Shattered Lullaby Read online

  ERAISE FOR 43 LIGHT STREET

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Directory

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Previous titles by REBECCA YORK 43 Light Street books:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Copyright

  Eraise for 43 Light Street

  NOWHERE MAN

  “...a to-die-for hero, chilling suspense and an unforgettable love story.”†

  “...one of the most heart-wrenching, moving works of romantic suspense in years.”*

  FATHER AND CHILD

  “...great, one-sitting romantic suspense that will kneep readers on the edge of the seats from start to finish.”*

  FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

  “Few write suspense like Rebecca York.”‡

  FACE TO FACE

  “Harlequin’s first lady of suspense...a marvelous storyteller, Ms. York cleverly develops an intricate plotted romance to challenge our imaginations and warm our hearts.”†

  PRINCE OF TIME

  “Get ready for the time of your life.... Breathtaking excitement and exotic romance... in the most thrilling 43 Light Street adventure yet!”†

  TILL DEATH US DO PART

  “Readers will delight in every page.”‡

  TANGLED VOWS

  “A bravura performance by one of the best writers ever of quality romantic suspense.”†

  *Harriet Klausner, Amazon.com

  †Melinda Helfer, Romantic Times

  ‡Debbie Richardson, Romantic Times

  Dear Reader,

  We all have favorite themes in the romance novels we read. One of mine is the good woman who isn’t married but who becomes pregnant—and then must cope on her own with the emotional turmoil and problems of unwed motherhood. Will she tell the man she loves that she’s carrying his child? If she does, how will he react? Do they have a chance of happiness together now that he unexpectedly has to face the responsibilities of fatherhood?

  These are some of the issues I deal with in Shattered Lullaby, the story of Jessie Douglas and Miguel Valero. And, of course, because it’s the kind of book I love to write, all these personal problems play out against a background of intrigue and danger, since Miguel is on the run from a man who will go to any lengths to kill him—and anyone who gets close to him. Miguel thinks his fugitive status limits his choices, but he doesn’t realize that in Jessie Douglas he’s found a woman strong enough to cope with his deadly dilemma.

  Since I’ve been writing on my own as Rebecca York, I’ve been able to explore many of the themes that fuel my own fantasies. In the Light Street Book I’m writing now, Midnight Caller, I’m telling the story of Meg Faulkner, who thinks she’s working to overthrow a man beneath contempt, a man with terrible secrets that must be exposed. But once she gets close to Glenn Bridgman, she doesn’t know whose side she’s on anymore, Think of it as a kind of “Beauty and the Beast story,” although Glenn Bridgman’s anguish comes from his tortured past, not his considerable physical presence.

  I hope you enjoy Shaffered Lullaby and the many more 43 Light Street Books I’m planning.

  All my best,

  Ruth Glick, writing as Rebecca York

  Rebecca York SHATTERED LULLABY

  Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYD • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  Directory

  43 LIGHT STREET

  Room

  ADVENTURES IN TRAVEL 204

  ABIGAIL FRANKLIN, Ph.D. 509

  KATHRYN KELLEY, Ph.D.

  Clinical Psychology

  BIRTH DATA, INC. 322

  INNER HARBOR PRODUCTIONS 404

  THE LIGHT STREET FOUNDATION 322

  KATHRYN MARTIN-McQUADE, M.D. 515

  Branch Office, Medizone Labs

  O‘MALLEY & LANCER 518

  Detective Agency

  LAURA ROSWELL, LL.B. 311

  Attorney at Law

  SABRINA’S FANCY Lobby

  STRUCTURAL DESIGN GROUP 407

  NOEL ZACHARIAS 311

  Paralegal Service

  L. ROSSINI Lower Level

  Superintendent

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Miguel Valero (aka Miguel Diego)—He was running for his life and ran straight into the arms of a woman he couldn’t forget.

  Jessie Douglas—She fell in love with a man who was afraid to let her into his life.

  Luis—When he wasn’t packing a gun, he was just a normal kid.

  Erin Stone—She was willing to go out on a limb to help Jessie.

  Katie Martin-McQuade—Would Dr. McQuade treat a patient without revealing his identity?

  Carlos Jurado—Only one man—Miguel Valero— stood between him and a new life.

  Georgie Coda—Jessie Douglas made a fool of him, and he vowed to get even.

  Officer Waverly—Why was he making trouble for Miguel?

  Ramon Martinez—He had the power to make life hell for Miguel—if he could find him.

  Eduardo Sombra—He was a paid killer, so Miguel and Jessie were just another assignment.

  Jim Alvarez—He took the moral high ground—when it suited his purposes.

  Andres Cuento—Could a dead man come back to life?

  Previous titles by REBECCA YORK 43 Light Street books:

  Life Line

  Shattered Vows

  Whispers in the Night

  Only Skin Deep

  Trial by Fire

  Hopscotch

  Cradle and All

  What Child Is This?

  Midnight Kiss

  Tangled Vows

  Till Death Us Do Part

  Prince of Time

  Face to Face

  For Your Eyes Only

  Father and Child

  Nowhere Man

  Shattered Lullaby

  Peregrine Connection books:

  Talons of the Falcon

  Flight of the Raven

  In Search of the Dove

  Don’t miss the next 43 Light Street:

  A Special Duet

  August 1999

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the

  following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  Chapter One

  Lock the office door.

  That was the most important rule when working late at night. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Jessie Douglas realized she’d forgotten to throw the bolt.

  Sitting up straighter, she ran a nervous hand through her blond hair. She’d been focused on the pile of reports on her desk, each one representing a family on the edge of desperation—like Mrs. Sierra, who needed help paying for day care because her husband had disappeared and left her with two young children.

  Jessie had been writing a request for stopgap funding for the family, when a sound like stealthy footsteps penetrated her concentration.

  Was there really someone out there in the darkness beyond the circle of light cast by
her desk lamp? Swinging her chair away from the computer screen, she peered into the black well of the waiting room, praying that her weary mind was only playing tricks; praying that all she heard was the pounding of her own pulse in her ears.

  Maybe the door actually was locked, she told herself hopefully. Or the building superintendent, Lou Rossini, might have let himself into the office and was trying hard to be quiet now that he realized she was working late. Sure. And maybe elephants can fly.

  Several agonizing seconds ticked by as she wiped her suddenly damp hands against her slacks and waited for confirmation of one of a woman’s worst fears. Under the new tile flooring, an old oak board squeaked, the sound pricking the skin at the back of her neck. Someone was out there, all right—someone sneaking across the floor, stalking toward her office, step by careful step.

  Her eyes darted around the little room until they focused on the telephone just six inches from her hand. She could call 911.

  No good. She’d be scooped up long before help could arrive.

  She was on her own. Her gaze darted around her office, and fixed on the green metal Statue of Liberty that a grateful client had given her last year. It was pretty tall, and heavy for a paperweight. Maybe if she hid it below the desk, she could use it as a weapon.

  But it was too late for even that minimal protection. Before she could grab the statue, a figure stepped purposefully out of the darkness of the waiting room into the partially lit doorway.

  Too bad she hadn’t turned on the overhead light, Jessica thought as she squinted at the shadowed shape, trying to guess his intentions, trying to make the image there square with the menacing picture her mind had conjured up.

  His body blocked her escape route as he stood dead center in the doorway, with his mouth set in a grim line and his eyes narrowed under their straight black brows. The picture was spoiled by his diminutive height—and by the way he held his scrawny arms with unbearable stiffness. The overall effect was an image of Latin machismo, she thought with sudden insight. He wanted her to see how tough he was.

  They stared at each other across six feet of charged space, each gathering strength for the confrontation. Yet despite his grim expression and stealthy approach, she felt relief kindle within her breast.

  Good grief, it wasn’t a robber or a rapist; it was a boy from the recreation center in the barrio, where the Light Street Foundation was running sports and other programs for kids who might otherwise be home alone after school, or on the streets. If she remembered correctly, he was ten years old. And his name was Luis. She also remembered they’d had a couple of friendly conversations. Had he marked her as an easy robbery victim?

  “Luis?”

  He nodded tightly as he dragged in several lungfuls of air.

  “You’re pretty far from home,” she said, keeping her tone conversational.

  He answered with another nod. He must have gone to a lot of trouble to sneak up on her, now he looked overwhelmed that they were actually face-to-face.

  “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

  He took another breath, than let loose a flow of Spanish so rapid, she could barely follow him.

  “Slow down.” Pushing back her chair, she came around the desk.

  “It is an emergency, señorita,” he said, switching to heavily accented English as he stared up at her with huge, dark eyes that seemed to dominate his thin face. “You must come with me.”

  “Where?”

  He gestured impatiently. “A house. In the neighborhood,” he answered, making an effort to enunciate carefully.

  She thought about the dark streets of the inner city, where unspeakable crimes seemed to happen every day. “What kind of emergency?” she asked. “Something with your mother or your sister?”

  “No.” His weight shifted from one sneaker-clad foot to the other. “But we have to hurry.”

  “Luis...I can’t just go down to the barrio at this time of night. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You must come!”

  “We can call the police if you need help.”

  She realized her mistake as his expression turned into one of panic. With lightning speed, his small, grubby hand darted under the open flap of his jacket. When the hand emerged it was holding a shiny little pistol. It might be small, but Jessie was pretty sure it was no toy. And the business end was pointed somewhere in the region of her belly button.

  “Luis, be careful with that.” She was surprised that her voice could sound so steady as she faced a deadly weapon.

  “We have to go,” he insisted, a small, scared boy trying to act the part of a tough guy as his voice rose, “or else!”

  Knowing his fear made him more dangerous, she replied, “I can’t go anywhere if you shoot me.”

  For another few moments he held on to the hard look in his eyes and the revolver clutched in his small hand. Then his face crumpled and the gun lowered.

  Careful. Don’t startle him, she warned herself as she took one cautious step closer and then another.

  “Put the gun down,” she said.

  His gaze fell to the weapon as if he were surprised that he was holding it in his hand.

  “Put it on the desk.”

  A strangled sound rattled in his chest. With a thunk he set the revolver down carefully.

  The knot of tension inside her released.

  “Good. Gracias.”

  “It’s not loaded,” he said in a barely audible voice that carried as much chagrin as apology.

  She came down on her knees so that her face was a little below his level. When she held out her arms, he hesitated for an instant, then closed the distance between. them in a rush and clung to her. She felt his shoulders begin to shake as she smoothed her hands across his back, murmuring words to comfort both of them.

  He hid his face against her shoulder, and she knew he must be fighting for control. When he lifted his head, his eyes were large and bright, shimmering with tears that he’d struggled to hold back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “I hope so.”

  “Are you going to call the police?” His voice rose as it reached the end of the sentence.

  She should. Instead, she made the kind of decision that her job with Baltimore’s underprivileged frequently forced upon her. “Probably not.”

  He let out the breath he’d been holding. “My stepfather told me I’d better not get in trouble.”

  “Then why did you come here with a gun?”

  “He needs your help. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  “Who? Your stepfather?” This man must be very important for Luis to risk so much by coming here and threatening her with a gun.

  He shook his head impatiently. “No. Not him. It’s Dr. Miguel. He’s going to die.” The last part came out as a sort of croak.

  Jessie’s heart lurched. Miguel was a common enough name, yet she knew of only one who was called “Doctor”—even though he wasn’t licensed to practice medicine in the U.S., as far as she knew. A sudden image leaped into her mind—an image of a man with fierce dark eyes, lean features, and a mouth held tightly closed when he looked at her. She shook her head, silently denying that it was him.

  “You know him,” the youngster insisted, his fingers digging into her arms. “He used to come to the center sometimes in the afternoons. He played basketball with us. Now he just sees if anyone is sick. When Senora Morano had the problem with her heart, he told the family what to do. He saved her life!”

  She felt a coldness pass over her skin. Dr. Miguel might mend hearts, but he had broken hers—two months ago. And the wound was as fresh as the day she received it.

  It had all started when he’d stopped by to talk to her about Ernesto Alcanzo, a boy who needed glasses. They’d begun with a chat about eye care. Two hours later they were still comparing notes on the community, Baltimore, and Don Quixote’s relevance to modern life, of all things.

  She’d asked Miguel if he wanted to grab a quick dinner, and the even
ing that followed would stay etched in her memory until the end of time. They’d sat for hours in a small café off Thames Street, sharing a pitcher of sangria as the conversation grew more intimate—at least on her part. She’d told him about her failed marriage and her decision to go back to school and become a social worker. As she’d talked, she’d felt that she was sharing her hopes for the future with a man who was going to become very important in her life—and very quickly, judging by the man-woman awareness between them that had charged each look, each sip of sangria, each little gesture. The anticipation had built all evening, and she’d known he was going to kiss her when he walked her back to her car through the darkened streets. Instead, he’d only given her arm a quick squeeze and stepped away.

  The disappointment had been sharp. It was only the beginning of her disillusionment. Later she realized that she had done most of the talking, and knew little more about Dr. Miguel personally than when he’d knocked on her office door—not even his last name. She’d assumed they’d remedy that situation, but she’d been wrong. The next day, he’d spared her only a curt nod, then turned away after their business discussion. Since that time, he’d been as remote to her as a ship sailing through Arctic waters. And she knew that he regretted their hours together.

  She told herself she understood. Doubtless he was in the country illegally. Doubtless he was hiding from the INS. And he was afraid the agents who trawled the neighborhood for fugitives would ask her questions about him.

  Bitterly, she’d labeled him a coward, though she wasn’t sure whether she was referring to him or to herself. He hadn’t spoken to her since that memorable night. Still, more than once, she’d caught him watching her with an intensity that brought goose bumps to her skin. Against her will, she’d caught herself watching him, too, when she thought he wasn’t looking. But she hadn’t seen him for several weeks.