Outsider (3 page)

“Sarina doesn't talk about her ancestry,” Hunter said, hoping he could avoid any revelations about Bernadette's background. He didn't dare let on. Sarina would kill him.

“Do you know who her father is?”

Hunter turned toward the door. “No,” he said. It was true that he hadn't, and he'd never really thought about it…until now. This was dangerous territory. The whole Apache nation was small enough to make it easy to find relatives on the reservations. He couldn't tell Colby that Bernadette's ancestry was Apache, and he'd almost let it slip with the shaman remark. Hunter didn't want Colby asking questions. He still had cousins at a reservation back in Arizona. “I'll be back in an hour or so. Hold down the fort.”

Colby patted the cell phone at his belt. “If there is an attack, I'll ring you.”

Hunter made a face on his way out.

Colby made the rounds of the executives. One made an immediate impression, and it wasn't a good one. He was assistant head of human resources, a real jerk named Brody Vance who had delusions of importance. He had an administrative assistant who was very nice. She was going with a local DEA senior agent named Cobb, according to Hunter. Colby had met her during a raid at the company warehouse the previous night, when she'd driven a car through machine-gun fire to save Cobb's life—and his and Hunter's. She was quite a woman.

He rounded a corner, and there was Sarina. But she wasn't alone. There was a tall, dark, handsome Latin, about Colby's age, with her. He was leaning lazily against the wall with his arms crossed, and the two of them were in earnest conversation. They were so engrossed, and he was so intent on them, that he didn't notice the little girl running toward them until she called to the man.

“Rodrigo!” she laughed. “Are you coming to my birthday party when we have it?”

“Of course!” he replied, holding out his arms. He caught her up and whirled her around, laughing deeply. “How could I miss all the cake and ice cream?”

“You'd miss me, too,” she chided. She kissed him and linked her arms around his neck. “Dear Rodrigo, whatever would me and Mommy do without you?”

“I'll make sure that you never know!” he teased, hugging her back.

Sarina checked her watch. “We'd better go. We still have to stop by the grocery store on the way home. Are you coming over for supper?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, but I have a meeting.”

“I forgot.”

He shrugged. “Another time.”

She smiled at him in a way that made Colby's teeth set. “Another time,” she said.

The man she'd called Rodrigo bent and brushed a careless kiss across her cheek. “Take care of my best girl,” he told Sarina, winking at the child.

“I always do,” she replied warmly, waving as he went off down the hall.

Sarina and Bernadette turned together and there was Colby, blocking the aisle, glaring at both of them.

“There's that awful man again,” Bernadette said with a cold glare.

“Bernadette, we don't make rude remarks about people we don't know,” Sarina said gently.
Not even when they're richly deserved,
she thought silently
.

“Sorry, Mommy,” Bernadette muttered under her breath, but she didn't stop glaring at Colby.

Sarina took her hand and walked toward Colby. She stopped when he didn't step aside.

“Who's the guy?” he asked, nodding toward where Rodrigo had disappeared.

“A friend,” Sarina said before she thought that it was none of his business. “Rodrigo Ramirez. He works here, too. Would you move, please?”

“Is he the girl's father?”

Sarina's eyebrows arched. “I've only known him three years.”

He looked at Bernadette with a narrow stare. “I hope you don't have any plans to try to blame her on me,” he said out of the blue, without a clue why he'd made the outrageous remark. “I'd rather be shot than lay claim to a child that rude.”

She wasn't a violent woman, but the sarcastic remark hit her in a raw spot. She'd had years of anguish, from her troubled pregnancy to a dangerous delivery, and all the health problems that had come afterward. The comment made her furious. Without pausing to count the cost, she drew back her foot and kicked him in the shin as hard as she could.

He groaned and bent over to rub his leg with a muffled curse.

“Good for you, Mommy,” Bernadette said gleefully. “That's the one that got hit with the baseball bat, too!”

Colby gaped at her. Only the month before, he'd had to apprehend a man at his former job for Pierce Hutton who was armed with a baseball bat. He'd been hit in the leg trying to subdue the perpetrator. How the hell did the kid know that?

“Come on, Bernadette,” Sarina said, almost dragging the child along with her past the small café downstairs.

Colby walked after them, hobbling a little. “That child is a witch!” he raged in Apache. Sarina didn't respond to the insult, but the child looked back at him with cold, angry eyes as he followed them down the hall. If his leg hadn't been hurting so badly, he might have noticed that she understood what he'd said about her.

Inside the small café overlooking the corridor, maintained for Ritter employees, Alexander Cobb was buying a cappuccino for the young woman Colby remembered from the shoot-out. Colby grimaced as he noticed Cobb watching him with an unholy amused grin. His new job wasn't starting off on the best of feet.

I
T BOTHERED
S
ARINA
that Colby had warned her not to accuse him of being Bernadette's father. Of course, he had no reason to think it was true. He'd said it in a sarcastic manner and was probably trying to score points. He didn't bother to mention her frantic call, and his chilling response to it, all those years ago when she was pregnant with Bernadette. He'd told Maureen to tell Sarina that he was sterile and the child couldn't possibly be his. What a joke.

But not a funny one. She'd called him in her ninth month of pregnancy, desperate for help. She'd been totally alone, with no money, unable to work, and at the mercy of bill collectors and the obstetrician who was trying to save her baby. Colby had told his wife Maureen to tell her that she was lying, it couldn't possibly be his child, that he never wanted to speak to her again. She was a filthy little liar, Maureen had quoted, and he hated her for trying to ruin his marriage to Maureen. If she accused him again of fathering her child, Maureen added, Colby would take her to court.

After all these years, it was still painful to remember his rejection. He didn't believe he could have a child and he'd made sure she knew it. That was something of a relief, but it was disturbing that he'd even alluded to it just now. She loved her daughter. She didn't want to take any chance of losing her.

But perhaps she was worrying for no good reason. Colby was surely still married to that horrible woman, Maureen. It was obvious that he didn't like children. And if he truly believed he was sterile, perhaps his rude remark about Bernadette's parentage was a defensive posture to protect his pride.

It was a sad fate that had landed him in her path, especially now, when she was already in so much danger. Her job entailed risks that were becoming more and more unacceptable now that Bernadette was in the line of fire. She was a patriot and she could do a job that not many other people wanted. But was it fair to put Bernadette at risk? If something happened to her, the child would have no living relative save one. And he didn't even know about her. Worse, there was the terrifying health issue which would make the child's chances of adoption unlikely. More and more she was regretting her choice of careers.

A few days later, she was washing dishes at the kitchen sink when she heard a gunshot. Bernadette had been sitting in a small cloth chair on the front porch, but she came running inside.

“Mommy, there's a boy with a gun!”

She caught the child up in her arms. “Are you all right? You weren't hit?”

“No, Mommy. I'm okay.”

“Stay down!” Sarina said, tucking the child beside the refrigerator. She took down the key from above the door, the one that fit the drawer by the front door, in case she needed what was inside. Then she went carefully to the front of their small apartment and looked out through the curtained window. Old Señora Martinez was standing on her porch with both hands to her mouth, staring after three young men in bandanas who were running wildly toward a waiting car. A fourth man yelled curses after them. He was holding his arm, from which blood poured. Sarina knew the man; he was Señora Martinez's grandson Raoul. He went to the old lady and soothed her, kissing her forehead. She took his good arm and drew him, fussing, into the apartment and closed the door.

No doubt the shooter was the old lady's nephew, Tito. He was fourteen and headed for jail, as sure as the world. He used drugs and he was violent when he was under the influence. Not that this grandson, Raoul, who'd just been shot defending her was any prize—he was, in fact, the leader of one of the more notorious project gangs. She liked old Señora Martinez. She didn't want her idiot nephew to kill her in a drug-crazed stupor. She was going to mention the incident to a friend in law enforcement. Right now, she didn't dare call the local police because her name would go on the report. At least, she wasn't required to take any action. She closed the drawer back and locked it, putting the key over the door as usual.

“Is it over, Mommy?” Bernadette asked from the kitchen.

“For now,” Sarina assured her, holding out her arms. She hugged her daughter close. “You must always be alert. You shouldn't sit on the porch alone, baby.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“We live in a bad place,” Sarina said worriedly. She hadn't wanted to opt for an apartment in this low-rent area of town, but it had been necessary. Medical bills had forced her to seek such accommodations. She watched her daughter carefully, hoping that the upset wasn't going to trigger an attack, as Colby's harsh remarks had earlier in the week. But Bernadette wasn't upset at all. In fact, she was smiling.

“I like it here,” Bernadette said surprisingly. “The other kids play with me, and they don't make fun of me. Mommy, am I a person of color?”

Sarina laughed delightedly. “Well, yes, baby, you are,” she had to admit. “You have Apache blood. Remember, what your grandfather told you about the Apache Women Warriors? You come from brave people!”

“Was my daddy brave?”

Sarina bit her tongue. “Of course he was,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Why didn't he want me?” Bernadette asked.

“Bernadette…”

“I know, we don't ever talk about him. But my granddaddy loved him. He said my daddy was troubled and didn't know who he was.”

“Those are deep observations, my darling,” Sarina said.

“I saw that awful man get shot,” Bernadette said out of the blue. “But when I asked him if his arm hurt, he was hateful to me.”

Sarina frowned. “You saw which man get shot?”

“That awful man you kicked,” she said. “He doesn't like me. Well, I don't like him, either. He's a horrible man!”

Sarina averted her eyes. Bernadette had made these strange comments about a dark man from time to time. Sarina knew she had visions, which very often were accurate. It was a gift she'd shared with her late paternal grandfather, who could also see things before they happened. But she hadn't known until today that Bernadette had that mental link with Colby Lane. It was vaguely terrifying.

She sat down heavily on the sofa. “What else did you see, Bernadette?” she asked seriously.

“He drank a lot of bad-smelling stuff from a bottle and a man he worked for hit him real hard,” the child recalled. “Then he shot somebody and got shot back and his arm was all bloody. It was a place called Africa.”

Sarina was stunned. “You saw that?”

Bernadette nodded. She pushed back a strand of long hair. “There was this woman, too. She went away and he got real upset.”

Sarina's heart jumped. Maureen left him? She hated herself for the joy she felt, even momentarily. He'd never get over the other woman. That was a fact she had to face. He didn't want Sarina. He never had and he never would.

“What do you say we have a pizza tonight?” Sarina asked the child.

“Could we? With mushrooms?”

“You bet!” Sarina got up and looked out the window again, worriedly. “I guess it's safe to ask a defenseless pizza guy to come here.”

“It's safe,” Bernadette said with a grin. “I'll protect you, Mommy. Granddaddy said his father was a shaman, and that he had a brother who could see things before they happened, just like Granddaddy and me could.”

“Well!” She hesitated, wondering how to bring up a worrying subject. “Bernadette, I want you to promise me something.”

“What, Mommy?”

Sarina chewed her lower lip. “That man, today, the one you saw shot. I want you to promise me that you'll never,
never,
speak Apache in front of him.”

The little girl frowned. “But, why?”

Sarina drew in a slow breath. “You mustn't ask me that. But you must promise. I know you'll keep your word.”

The child nodded. “My granddaddy taught me that I must always do that.” She looked at her mother quizzically, but finally she nodded. “Okay, Mommy, I promise.”

Sarina smiled and hugged the little girl warmly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She drew back. “Do you think Santa Claus would bring me a microscope for Christmas?”

Sarina laughed. “It's two months until Christmas. I suppose it isn't too early to be thinking about it. But the microscope you want is very expensive, baby,” she added gently.

Bernadette laid a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder and looked very adult. “I know it costs a lot for my medicine,” she began. “Maybe I could do without it…”

“No!” Sarina said at once.

“But it costs so much…”

Sarina hugged her close, her eyes closed as she imagined life without the new drugs, the way it had been. “I don't care what it costs.”

Bernadette laid her head on Sarina's shoulder. “I wish I was like Nikki,” she murmured. “She never gets sick.”

Sarina's eyes closed. She wished, not for the first time, that she'd been able to take better care of the child in the beginning. The doctors had said that it made no difference, but Sarina didn't completely believe them. If anything happened to Bernadette, she'd die!

The child pulled away and looked into her parent's worried eyes. “Mommy, I'm all right,” Bernadette assured her. “Really.” She smiled. “I'm going to be a detective one day, working in a big city, and there's this very handsome man who's going to marry me. I dreamed it.”

Sarina's eyes closed and she shivered. The child could truly see ahead. It was a relief, in a way.

“So you mustn't worry,” Bernadette continued. She bit her lower lip. “I'm going to be fine.” She didn't add that she had worries about her mother that she didn't dare share. She forced a smile. “Maybe Santa Claus will bring me that microscope anyway,” she added, grinning. “In fact, I'm almost sure he will!”

“I don't know.”

“It never hurts to ask. Right?”

Sarina got up, chuckling. “We'll see. Now, let's order that pizza!”

 

C
OLBY
L
ANE
went home to his small rented apartment and fixed himself a frozen dinner. He had a sudden urge for pizza and couldn't understand why.

He checked his telephone messages while the microwave cooked. There were no messages. He wasn't surprised. The only people he knew in town were the Hunters. He had no social life to speak of, no close friends except Tate Winthop. Tate was in D.C. now, with Cecily and their son, working for the government again—although not in any dangerous situations. Colby's father had died two years ago, although he hadn't known until he'd made a trip to the reservation the year before. He still had cousins there, but they were oddly reluctant to speak of his late father. All they'd told him was that the old man had lived in Tucson until his death. His body had been buried at the old Apache cemetery near his former home in a small, private ceremony. His cousins had been oddly reticent to speak of the ceremony.

He and his father hadn't spoken since he married Maureen. The old man hadn't approved of her, and Colby had overreacted to the criticism. He and his father had never been really close. He'd loved his mother, but she'd died when he was very young and his father had started drinking and become brutal. He blamed the old man for everything. Now that he was older, and had been obsessed with a woman himself, he began to understand his father's behavior. He wished he'd made an effort to see the old man while there was still time. Now he was alone in the world. No wife, no kids, no parents. He had an uncle in Oklahoma and a cousin or two. He wouldn't have recognized them if he'd seen them on the street. It was a lonely sort of life.

When he and Maureen had married, he'd envisioned them being together for life with a houseful of kids. But she didn't want mixed blood kids. Just as well, he thought bitterly, since he was infertile. He thought about that little girl Bernadette, Sarina's daughter, who was Hispanic. He wondered who her father was, and how Sarina had managed to conceive a child after the nightmare of pain he'd given her on their wedding night. He'd had a couple of neat whiskies. He'd hoped it would be enough to leave him incapable. It wasn't. Long afterward, he'd left her in their hotel room, shivering under the covers, and he'd been eloquent about how he felt about the wedding that had been forced on him.

He'd gotten himself a separate hotel room afterward, ordered a whole fifth of Cutty Sark and finally passed out, dead drunk. He didn't awaken until the next day, and when he went to look for her with an uneasy conscience, she'd left. A letter had been sent to him the day after the quick wedding by some attorney, with a terse note from her father. Annulment papers would be mailed to him as soon as they could be drawn up, and they wanted an address to send them to. He gave them Maureen's. Obviously Sarina had been willing to lie about the marriage being consummated and he didn't give a damn. He'd sign their stupid papers. Maureen had called him the day he'd married Sarina to tell him she wanted to get married at once. He'd made some excuse and then he'd taken out his fury on Sarina. His conscience still troubled him.