Diagnosis: Danger Page 11

  Mike had his doubts about that. “Natalya, are you sure that Clancy maybe—”

  Her eyes narrowed, drawing her eyebrows together. “Don’t even finish it,” she warned. “Tolliver’s lying. I would stake my life on it. And if he’s lying about this, then he’s probably lying about other things.” It only made sense to her. “Clancy said he was on to something—” she reminded him.

  Mike nodded. “Yes, I know.” And he had pulled every string on that he could. “But there wasn’t anything underhanded about the books. Every charge, every body was accounted for.”

  She refused to give up. “Then it’s something else.” She tried to think, desperate to pull a rabbit out of a hat. And then it suddenly hit her. “Maybe Tolliver’s selling body parts. Maybe—”

  Mike looked at her sharply, his head snapping up. “What did you say?”

  “Maybe he’s selling body parts,” she repeated. Having caught his interest, her mind raced to find embellishments. “Like the urban legends. You know, people getting killed so that body parts could be harvested. Body parts for dying, rich people who would be willing to pay any price for a kidney or a new heart or a lung—” She realized she was getting carried away. She didn’t want him to think that he was talking to a lunatic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it babbling.” His expression was thoughtful. “Besides, maybe you are on to something.”

  “I am?” She could see he wasn’t just humoring her. “What do you know?” she asked eagerly.

  But he had already said too much. He straddled his motorcycle. “I’ve really got to go.” And he did. He needed some time to think. There were pieces he needed to find and match up.

  He was about to start his motorcycle, but he had hesitated a bit too long. Apparently thinking she’d stood on the sidelines too long, Natalya’s mother finally made her way over to them.

  She smiled broadly at Mike. It was one of the kindest smiles he had ever seen. “Natalya, maybe your young man, he would like to be coming with us? Have something to eat?” The woman looked at him with hazel eyes that seemed to draw him in.

  He saw where Natalya got it from. The woman must have been something else when she was younger. The beauty, a little faded, was still there, like a lingering melody of an old popular song that could still stir feelings when played.

  “That’s a tempting offer, Mrs. Pulaski,” he told her, “but I have to get back to work.”

  Magda was not deterred. “Perhaps I could call your boss—”

  Natalya cut in, knowing that the longer Mike hesitated, the tighter her mother’s web was spun. “She would, too.” She tapped the motorcycle handle. “Quick, make your getaway before it’s too late.”

  “Natalya.” Magda pursed her lips. “Is this a way to talking about your mother?”

  Natalya spread her hands wide. “If the shoe fits…”

  Her mother looked down at her footwear, confusion gracing her brows. “My shoes fit.”

  Natalya laughed for the first time that day. “Never mind, Mama.” Nodding at Mike, she slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Right.” With a pending sense of urgency, he started up his motorcycle. He saw Natalya’s mother eyeing his bike with interest and approval as the rest of the family came to join her. Time to go, he thought.

  “We have a wedding,” Magda called after him, raising her voice. “Would you like to come?”

  He turned just before leaving the lot. “Already said yes.”

  Magda clapped her hands together. “Wonderful.” She looked at Natalya meaningfully.

  Natalya rolled her eyes. “I’d like to go home and die now, Mama.”

  Her mother shook her head, frowning. “Such a thing to saying. When you have everything to live for.” They began to walk to their own vehicle. “What did you say his name was?”

  Her father, bless him, came to her rescue. Or tried to. “Magda, leave the girl alone.”

  Magda shrugged away her husband’s request. “If she had wanted to be left alone, she should have been born an orphan.”

  The funny thing was, Natalya thought as she opened the rear passenger door of her father’s car, her mother actually believed that.

  Sasha looked at her reflection in the mirror. Daylight came through a small, stained-glass window, pushing its way into the room. She pressed her hand against the delicate lace that lay against her empty, knotted stomach.

  Makeup or not, she looked pale, she thought. Pale enough to pass for Snow White. Snow White about to have a nervous breakdown.

  The vestibule within St. Joseph’s Church was crowded with her sisters, wearing pale blue, floor-length bridesmaid dresses, and her mother, who was stunning in a sapphire blue gown. It seemed to Sasha as if they were all talking at once, their voices dissolving into a sea of chatter. She couldn’t make out a single word.

  Her head was spinning.

  Magda came up behind her, giving her arm a squeeze. Their eyes met in the mirror. There was concern on her mother’s face.

  That made two of them, Sasha thought. Was this a mistake? Would all her happiness dissolve the moment she said “I do”? She loved Tony, but she just didn’t know if this was the right thing. She didn’t want to love just to lose. Not again.

  Sasha blew out a breath, still pressing against her abdomen. “I don’t think I was this nervous even before I delivered my first baby.”

  “Everyone is afraid,” Magda assured her. Her voice was kind, yet authoritative. “It is only normal.” She winked. “Remember, my darling, the first one hundred years are the hardest. After that—” she waved one hand grandly “—piece of bread.”

  “Cake, Mama, I think you mean cake,” Natalya interjected as she threaded her way through her sisters to Sasha’s other side.

  Magda’s small shoulders rose and fell carelessly. “Cake, bread, what is the difference? You can eating both.” And then she looked at Sasha, her heart swelling. She took her face between her hands. “You were his before he ever asked you to be.”

  Sasha looked at her mother for a very long moment. And then she smiled. “You just want to have grandchildren.”

  Magda inclined her head. “There is that, too.”

  “Well, the priest is going to have a cow if we’re not all out there in a couple of minutes,” Natalya informed them after glancing at her watch. “He has another wedding in an hour.”

  “Drive-through weddings have finally hit New York,” Tania quipped with a laugh.

  “Let’s go, let’s go,” Natalya urged, shooing her mother and sisters out of the room. “Take your positions.” Only when the vestibule had cleared did she turn to Sasha to snare one last moment alone with her sister before she became Tony’s wife. “God, but you are beautiful. I’d hug you but I’d wind up crushing the lace on your bodice.”

  Right now, human contact would be more than welcomed. “What’s a little crushed lace between sisters?” She put out her arms. “I need a hug.”

  Natalya obliged, then stood back and looked at her older sister in wonder. “Sasha, you’re shaking.”

  Sasha took another deep breath then let it out, trying to steady her pulse. “Maybe I need a shot of whiskey besides the hug.”

  Natalya shook her head as she began to fuss with Sasha’s veil. “What you need, O lion, is to tap into your courage. You love him, he loves you. God and Mama—not necessarily in that order—just want to make it official, that’s all.” She stopped and looked at her sister. “Tony’s a good guy, Sash. He’ll make you happy.” And then she grinned. “And if he doesn’t, threaten him with Mama. That’ll put the fear of God into him.” Natalya suddenly paused, cocking her head as she listened. “They’re playing your song, kid.” She nodded toward the doorway. “Time to make an honest man out of Tony.”

  But as they started to leave the room, Sasha stopped her for a second, placing her hand on her arm. “I love you, Nat.”

  “Yeah, I know.” And then she
looked down at the hand that was still on her arm. “I also know that if you don’t get yourself moving, you’re going to die of frostbite. God, your hands are cold. Let’s go and have Tony warm you up.”

  Natalya hustled her sister out of the vestibule carefully holding up her train and veil. She wanted nothing getting in the way of her sister’s wedding.

  The music, warm and sensual, wrapped itself around them. It was a song Mike vaguely recognized, although the words were missing. What mattered was that the song was slow and that he was holding Natalya in his arms.

  He could feel her breathing. His gut tightened as her breasts softly rose and fell against his chest with each breath she took. It was hard to keep from squeezing her hand as he held it tucked against him.

  “What?” Natalya asked. When he raised a silent eyebrow, questioning her query, she said, “You have a funny expression on your face.”

  Had to be all the feelings scrambling inside of him. But he wasn’t about to admit anything just yet. This was too new and as far as he knew, it could fade away the next moment.

  So he went with flattery, because that had always seen him in good stead. “I didn’t realize just how pretty you were until just now.” Which was the truth. Seeing her in the formfitting blue gown, flowers in her hair, had hit him with both barrels. “I’d say that you are the prettiest one here.”

  Her eyes held mischief in them, there was no other way to describe it. “You mean other than you?”

  Her response was unexpected. She’d thrown him for a loop. “What?”

  “Mama thinks you’re pretty,” she told him. She knew that wherever Magda was in the large ballroom, her mother was watching her. “Maybe a little too pretty.”

  He wasn’t sure how to take the comment. Maybe where Natalya’s mother came from, that was a compliment. “Never had anyone’s mother say that before.”

  Natalya’s smile began in her eyes. There was deep affection in her voice. “Mama’s kind of in a class by herself. Not to mention outspoken.”

  Mike laughed as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I noticed.” He realized that Natalya made no protest as he tightened his hold around her waist, drawing her closer. “You know, I wasn’t really sure just what to expect, coming here.”

  She knew all about the stereotypical image he was undoubtedly laboring under.

  “This can’t be your first wedding, so I’m guessing this is your first Polish wedding.” Amusement filtered all through her. She’d long since stopped taking offense. Humor was a great defuser. “Were you looking for accordions?”

  Actually, he had, but he knew to say so might be insulting to her since it was so utterly stereotypical. Still, he didn’t want to actually lie, either. So he shrugged casually as the music continued to weave seductively around them. “Maybe not accordions, but at least a few polkas.”

  “Wait, they’ll come.” Her father had insisted on it, saying it couldn’t be a real Polish wedding without at least one decent polka. He intended to dance it with Sasha. “And a tarantella, as well.” She saw a smattering of disbelief cross Mike’s face. “Tony’s Italian, remember?” Her parents deeply believed in honoring heritage as well as their adopted country. “New York City is just a huge melting pot, after all.”

  He caught himself hoping that the music—this song—would go on forever. So he could remain like this, with an excuse to continue holding her in his arms.

  “Or so they taught us in fourth grade history,” he recalled. But she deserved his honest thoughts on the subject. “In my experience, people of different nationalities like to preserve their heritage, not mingle with other cultures.” He looked down at her face. “You can’t tell me that your mother wouldn’t rather have your sister marry some nice, upstanding Polish guy.”

  He didn’t get it, did he? That wasn’t what either of her parents were about. Heritage took a backseat to their children’s best interests and happiness. “My mother wants Sasha to be happy. If Sasha would have been happy marrying a Chia Pet, Mama would have given her blessings. After the pysch exam, of course,” Natalya added after a beat.

  Mike laughed out loud, attracting the attention of several of the couples around them on the floor. “Chia Pet, huh? I guess maybe I underestimated your mother.”

  “I guess maybe you did,” she agreed. Her eyes dancing, she told him, “People only do that once.”

  He could see that. Still, it sounded rather ominous. “You make her sound like a CIA operative.”

  Instead of laughing it off, Natalya looked serious for a moment. “A lot of blank spaces as far as my parents are concerned. For the most part, they’re very open people, but I have a feeling that they both went through a great deal that they’re not talking about. When they ‘left’ Poland, their government wasn’t into issuing travel visas.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be telling me this.” For the Pulaskis’ sake, he didn’t want to know more. He didn’t want to be put in a position to choose between his badge and his conscience.

  She looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

  Did she need it spelled out for her? He searched her face and saw no guile there. Apparently, she did need it spelled out.

  “Natalya, if your parents are here illegally—”

  She stopped him before he could continue. “Oh, they’re here legally. I can show you their citizenship papers.” They were framed and hung over the piano that her father sometimes played. “How they left their homeland, however, might not have received the stamp of approval from their government at the time. Now, with the democracy in place, it’s another story.”

  He felt oddly relieved and dismissed the feeling, telling himself it was just that he didn’t like complications, nothing more.

  “Have either of them gone back?” His grandmother used to dream of returning to her place of birth. Toward the end, just before she died, she had talked of it constantly.

  Natalya shook her head. “Neither one wants to. This is their home now.”

  When the song ended he reluctantly let his hand slip from her waist. “No relatives for them to visit back there?”

  “Not that they talk about.”

  Any further questions he was thinking of asking were curtailed as a shushing sound moved through the ballroom like a wave, washing over everyone and pushing them into silence. Sasha’s father walked up before the band and took one of the microphones in his hand. A high-pitched, piercing noise zipped through the room, causing many to involuntarily wince.

  Josef looked sheepish. “Oh, sorry. My wedding ring.” Switching hands, he held up the offending one for everyone to see before dropping it to his side again. “It is time for the bride to be throwing her very expensive flowers to someone. All the not-married women, please to coming closer,” he urged, gesturing to the crowd.

  As a sea of women converged before Natalya’s father, Mike noticed that Natalya remained where she was. He leaned his head in toward her.

  “Something you want to tell me?” he asked. When she raised one inquisitive eyebrow, he elaborated. “You’re not joining the group of ‘not-married women.’”

  She hadn’t planned on it, but now, with him looking at her, something made her want to join in. So she shrugged. “I guess I’d better.”

  “Okay, Sasha, no favorites,” Josef instructed. He used his hands to accompany his words, gesturing for her to turn away. “Turn and looking at the wall, please.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Sasha said dutifully, laughing. Turning to face the band, she pitched her bouquet up high, aiming it as best she could behind her.

  The women who had gathered together for this event surged forward as if they were one. Only Natalya remained standing where she was.

  She merely raised her hands in self-defense when she saw the flowers coming straight at her.

  Chapter 11

  Sometimes, Natalya thought, it seemed to her that things just happened without any preplanning.

  For instance, she’d had no intention of catching Sasha’s wedding bouque
t, yet there it was, in all its glory, sitting in the center of the coffee table. Still fresh looking, with the soft scent of roses seductively drifting toward her.

  And she’d had no intention, right up until the moment she’d crossed this threshold, to stop by Mike’s apartment for a nightcap, especially since, for the most part, she’d hardly had any alcohol at the wedding reception.

  But she felt drunk anyway.

  Or at least, very light-headed. But, in all honesty, that had everything to do with the moment and nothing at all to do with the frosted glass of vodka and orange juice she now held—clutched actually—in her hand.

  Natalya couldn’t shake the feeling that she was waiting for something to happen. Had been waiting for something to happen from the moment she’d first seen Mike walking up to her in the police station.

  Get a grip, Nat.

  This couldn’t go anywhere, she told herself silently. She knew that. He wanted children. A legion of them eventually. He’d told her so today while they were dancing, and she’d gone cold inside then. Cold even though she wanted children, too. Wanted enough to populate a small village. The difference was that Mike could have children of his own if he wound up marrying someone else. She couldn’t have children of her own no matter whom she married. Not unless she adopted them. She knew that wasn’t what Mike had in mind. A man like Mike wanted to see his features imprinted on rambunctious miniatures.

  Taking another long sip of her drink she tried to wash away her thoughts, she hadn’t told him that she’d been robbed of having babies because of complications from an illness. And why should she? she mused cynically. The man didn’t want medical babble, he wanted kids.

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, she thought sullenly, was a deal breaker.

  In her heart, Natalya knew that the minute he started talking about having kids in the future, she should have said something. But that would have made it seem as if she were assuming things between them would get serious. Serious enough where something like not being able to have babies mattered.