Undercover Daddy

Chapter One

Kate McDaniels had always known happiness was nothing more than a whisper on the wind.

Happiness was as fleeting as the flare of orange and purple in a sunset, as fragile as a soap bubble floating in sunlight.

In the moments when happiness settled butterfly softly, briefly, a blessing, she’d learned to cherish it.

Because in the tick of a clock, in the moment between inhaling and exhaling, in the beat of a heart, everything could change forever.

With her finger against the incubator, she traced the shape of her son’s warm pink ear, let her hand brush past the IV stuck with plaster against his scalp where a blue thread pulsed sweetly to the beat of his heart.

In spite of the tubes and monitors attached to him, she could see the changes, could hear his hungry cry, so different from the fretful wail of those first two months.

Shh, Harry, she whispered, passing her palm over the tiny length of his body.

So tiny—her tabby cat was bigger—yet Harry fought on in the isolation of his incubator. Alone, he struggled with every heartbeat, with every breath, the source of his baby strength mysterious and wondrous to her. Her finger lingered against the tender bud of his mouth. So close, yet so far away from her arms, from her heart.

She longed to hold him again, hold him as she had in those short days after his birth with no wires and monitors to remind her how fleeting her moments with him might be.

Pressing her cheek against the acrylic, letting him know that she was there, that he wasn’t alone, she crooned through the barrier that kept her from him, You’re coming home, Harry, hear me?

Harry yawned, a squinch of eyes and mouth.

To your room, your crib. I bought you a blue teddy bear, sweetie. With a sunshine yellow bow. And he sings the funniest songs. About crickets and boats and silver moons. You’ll like those songs, Harry. And we’ll sit out on the porch and I’ll hold you and we’ll watch our own silver moon drift across the night.

A tear dripped from her chin onto the plastic. Then another, and another. Through the weeks of waiting, she’d never cried, but now, despising her weakness, she couldn’t stop the slide of hot tears down her cheeks. Silly, aren’t I, Walker? When everything’s going so well? She wiped her cheek against her shoulder. But I keep thinking of all the things that can still go wrong.

Behind her Walker was a silent, dark shape. Solid, there.

Always there.

His large palm cupped the curve of the incubator where Harry’s foot kicked aimlessly, energetically, and like balm, Walker’s deep drawl spread over her, soothing the fear that she would always live with. Harry’s a tough little squirt, Kate.

She spared Walker a quick glance, barely seeing him through the blur of her tears. I know. Like you. You gave him your strength, Walker. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be alive today. She reached blindly for Walker’s arm and held on, linked to her son with one hand, to her best friend with the other, a miraculous circle in a world too short of miracles. You saved him. And me, too, she thought, trying to imagine the emptiness of her life without her child. Her fingers tightened over the hard muscles of Walker’s arm as her voice rose on a tiny, hiccuping sob. "You gave him back his life."

No. Walker gently knuckled the plastic incubator against the shape of Harry’s sole. He cleared his throat. Hell of a kid you and Eddie made, Kate, a world-beater. He’s been a fighter from the get-go. As Walker leaned forward, his shadow fell across Harry, who blinked and waggled a fist in Walker’s direction. By the time he’s able to crawl, this guy’s going to give you and Eddie fits.

I hope so. Kate sent the wish winging heavenward to whatever fates or gods might have a soft spot for the minuscule scrap of life that was her son. He can swing from the chandeliers if he wants to, she muttered fiercely.

Yeah? Walker’s dark eyes met hers and a half smile tugged the corner of his mouth. From the chandeliers, huh?

Yeah, she echoed and swallowed a sob. From the chandeliers and any darn place he can scramble onto.

And I’ll bet Eddie’ll be right behind him, egging him on. Humor shaded Walker’s rough voice.

Probably. You cops are a rowdy bunch. Tasting salty tears, she smiled back at him.

Detectives, sweetheart. You keep forgetting. Shaking his head, he sighed. Old age, probably.

The white brightness of the pediatric intensive care unit bleached out the reds and yellows of the nursery rhyme murals, but Walker’s coiled composure seemed to absorb the light and the sounds of monitors and machines, the soft shuffle of the nurse’s shoes against white tiles.

In all the confusion, he was an island of stillness.

Walker had always been her refuge.

What would I do without you? She swallowed again and her laugh was shaky. Leaning her head on his chest, she rubbed her wet cheek against the cool cotton of his shirt.

His chin rested against the top of her head, lightly, familiarly.

Familiar, too, his scent. Coffee and soap. Spice. And that underlying note of something darker, something uniquely Walker. In a pitch-black room, she’d know him.

Soaking Walker’s starchy-smelling shirt with her tears, drawing on his strength, she rested for the first time since the pediatrician had bluntly told her and Eddie that their onemonth-old son wouldn’t survive three months without a liver transplant.

She hadn’t cried then.

Tears were a luxury. Harry needed her. And Eddie had, too. Eddie had cried, though, and then buried himself in departmental work, taking every case that kept him away from the house, away from the hospital.

She needed him, but she couldn’t blame him. Eddie was laughter and sunshine, not hospitals and devastation.

But Walker was there.

He didn’t say much, didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer empty assurances. But he listened. Oh, he listened. Listened to her anger, to her frustrations, and cleaned up the shattered dishes she flung one night at the wall before storming out of the house into the rain.

Making phone call after phone call, she stayed calm on the outside in those dark moments, calm with Eddie, calm with everyone except Walker, riding a roller coaster of hope, praying for a miracle.

She chased every lead down a complicated paper trail, terror and horror clawing inside her. Terror, because each passing hour without a donor liver brought Harry closer to death. Horror, because her miracle, Harry’s life, depended on someone else’s tragedy.

Kate didn’t let herself dwell on that knowledge. She couldn’t.

She knew how those other mothers and fathers felt.

And, despairing, hoping, she learned about generosity beyond measure. Unbelievably, those other parents rose above their grief and offered the greatest gift to a stranger, life.

But no donors matched.

Harry grew lethargic, his skin waxy and yellow. She drew her own conclusions. The faces of the nurses and doctors were too carefully blank. What a lousy bunch of poker players you guys are, she’d teased, gallows humor her defense against the clock ticking inside her. Waking, dreaming, she heard the merciless clicks of that damned clock.

Time rushed on to the pounding beat of her heart.

Hope. An adult could donate part of a liver. But there were no suitable tissue matches. Not hers. Not Eddie’s. Not anyone in Eddie’s family or hers. Despair.

Harry was out of time.

And then, stubbornly, not listening to their objections, Walker had gone on his own to be tested.

He was as perfect a match as if Harry were his son. Schedule the surgery, Walker had said. It’s a go. Tomorrow, if Harry’s strong enough.

You’ll have a family of your own some day, Walker, children of your own who’ll need you, she’d said in wretched hope, hating herself because she wanted him to disregard all her objections, needed him to risk himself for Harry. Most of all, she hated knowing how willing—no, how eager—she was to let Walker sacrifice himself for her child.

Because Walker was Harry’s only chance.

She knew it, and she was ready in the deepest part of herself to let Walker take whatever chances he had to, to give Harry what she and Eddie couldn’t.

And so, guiltily, she’d argued, giving Walker a chance to back out. You can’t take this kind of gamble with your own future. It’s not right.

No, man. lt’s not right, Eddie had said, his hands gripped together so tightly that his fingertips were bloodless.

Walker. Knowing what she had to do, she’d taken a deep breath. Eddie and I can’t let you do this. We can’t. There’ll be another donor. A match. She’d known there wouldn’t be one in time to save Harry. There’ll be a match, she’d repeated numbly.

Shut up, Kate, Walker had said, giving her one of his almost-smiles, and the tight coil in her stomach unwound because Walker wasn’t going to take the easy way out, no matter how many times she offered. My liver’s good. I’ll never miss a snip or two. It’s not as if I’m going to become an alcoholic suddenly, so the risk is minimal. So I’ll carry a card in my wallet in case of an accident. No big deal. So zip your lips, monkey face, and let’s get on with it. I can give Harry what he needs.

But... Words flying away from her, she’d stopped.

He’d thrust her into a chair and shoved her head down between her knees as he said, Take a deep breath, Kate. Hell, you’re as white as cottage cheese. Listen, it’s done. I’ve talked to the pediatric team. I know what to expect. Schedule the surgery with Harry’s doctors. All you have to do is tell me where and when I’m supposed to be at the hospital.

Staring at the tufts of peach carpet whirling in front of her, darkness on the edge of her vision, she’d repeated that they couldn’t let him do this, they couldn’t let him donate part of his liver, and with each repetition, she dreaded the thought that he’d give in.

Walker let her babble until she ran out of words, and then he repeated, Let me know when the doctors want me to show up.

"Walker, I can’t—" she’d murmured and covered her face because the situation was impossible and she couldn’t see a way out, not for Harry, she couldn’t.

But she hadn’t wept.

I’ll be there. Count on it.

She’d always counted on Walker.

But she’d married Eddie.

Life took crazy twists and turns that way sometimes.

Walker had touched her shoulder, said something to Eddie and walked out, leaving her with her face covered and filled with hope.

Now, she rubbed her face against the damp wrinkles of Walker’s shirt one last time and bumped her forehead against his chest. His prickly chin grazed her cheek as she looked up at him. You need a shave, Walker, she said absently, noting the circles under his eyes.

Didn’t have time. I’ve been catching up on casework since five this morning, and I wanted to be here when Harry’s doctors made their rounds. I know it’s been a long haul and you’re tuckered out, but the three of you can get back to living a normal life. You, Eddie. Harry. A new set of musketeers for you, Katie Sue.

Watching the way the lines around his eyes tightened, she frowned as guilt stirred once more. You’re tired, too. She touched his chest. New scars on Walker’s body, these a badge of love and selflessness. You’ve been through so much for us. Sharing our worry. Your own surgery.

No big deal. I felt worse after that goofball junkie tried to carve me into a Thanksgiving turkey. Terse, clipped, his words denied the enormity of his gift. Anybody would have done the same thing, Kate.

But—

He cut her off. We can’t keep rehashing this. His expression shuttered, he leaned away, leaving her strangely bereft. I did what I wanted to do. Nothing more. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

I see. Accepting thanks goes against some masculine code?

Look, it’s done. I knew exactly what I was doing. And I’d make the same choice all over. Nobody made me do anything. Kate, it was my choice. Dropping his hand from the incubator, breaking contact with her, he stepped away. His face was drawn and strained. I don’t want your gratitude. And I sure as hell don’t want your guilt. Drop it, Kate.

She couldn’t drop it, of course she couldn’t. He was her friend. Eddie’s friend.

Harry’s miracle.

I’m not ever to mention that you saved my son’s life at some risk to your own hardheaded self, Walker?

Walker watched her, his index finger tapping the side of the incubator.

She might as well have been beating her head against the rock he reminded her of. "We’re supposed to go on for the rest of our lives ignoring the minor fact that Harry wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you? I’m supposed to forget what you did? Is that what you want?"

Not a flicker of expression crossed his features as he lifted one shoulder. Yeah, that about sums it up.

Stonewalled, Kate gave up. You’ve always been an obstinate so-and-so, Walker. She shook her head. Remember that day you moved in next door to me and Eddie?

Sure. So?

You decided you weren’t going to play in my yard or Eddie’s, no matter how hard we begged you to. You were the coolest thing to happen in Flamingo Bay in a month of Sundays, and we wanted to show you off. I bribed you with lemonade and my tarantula. With the future shining in front of her, she surrendered to the bittersweet memories of their shared past. Remember?

His smile was only a glint of light in the darkness of his eyes. You were wearing pink shorts and scabby knees. An interesting fashion statement, monkey face. How could I forget?

Scabby knees? She wrinkled her nose.

Bloody, too.

Memory rippled. I was chasing Eddie down the sidewalk and fell. He told me no way a girl could tag him. She shrugged. He made me mad. I would have caught him, too! Kate laughed. If I hadn’t tripped.

You were nothing more than a pair of skinny legs topped off with the biggest gray eyes I’d ever seen. Misty gray, like winter rain. He looked away, shifted his weight. And a smile that took up all your face.

Really? Beguiled by the tenderness in his glance, Kate stepped toward him.

He slowly nodded. And an attitude.

Gosh, what a charming child I must have been. Halting, she wrinkled her nose again. A real pain in the patootie.

You were. But I liked your tough-cookie attitude. He added slyly, And your scabby knees.

Oh, sure. I’ll bet.

And the patootie developed its own appeal.

She stuck out her tongue. Devil. Thoughts of the past flickering like summer lightning in the fatigue clouding her mind, she said, Why were you so stubborn about not playing in my yard, Walker?

Because.

Clever, she mocked, elbowing Walker’s chest, her hand still stroking her son’s sweet softness. "I’ll have to write down that piece of logic so I can use it first chance I have. Because. Oh, that’s excellent."

I had my reasons. Coolness replaced the humor.

And you’re not going to tell me what they were, are you? Not even after all these years?

No reason to dig up the past. His finger tapped again.

Ah. One hand lingering on Harry’s incubator, she rubbed her aching eyes.

Walker studied the tips of his well-shined black shoes before adding, Don’t worry about it.

I’m not. It was so strange, though. You wouldn’t step foot in my yard. Not for a long time. Remembering the haughty, unsmiling twelve-year-old he’d been, she frowned again.

It wasn’t important, then. It sure isn’t now.

You wouldn’t play with Eddie or me until we finally gave in and crawled over the wooden fence onto your side. By that time, curiosity wouldn’t have kept us out of your yard. But you, always wanting your own way, she teased. Sticking to your guns until you got everyone to do what you wanted and managing to convince us it was our idea all along. Shame on you, manipulating us like that.

Is that what I was? Manipulative? He seemed genuinely puzzled.

She nodded vigorously and her hair slid into her eyes, momentarily blocking her view.

"Well, what a playground