his way through the crowd and started toward the building, only to be stopped by another officer on the sidewalk.
“Sir, you can’t go up there.”
Like hell he couldn’t. “Kayla Porter, where is she?”
“And you are?” The officer gave him a hard stare.
“A friend. A family friend,” he emphasized.
“She’s over there in the ambulance, sir, with the baby.”
Ambulance? A cold rush of fear washed through him. Was she hurt? Was the baby hurt? Without another word to the officer, he strode toward the ambulance. As he neared the back of the vehicle, he spied Kayla inside, a stark white dressing on her forehead. His gut knotted until he saw the sleeping baby in her arms—not crying, not visibly injured, he noted almost immediately. He felt his taut muscles begin to ease. They were okay. A ridiculous sense of relief coursed through him, replacing the chill of alarm that had been there only seconds ago.
From the look on Kayla’s pale face, she was shaken, but aside from that dressing, it looked like she and Sienna were all right. Kayla hadn’t seen him yet. Her eyes were fixed on the woman being bundled into the back of the patrol car. Even from here he could see the way shock and strain had drawn Kayla’s blanched features into a mask of horror and disbelief. She grew visibly paler at the vitriol being flung at her by the woman as one of the officers closed the back door of the cruiser and the vehicle pulled away. A paramedic moved inside the ambulance, blocking Van’s view. As much as it frustrated him, he reminded himself it was okay for now. Kayla was getting the care she needed. The baby was fine. There was nothing else he could do right now but wait.
After another ten minutes he saw Kayla being helped down to the street. He resisted the urge to rush forward. A female officer led Kayla and Sienna back across the street and into the building. He followed them up the stairs.
The front door to what had to be Kayla’s apartment was wide open. He stepped through the threshold, his gaze instantly assessing the chaos inside—the overturned side tables, the broken lamp, the cupboard doors hanging open—their shelves denuded of whatever had been inside.
“Sir, this is a crime scene. Please go back downstairs,” the officer instructed when she caught sight of him.
“I’m a friend of Ms. Porter’s,” he repeated, then forced himself to say his next words. “And the father of the baby.”
“Is that right, Kayla? Do you want him here?”
Kayla came through a doorway and closed it quietly behind her. The second her eyes lit on him, she seemed to jolt in surprise. Shock, rapidly followed by something else—guilt, probably, he surmised, since she likely knew good and well why he was here—shot across her face.
“Yes, that’s okay,” she said. She averted her gaze and studiously avoided looking at him again.
The officer turned to Van. “Fine,” she said. “You can come in.”
He gave the woman a curt nod and moved farther inside, picking his way through the debris to where Kayla stood near an overturned sofa. Shudders racked her body even though the evening air coming through the broken window was pretty mild for May. She was clearly feeling the effects of whatever had transpired here. Looking around, he knew it couldn’t have been pleasant. Van shucked off his suit jacket and placed it over her shoulders. She flinched at his touch as his hands briefly rested on her upper arms, but she didn’t refuse the warmth his jacket offered.
He waited patiently while she gave her statement, his hands curled into impotent fists as she described the invasion of her home by a woman she’d once trusted. But his interest sharpened at the officer’s next words.
“And you say this is the woman who cleared out your bank account last month?”
“I... I can’t talk about this right now,” she said, glancing at Van, her voice jittering with nerves.
“Don’t let me stop you making a full statement,” Van responded smoothly. “Give the officer the information she needs.”
At his prompting, Kayla carried on, although he sensed she was choosing her words carefully because of him. But no amount of care could disguise the facts, and by the end of her statement he was boiling under the surface. Not only had she brought some homeless person into her apartment, she’d left Sienna with her on a regular basis. Was she completely out of her mind? Van swallowed back the fierce wave of frustration that clogged his throat. He’d just have to bide his time until they were alone so he could have this out with Kayla.
He didn’t have to wait much longer before the officer was leaving, with an admonition to Kayla to get her locks changed in the morning.
“I’ll take care of it tonight,” Van said firmly. “Thank you, officer.”
The woman looked from him to Kayla and back again. Then, with a slight nod, she closed the door behind her. Van turned to face Kayla. Silence stretched out between them like a palpable being. He couldn’t hold back a moment longer.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“Tonight? How to stay alive, mostly.”
Her attitude did nothing to assuage the burning anger that smoldered deep inside him.
“Nice try, Kayla. You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You owe me an explanation and I’m not leaving until I get it.”
Kayla righted an armchair and sank into it. She was shattered. If having Zoe return to her apartment, tripping out on the drugs she’d spent all of Kayla’s hard-earned savings on, hadn’t been enough, now she had to deal with Van, as well?
She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat and looked at him. While she might not have been able to see the fury that emanated off him in waves, she could certainly feel it.
“Can’t this wait until tomorrow? As you can see, I have a lot on my plate right now.”
Her head ached where one of Zoe’s missiles had caught her on the forehead and Kayla gingerly touched the dressing the paramedic had put over the cut and closed her eyes. She sensed rather than saw Van move to her side.
“Are you okay? Do you need further medical attention?”
She let her hand drop into her lap and opened her eyes again. “No, I’m okay. It was a glancing blow. Nothing major. I’m just really tired right now. I’m not up for a big argument.” She dredged up the last of her courage and fired her next words straight at him. “Perhaps you could call and make an appointment.”
He looked startled for a second and then reluctantly amused. But frustration and fury soon took over again. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. You know exactly why I’m here. You owe me answers and I’m not leaving until I get them.”
“They’ll have to wait until I can get this all sorted out,” she said with a weary wave of her hand at the mess that was once her sitting room and kitchen.
“Fine. We do that, then we talk.”
“Van,
