His Sugar Baby(82)

Michael threw a short jab into the man’s face. He felt cartilage give under his knuckles. Rick Stein howled and doubled over, his hands flying to his face. His voice was muffled. “My nose! You’ve broken my nose!”

Michael hit him again, a hard blow to the body followed by a wicked hook to the jaw. The man’s head whipped to the side, blood spraying from his mouth. He crashed down to the hard pavement. The ex-husband lay still, his limbs flung out at awkward angles.

Michael waited for a moment, but the man didn’t get up. He felt a flicker of concern. Shit. He squatted down to lay two fingers against the man’s neck. There was a pulse. Good. The * was breathing.

Michael stood up. His breath came easy. “That was for Chloe, you sorry slimeball.” He stared down at the man’s supine form, feeling a distinct sense of satisfaction. It was too bad that he couldn’t expiate his own guilt so easily, he thought.

He turned, quickly walking away. The parking lot was almost deserted. A few of the overhead lights were on, making isolated pools on the black pavement. The car was parked in a darkened area not penetrated by any of the lights.

Muffled in a coat and wearing a red ski cap, Darryl leaned against the side of the sleek BMW 328I. His arms were crossed casually over his broad chest as though he wasn’t in any particular hurry. He straightened as Michael approached at a rapid pace and reached the car.

Without a word spoken, they got into the black BMW. With a deft twist, Darryl started the ignition. Before shifting into gear, he looked across the center console. “Feel better?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” Michael flexed his bruised fingers and shook out the hand. “Damn, that hurt like a son of a bitch.”

Darryl laughed. He shifted gears and gunned the V6 engine.





Chapter Twenty-Seven



Two months later, Michael and Darryl were finalizing business plans for the week. When his cell rang, Michael glanced with irritation at the caller ID. With the divorce proceedings, he had talked to his ex-wife more in the last few weeks than he had in years.

But the call wasn’t from his ex-wife. Winter. His mind over-circuited, and everything was crowded out of his mind. “Hold on, Darryl. I’ve got to take this.”

Darryl nodded and returned his attention back to the figures for the bid on their newest job.

“Michael?” It was not Winter’s voice. Thick, raspy, it wasn’t a voice that Michael recognized. He felt the swift let-down. Yet the call had come in on Winter’s number. He frowned. “This is Michael. Who is this?”

“Michael, it’s Vicky Sotero. We met—”

“I remember,” he said quickly. “I don’t understand. Why are you calling me from this number?”

“It’s Cathy. I–I’m sorry.”

Michael straightened, his whole body tensing. Dread knotted his stomach. “Is she in some kind of trouble?” he asked tersely.

Darryl looked up, his expression alert. “Mike, what’s going on?”

Michael waved his friend silent. His whole concentration was riveted. “Vicky?”

“She may be dying. I shouldn’t call you. She wouldn’t want me to. But I had to let you know! She was in a c–car c–crash!”

Michael felt his body jerk as though electrocuted. The edge of the cell cut into his palm when his fingers clenched around it. “What do you mean…dying?” He could hear the woman’s broken sobbing, and he shouted, “Talk to me, damn it!”

Vicky poured out what she knew, obviously trying for control, but her voice shook. As Michael listened in numb horror, certain phrases resonated. Didn’t want to see him…losing the baby…massive hemorrhage.

Michael extracted as much information out of Vicky Sotero as he could. Cathy had discovered that she was pregnant. She had declared that Michael didn’t need to know because she had broken it off. She did not want to see him again. There had been a multiple-car collision on the freeway. Vicky’s conscience had gotten the better of her. She hadn’t had his business card with her, but she had found the phone in Cathy’s purse. She was calling from the hospital.

“I’m coming to the hospital, Vicky.” Michael ended the call, clipping his words. He jerked to his feet and strode swiftly across the office. His mind was whirling. He felt almost physically ill from the fear and adrenaline that rushed through his body.

Darryl had long since set aside the papers. He stood up and followed. “What’s going on, Mike?”

Michael yanked open the office door. Over his shoulder, he said brusquely, “I’ve got to go. Catherine is in the hospital.”

Darryl immediately palmed his keys. “I’ll take you.”

“No, that’s okay.” Michael started through the door.

Darryl grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Mike, you’re not in any shape to drive. Look at yourself, man! You’re hands are shaking! I’m not going to have you wreck on the way over there.” There was a mulish set to his mouth. “I’m driving.”

Michael nodded. It wasn’t worth the time to argue. Besides, on a certain level, he was even grateful. “Okay. You drive.”

They made it to the hospital in record time, though to Michael it felt like an eon. He jumped out of the BMW, not even glancing as Darryl sped off in search of a parking spot. Michael strode into the emergency-room waiting area. He swept a searching glance around and found the woman he remembered. His brain fleetingly registered that the Thompsons were also there. But Vicky Sotero was the one he was interested in. She was the one who had called him. “Vicky!”