Last night, when he’d returned from Regan’s with the news that his ex was in labor, he’d found Michelle dressed for her part in the reality series, that of Regan—how was that for an ironic twist? Then he’d discovered her phone and the incriminating evidence, and that’s when the fight had ensued. She’d stormed out and refused to see him when he’d driven up to the set of the reality show.
“It’s over,” she’d hissed as he’d approached her. She’d been standing near a bank of audio equipment and he’d had to step over cords to get close to her. “I mean it, Luke,” she’d warned. “We’re through. Got it?” Her eyes had been on fire and her small frame had actually shivered with rage. “Don’t you ever come here, to my workplace, again!”
“Your work place? But—”
“Leave. Me. The. Hell. Alone.” She’d inched her chin up a fraction. “Don’t blow this for me, Luke, and don’t blow it for Bianca if she still has any chance here. Just go. I’ve already talked to a lawyer.”
“You’ve what?” He’d been struck dumb, nearly collapsing. “No! I’m not ready to—”
“Should I call security?” She’d pointed to a burly guy about the size of a mountain, a man who looked like he knew the inside of a cage fight intimately and was watching Luke with eyes buried deep in his skull. With that, she’d turned, leaving Luke physically, possibly permanently.
He’d known that, in part, she was right. He couldn’t mess up this opportunity—this gift from heaven—for her or his daughter. Things were already dicey as it was. Bianca was losing out to that lying, fake-faced Lara Haas. A situation that had to be fixed. And quickly.
Rather than risk infuriating Michelle any further or causing a scene, he’d driven into town for the first of several drinks, then bought a bottle and, with a half-hatched plan running through his brain, decided to turn things around.
For all of them.
But now, scraping the last of his beard away around that tiny cut, the memory of what he’d done next rolled through his brain.
Jesus.
He leaned over the sink and immediately puked.
* * *
Could anyone ever sleep in a hospital? Between being woken up to take vital signs, the noise of other patients and staff, and, of course, a tiny baby in a bassinet right next to her, Regan was certain she hadn’t dozed for more than five minutes at a stretch.
Santana had spent the night, rising at dawn from the small couch/ bed built into the wall and dropping a kiss on both her and the baby’s heads before he’d left, earlier this morning. She, groggy as hell, had been vaguely aware and had vainly attempted to mumble a quick, “Love you.”
That had been over an hour ago. Since then, she’d been woken twice—once by the nursing staff, the other by little Tucker, whom she’d held to her breast and tried to nurse. He was getting the hang of it, and soon, she knew, her milk would come in.
Weird that. Weirder still she’d been offered a lactation nurse to help get him started, a service that hadn’t been available at the hospital where Bianca and Jeremy had been born nearly two decades earlier. Through her attempts at slumber, her thoughts, even dreams, had returned to the homicide investigations that had been ongoing, but they seemed almost as if they belonged to another woman as her whole life had shrunken to revolving around the needs of this one tiny baby. Tucker moved in the small bed beside her, made a soft little whimpering noise, then drifted off to sleep again. Regan envied him and was just closing her eyes again when she heard someone enter the room.
“Not now,” she said, certain the nurse on the latest shift wanted to take her temperature or blood pressure or God-only-knew-what other vital sign. Whoever it was didn’t take the hint. She heard footsteps approach.
She opened one eye and spied her husband, his face drawn, his dark eyes without a hint of his normal sense of humor, staring down at her. “What?” she said, immediately awake, her detective’s mind leaping to the worst conclusions possible.
“Bianca didn’t come home last night.”
“Where did she stay?” She blinked. “Where is she?”
“Don’t know.”
Don’t panic. She’s done this before.
“But she went to the shoot, right?”
“Yes. Jeremy left her there, told her to call him if she didn’t get a ride home, but she didn’t. He assumed she came home, but this morning, after I did the chores at the Long place, I went home, dealt with the dogs, and thought I’d check in on her before I came back here. Her bed hasn’t been slept in.”
“Then she’s with a friend, or went home with Michelle—she was up there, right? Maybe Bianca crashed at Lucky’s rather than go home,” Regan said, coming up with logical explanations though she was already swinging her feet from the bed.
“I thought so, too. Jeremy and I have already started calling. So far, none of her friends have seen her since a little after midnight last night. What do you think you’re doing?”
She was reaching for the handle on the small closet and her
clothes. “I’m going to go look for her of course.”
“What about the baby?”