Save Her Child by CJ Lyons (best historical biographies txt) 📗

how quiet the baby was, his lungs sounded clear, no heart murmurs, everything looked good. She hefted him, guessing his weight: a good size—he was probably close to full term.

“No name. Not yet. Can I hold him?”

“Better than that, I want you to put him directly against you; skin to skin is the best way to keep him warm. We’ll keep both of you on the monitor until we can get you to the hospital, but everything looks good so far.” She held onto the bedrail to keep her balance as she maneuvered up to the head of the gurney.

Beth gasped and tears appeared as she reached for her baby. “It’s you,” she whispered as she cradled him against her breast. “I’ve been dreaming of you for so long and now you’re finally here.”

Leah blinked back her own tears at the sight of the mother and baby. Deliveries always got to her, the miracle of life wrought through pain and blood and fear and ending in hope. She glanced at the medic and saw him swiping away his own tears with the back of his shirtsleeve. He gave her a sheepish shrug and she grinned in return.

She checked Beth’s vitals and massaged her belly, hoping that the placenta could wait until they got to the OB floor—delivering it was always a mess.

“Now that things are calmed down,” the medic said, pulling out his clipboard. “I need a little information for our record. Let’s start with your name.”

Beth kept her head bent over the baby, arms tightening around him as if she was afraid he would be taken from her.

“Beth?” Leah touched her arm. “We’re trying to help you. Can you tell us your full name?”

Beth shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the baby, lips pressed tight.

Leah and the medic exchanged glances. “Beth, this is all confidential. If you’re scared of someone or running away, it’s okay. We just want to give you and your baby the best care possible.”

Beth looked up, meeting Leah’s eyes with an expression that was more than fear; it was sheer terror. “No. I’ve said too much already. They’ll find me. I can’t let them find me.” She clutched her baby tighter. “Can’t let them find us.”

Nine

Harper heard her father’s voice and came to an abrupt stop, almost dropping the glass of water she held. The glass was made of crystal so thin and elegant that it probably cost more than her take-home pay. Wouldn’t that make a lovely impression of competence, smashing it to bits simply because she was startled? But then, what would the Reverend think of her fetching water in the first place? Would he assume that Luka didn’t trust her with real detective work, that she was only here as a token? It was what a lot of the patrol officers she’d left behind would think. She could deal with them making false assumptions, but not the Reverend.

She forced herself to take a breath. She was an adult now, a professional—just like the Reverend. She had a job to do and the fact that it was practically her first day and her father would be watching her do it, well, all that fell under the category of “suck it up and deal.” After all, a man was dead and it was Harper’s job to do whatever it took to see that he received the justice he deserved.

Harper took another breath to steady her nerves and strolled back into the living room to hand Tassi the glass of water. She acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her father to be present at a death scene—which it actually was, given his profession. Although she’d never thought of any of his parishioners dying in a manner that would draw the attention of the police. Given how traumatized Tassi appeared to be, it was good that the Reverend had come to offer her spiritual comfort.

Tassi clutched the glass with both hands, staring into it, while Harper stepped over to join Luka. The Reverend stopped midsentence, his gaze barely pausing on Harper before he turned to Luka, angling his shoulders to exclude her.

“Sergeant Jericho, do you really think it’s appropriate to assign my daughter to a case where we might be forced to play an adversarial role?”

“Adversarial role?” Luka said. “Reverend Harper, I thought you were here to offer spiritual support.”

“Clearly Tassi is in no condition to answer any of your questions. The fact that you seem oblivious to that makes me think I need to advise my client to assert her constitutional rights.”

“Client?” Luka glanced at Harper, obviously hoping for a translation.

“My father is more than head of the church,” Harper explained. “The Reverend also acts as an attorney for many of his parishioners.”

Luka turned to the Reverend. “You’re a lawyer?”

The Reverend drilled Luka with a stare but Luka didn’t flinch.

“My father insisted I learn a trade that would be of benefit to our congregation, as has been customary in our family for generations,” the Reverend explained. “I am both a doctor of divinity and a doctor of jurisprudence, specializing in family law. My sons have followed our family tradition—” He avoided even the slightest glance in Harper’s direction, a not-so-subtle reminder of her choice to rebel against the Reverend’s wishes. “My oldest, Jacob, has a master’s in communication, Jonah is a licensed social worker, and John is a certified financial planner.”

Luka’s expression didn’t change as he absorbed this information, but his posture shifted slightly, and Harper knew he was preparing to alter his tactics. “Family law. So you wrote Spencer Standish’s will for him?”

“Yes, as well as creating the family trust he established so that Tassi will be taken care of after his death. With Tassi’s permission, I can provide you with copies—save you the time of obtaining a court order.”

Tassi nodded, her gaze fixated on the depths of the glass she cradled. She didn’t seem to care that the men were speaking over her