shifted her weight, uncomfortable with the personal nature of Mr. Orlean’s questions and tone. “Why do you ask?”
“I just...well, I thought, maybe...” He fumbled awkwardly, the nasal voice back. He sounded truly contrite, and Darby closed her eyes. The man sounded as if he really cared about Savannah’s plight, and she appreciated that he wanted to be more than just a cold company drone at the other end of the line.
“For what it’s worth, I bet he’d have been a match,” she blurted, not knowing why she was going down this road with a perfect stranger, other than the fact that the subject had preoccupied her mind for weeks. “She inherited so much from him. From his dark hair and light brown eyes to his stubborn streak.”
What if Connor were alive? Would his marrow have been able to save their child? She shook her head and shoved the what-if aside. She’d never know that answer. Connor was gone.
* * *
I bet he’d have been a match.
Connor rocked back in his desk chair and squeezed his eyes shut. Frustration and regret gripped his chest and twisted painfully. His daughter needed him. Needed his marrow.
“I have nothing to base this on other than my own speculation, of course,” Darby went on, the sadness in her voice almost more than he could bear.
When she’d started crying earlier, it was all he could do not to blurt out the truth and jump on the first plane back to Louisiana.
“But Savannah got so many other traits from her father, why not marrow type, too?” She paused for a humorless laugh. “And since Connor’s brother has some of the same markers and is a partial match, it seems reasonable to me that Connor would be a closer match. Right?”
Connor. He gritted his teeth, swallowing a groan of anguish. She’d unwittingly confirmed what he suspected, but hearing his name on her lips again was a sweet agony. The precious details about his daughter were like manna that he feasted on, but painful to hear, as well.
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Sounds reasonable.” He grimaced, realizing he’d forgotten to mask his voice again.
She grunted, and he heard shuffling noises. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m boring you with all this. I need to get back to Savannah. I think I hear her waking up.”
He heard a door squeak, a muffled, “Hi, Miss Priss. Did you sleep well?”
Connor held his breath and squeezed the phone, treasuring the tiny glimpse of the life he’d left behind. The life he ached for every waking minute and dreamed of every moment he slept.
If he slept.
A tiny, distant voice answered. Sweet, plaintive, so young. “It ouches, Mommy.”
Savannah. His daughter.
His baby needed him.
But going back to Lagniappe, leaving WitSec and reclaiming his old life would be suicide. More important, he could put Darby and Savannah in jeopardy.
“I have to go,” Darby said. “I don’t know if I’ve helped you settle anything, but I hope...well, that you’ll do the right thing. Goodbye, Mr. Orlean.”
He heard the click of the call disconnecting, then sat staring at the phone in his hand for long minutes after Darby was gone.
Do the right thing. Years ago he’d done what he believed was the right thing and “died” in order to protect his family and Darby. Now, to save his daughter, would he have to come back from the dead?
Connor went to a local medical lab that same afternoon, requested his blood be analyzed for bone marrow matching and gave the lab directions to send his contact information along with the results of his test to Savannah’s doctor in Lagniappe, flagged for comparison with Savannah’s blood. Roughly thirty-six hours later, his cell phone buzzed while he was in a morning meeting. Seeing the name of Savannah’s doctor on his caller ID, he excused himself from the meeting to take the call.
“Mr. Orlean, this is Dr. Allison Reed in Lagniappe, Louisiana. I received a set of test results yesterday from a lab in Dallas that you asked be compared with a patient of mine.”
“Yes, ma’am. Darby Kent’s daughter, Savannah. Am I a match for a bone marrow transplant?”
“As a matter of fact, you are a fairly good preliminary match.”
Connor gave a silent fist pump, and his heart rate leaped. “That’s great!”
“I have to ask, how did you know you might be a match?” Dr. Reed asked. “What prompted you to send us your results?”
“I...” He hesitated, knowing he couldn’t tell the doctor he was Savannah’s father without blowing his cover. “I didn’t know. More like hoped I’d be a match, I guess. So what’s the next step? What do I need to do?”
“I understand that you are in Dallas, but if there was any way you could come to Lagniappe, I’d like to have a face-to-face consult with you and do a few more blood tests.”
“Go to Lagniappe?” His heart sank. Returning to his hometown, even for a little while, meant risking someone recognizing him. Meant putting his new identity on the line. Meant putting his life—and potentially Darby’s and his family’s lives—in danger if one of the Gales’ henchmen spotted him. “Can’t I have the blood tests here? Can’t I make the marrow donation here, should it come to it?”
“Well, yes. Technically you can, but I really prefer to have at least one face-to-face consult. And if we are able to go ahead with a transplant, I’d much rather have my team harvest your marrow here. I take a very hands-on approach.” She chuckled. “My husband has other names for it. But I work best when I can oversee every phase of a transplant.”
“Oh.” Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. Hell.
“Is there a problem? Is there a reason you can’t come to Lagniappe, Mr. Orlean?” Dr. Reed asked. “Because if you’re not fully committed to the possibility of being Savannah’s donor, it would be better that we not raise the family’s hopes—”
“I’m committed,” he interrupted. “I’m absolutely committed.” He’d figure out a way to get to Lagniappe, whatever it took. Maybe the U.S. Marshals, who’d set him up with his new identity, could provide him a cover or a disguise to get him in and out of Lagniappe when needed. “When do you need me there?”
“Can you be here Friday?”
“I’ll find a way.”
“Good,” the doctor said. “In that case, I’d like you to get more blood drawn tomorrow. I’ll send you the address of the center where you should go. They’ll start a more detailed DNA study and send me the results in time for your consultation here Friday.”
Connor clenched his teeth, dreading the meeting with the U.S. Marshals, fearing what might happen if his cover was blown. But he had a daughter. A sick little girl who needed him. He would go to Lagniappe—hell, he’d eat glass or take a bullet to the gut in order to save his daughter’s life.
Chapter
