putty, and sweat broke out on her forehead. With a garbled moan, she set her mug on the glass-topped coffee table, then struggled to push herself out of the deep cushions.
Rafe put his own mug on the table with a sharp crack and got to his feet. Gresham did the same. Rafe reached her first.
“Danni—”
“Don’t, please,” she cried before clamping her hand over her mouth. Before he could stop her, she pushed him away and spun around to race toward the back of the house and the bathroom he remembered seeing there.
Chapter 4
“Danni, answer me, damn it! Are you all right?”
On her knees with her head over the toilet, Danni was too busy being miserably sick to reply. When the spasm passed, she grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped her mouth with a shaky hand. In recent weeks she had discovered a basic truth—morning sickness was definitely not for the fainthearted.
It was also, unfortunately, not confined to the morning.
“Danni!”
“I’m fine,” she croaked.
“You don’t sound fine,” Rafe declared in a dangerous tone.
“You’ll just have to take my word for it!” Too weak to move just yet, she sat down on the hard tile, and rested her head on her bent knees. The dizziness ebbed, only to be replaced by a growing clamminess that had her feeling hot on the inside and cold on the outside. She moaned, closed her eyes.
Obviously a man determined to have his own way, he rattled the knob. “Unlock the door, Daniela, or I swear I’ll kick it in.”
“Will you please go away?” she grated impatiently. “I’m being revoltingly sick in here, and I don’t need an audience.”
He greeted that with an ominous silence that lasted for several beats before he muttered a curse in Spanish that had her wincing. “Ten more minutes, and then I’m coming in to make sure you’re all right.”
Since she’d never known Rafe to make a threat he wasn’t willing to carry out, she took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and pushed herself to her feet. Her head swam and bile surged to her throat. Her knees wanted to buckle.
I embrace perfect health and emotional serenity, she chanted silently. I am strong and capable and confident.
I am woman. Hear me roar.
She groaned silently. At the moment a newborn kitten had a louder roar.
Locking her knees, she forced her head up and opened her eyes. The wan face in the mirror staring back at her with hollow eyes was enough to make her queasy all over again.
After turning on the cold tap she grabbed a facecloth from the rod and bathed the hot skin until it started to tingle. She brushed her teeth until her gums felt raw, then ran her fingers through her lifeless hair and pinched color into her pale cheeks.
Oh God, could she really have married a killer?
Her lungs suddenly felt thick and sluggish, making it difficult to draw breath. How could she not have seen the violence in him? How could she not have felt it when he’d touched her? How could she know with any certainty that her judgment during therapy sessions was any sounder?
Dear heavens, what if her patients found out? How could they trust her? A humorless laugh ran through her mind. If her patients found out, she wouldn’t have any patients.
Another thought rose, even more terrifying. Starved for a father’s love, Lyssa had bonded with her new stepfather within only a few weeks. At the time she’d been touched by how sweet Jonathan had been with her. Now she knew it had all been part of his sick game.
She drew a shaky breath and tried not