Cradle and All Read online

  'Yeah.

  "We can bring her home when she weighs five pounds."

  "Men-hmm."

  Shannon was staring at him with those navy blue eyes of hers.

  As if she knew all this was his fault.

  He clenched his teeth and then glanced quickly at Abby, glad that her

  back was to him.

  He'd gone home from the hospital that first night and pawed through

  Abby's pregnancy books to find out what could make a woman go into

  labor.

  One of the reasons was making love.

  She'd been tired the night before Shannon was born, but he hadn't had

  all that much trouble getting her in the mood.

  Even seven months pregnant, she'd been so responsive to him.

  Now he had reason to regret his selfishness.

  Good reason.

  A silent curse knifed through his mind.

  "What?

  " Abby murmured.

  'Nothing.

  I was just clearing my throat.

  He must have made some noise.

  Or had Abby heard his thoughts?

  Usually when he was troubled by something, Abby knew it and tried to

  get him to open up.

  He'd hated that at first.

  Funny how he'd gotten used to letting her persuade him to share the bad

  stuff as well as the good.

  But she hadn't tried to this time.

  This time she was too worried about Shannon.

  And he wasn't going to force any more burdens on her.

  It wasn't just Shannon's premature birth that ate at him day and

  night.

  He needed to talk about the CIA and Oliver, to explain to Abby how he

  was caught between a rock and a hard place.

  He owed Oliver Gibbs his life.

  He didn't want to turn him in to the U.

  S.

  government.

  But maybe he was going to have to do it.

  He couldn't lay that on Abby, either, not while he felt so damn

  guilty.

  Not while she was so worried.

  So he'd kept his mouth shut.

  And done his damnedest to make sure everything turned out all right.

  ABBY EASED BACK into the rocker, wishing her hands weren't trembling.

  For three endless weeks she'd longed to hold her tiny, precious

  daughter.

  Now the moment had arrived, and she was terrified.

  The nurse had probably been through this a zillion times.

  "There's nothing to worry about," she murmured as she placed the small,

  blanket-wrapped bundle in Abby's arms, deftly adjusting the tubes and

  wires that still attached Shannon to a bank of monitors and other

  machines.

  "She's-she feels so fragile."

  In the next moment Abby gave a startled cry as a tiny fist flailed out

  of the receiving blanket and socked her in the chest.

  The nurse laughed.

  "She been a fighter right from the first. And she's over fourpounds

  now. In a few weeks, you'll be taking her home."

  "Yes," Abby whispered, looking down into the alert little face that was

  still red and wrinkled.

  Shannon gazed back, regarding her quizzically with eyes that did indeed

  remind her of Steve's, although they were still the dark, almost navy

  blue of the newborn.

  The baby's straight, silky hair was also dark.

  Abby touched a gentle finger to her daughter's petalsoft cheek, and the

  small head turned.

  Opening her mouth, Shannon began to work her lips against the finger.

  Then she started to whimper, the sound escalating to fill the small

  private room off the main nursery for premature infants.

  "She's crying."

  "She's hungry. Why don't you go ahead and nurse her."

  "Oh, right," Abby managed, aware that her speech seemed to have shrunk

  to awed monosyllables.

  Awkwardly, she began to pull up the cotton T-shirt she'd worn for the

  occasion.

  Until now, she'd been bringing in bottles of her milk for Shannon.

  This was the first time they were going to do it the natural way.

  "Hold her up a little higher. That's right."

  Abby winced at the sudden, unexpected pain that flashed through her

  nipple as the baby began to suck.

  The discomfort lasted only a second.

  Then she looked down in wonder at the tiny mouth pulling on her

  breast.

  "She's got to work harder to draw the milk from you than she does from

  the bottle, so she may not get as much at first," the nurse advised.

  Abby already knew that.

  She knew everything there was to know about premature infants-or

  rather, everything that you could learn from a book.

  While Shannon still seemed tiny, she'd been big by premature

  standards.

  Three and a half pounds at birth, although she'd lost some weight in

  the first few days.

  But medical science could save babies as small as a pound.

  Out in the nursery another tiny resident began to cry.

  "I'll leave you alone for a while."-' " Is that okay?

  "I won't be far. Just sing out if you need anything."

  Abby tried to unstiffen her body.

  Her eyes went from her child to the other chair positioned across from

  hers.

  Was that for the father?

  So he could be part of the experience?

  She'd told Steve she was probably going to hold Shannon for the first

  time today-and probably nurse her, too.

  Her husband had said he'd try to get here by five-thirty.

  But after waiting half an hour in the nursery, Abby had decided to go

  ahead.

  She closed her eyes, playing a ridiculous little game with herself .

  When she opened them, Steve would be here to share this important

  moment.

  It didn't happen.

  She'd been at the hospital visiting her daughter for hours every day

  since she'd been discharged.

  Steve had come with her some of the time, but it was clear he didn't

  feel comfortable in the neonatology ward.

  And it was also clear something was troubling him.

  She knew he was worried because Shannon looked so fragile.

  He'd owned up to that.

  Was that why he'd barely touched his child?

  Or was there more to it?

  Did he resent all the time his wife had been spending with the baby?

  Abby grimaced.

  Usually she could get him to communicate with her.

  Over the past few weeks she'd tried once or twice, but she'd been too

  drained of emotional or physical energy to keep at itwhen he'd changed

  the subject.

  No.

  That wasn't all of it, she silently admitted Maybe she should have

  scheduled a few sessions with one of her colleagues.

  She'd worked with patients who'd been depressed after childbirth.

  She hadn't ever thought it would happen to her.

  But, then, she hadn't dreamed of all these added problems, either.

  Well, in another week or two, she and Steve would be bringing Shannon

  home.

  Then they could get back to normal.

  But right now Shannon had to be her primary concern.

  "See, you're doing fine."

  Abby had been so wound up with her thoughts that she hadn't even heard

  the nurse come back.

  "Yes."

  "Your husband's going to be sorry he missed this."

  :,
Mmm-hmm.

  ,:You probably want to switch to the other breast.

  Yes.

  :,Let me help you with the wiring.

  'Thanks.

  " Abby detached Shannon the way the books advised. Then the nurse

  adjusted the external equipment so Abby could burp the baby.

  A few minutes later she relaxed back into the rocker, watching her

  daughter enthusiastically tackle the renewed milk supply.

  When the door opened again, she looked up-hoping that Steve had finally

  made it.

  This time, instead of her husband, she saw Mrs. Hamadi, one of the

  volunteers.

  The East Indian woman had told Abby she'd immigrated to Baltimore

  several years ago.

  "You're here early."

  Usually Abby encountered Mrs. Hamadi only when she made one of her

  nighttime visits to the nursery.

  The newcomer stood in the doorway.

  Her face was unusual-long and thin, with heavy, unplucked brows.

  A red jewel decorated one side of her nose.

  At the moment her eyes drilled into the center of Abby's chest and the

  child she cradled in her arms.

  "So you're finally nursing her."

  She spoke in a lilting singsong that Abby had found a bit difficult to

  understand at first.

  Abby nodded.

  Feeling unaccountably exposed, she stifled the impulse to pull the

  blanket up around her breast.

  She raised her eyes to the woman's face, and for an unguarded moment,

  she caught a look of longing that made her heart melt.

  Mrs. Hamadi fiddled with the ties of the kerchief that confined her

  dark hair.

  "Shannon is getting bigger. She'll be ready to leave the hospital

  soon."

  "I've got my fingers crossed. But the doctor said she has to gain

  another pound first."

  "And when do you think that will be?"

  "A couple of weeks-I hope."

  "That's good. Very good."

  "You've taken such an interest in her."

  "She's-how do you say?-special."

  "Yes," Abby murmured, her fingers stroking her daughter's silk hair.

  "Perhaps I will see you another time."

  Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Hamadi turned away.

  Abby watched through the glass panel in the door as she strode from the

  nursery, her long, baggy culottes swishing around her legs.

  Odd ' that she'd just shown up like this and then rushed away.

  But then, she wasn't the run-of-the-mill volunteer.

  In the dark hours of the night, when Abby had come to the hospital to

  watch her daughter sleep in her isolette, the two of them had traded

  confidences.

  Several years ago, Mrs. Hamadi had, borne three premature babies of

  her own.

  None of them had been strong enough to live, and the grief over each

  death had been compounded by her husband'$ masculine pride.

  in He'd been vocal about his wife's ' ability to give him a son, and

  he'd left her when the doctors had said she couldn't have any more

  children of her own.

  For a long time, she hadn't known how to put her life back together.

  Then, gradually, she'd learned how to cope.

  Now she worked in a cosmetics factory, ironically, since she never wore

  any makeup.

  In addition, she'd volunteered to give her time caring for other

  women's infants.

  Abby wondered if Mrs. Hamadi had regretted revealing so much about her

  own life.

  After the whispered confidences, she hadn't spoken so intimately

  again.

  In fact, she'd acted quite reserved.

  But that was what often happened when someone felt uncomfortable about

  having given away too much.

  The next time they met, if she wasn't so busy with Shannon, Abby hoped

  to make her feel better about it.

  "SORRY l,m LARE," Jason Zacharias apologized.

  "The alarm system at O'Donnell Honda wouldn't disconnect, and I had to

  replace part of the controller."

  "If you'd let me pay you, I'd have a right to complain," Steve assured

  his friend.

  He'd been about to call the hospital and see if they could reach Abby,

  but this was more important.

  As Jason opened the door of the electronics van, Steve peered inside.

  "You've got enough equipment here to support a small army."

  "We come prepared."

  The new vice-president of Randolph and Zacharias Security Services

  shoved a loaded dolly toward the side door.

  "You take the receiver, and I'll get the noise generator."

  Together, the two men muscled the heavy pieces into the low building

  that housed Claiborne Carriers.

  They had the place to themselves since Steve had given his secretary

  the afternoon off.

  "You like working with Cam Randolph?"

  Steve asked as they started unpacking and setting up the equipment.

  Cam was Jo O'Malley's husband.

  When Jason and Noel had returned to Baltimore after their harrowing

  experiences in Scotland, he'd taken on Jason as a partner.

  Jason nodded.

  "How are Abby and the baby doing?"

  "Abby's been out of the hospital for a few weeks, but Shannon won't be

  released until she gains a few more pounds."

  He sighed.

  "It's been rough."

  Jason nodded as he adjusted the readout on a digital display.

  Neither man had much experience confiding domestic worries.

  Quickly they got back to the security problem-checking for hidden

  transmitters in Steve's office.

  After their initial interview, he'd been pretending to cooperate with

  McGuire and Driscoll, sending them off on a couple of wild-goose chases

  to inaccessible places where he "thought" Ollie might be holed up.

  Then he'd played dumb when they'd come up emptyhanded.

  He knew it was only a stopgap tactic, but it was the best he could do

  at the moment.

  If he'd only had himself to think about, he'd have asked Jason to get

  him a plane for a secret flight to one of Ollie's real bolt holes so he

  could ask him what the hell was going on.

  As things stood, he had to stay here in Baltimore.

  He couldn't leave Abby while Shannon was still in the hospital.

  And he'd be even more afraid to leave her alone when the baby came

  home.

  So he'd sent Oliver more that'n'one message via circuitous routes.

  So far none of them had been answered.

  And a couple of days ago the agpnts had changed their tactics, making a

  show of stomping off in disgust.

  He suspected the maneuver was calculated to make him drop his guard,

  maybe even put through a call to Oliver Gibbs.

  Instead he'd become more wary.

  "How does this stuff work?"

  Steve asked, gesturing toward the equipment.

  "That large case we set up in your office was the noise generator, and

  this is a radio spectrum analyzer.

  We'll monitor the full range of frequencies from this display.

  If McGuire and Driscoll have left any bugs, we'll see a disturbance in

  the reception.

  Jason turned on the equipment, and Steve leaned over his shoulder to

  get a better view.

  The program started at the lower frequencies and slowly went up the

&n
bsp; scale.