Faye Kellerman: Street Dreams

Over the high-pitched wails, a disembodied voice announced a name over the PA system. I turned to the nurse. “You’re wanted?”

“Yes, I am. I can’t leave you up here unsupervised. I’m sure you understand that.”

“Absolutely. A few more minutes?”

“Sorry. Duty calls.”

I sighed, about to place the baby back in the bassinet. Her lips pursed and suckled air, then went slack. I stroked her cheek with a rubber finger. “Good night, little one.”

“You can hold her if you like.”

The voice that spoke was deep. I looked up… then up some more.

He was tall, lean, and high-waisted, with smooth cinnamon skin that stretched over high cheekbones. His face appeared to be long, although it was hard to tell under the mask. The cover-up did serve to showcase magnificent eyes: big and round and pale whiskey in color, set under arched black eyebrows and topped with an awning of long, dark lashes.

Why did guys have the best lashes?

He wore blue scrubs, his hair hidden under a paper cap. He was holding a tray of vials, tubes, needles, and slides. Some of the tubes were filled with blood, others empty. I had been so focused on the baby, I hadn’t heard him come in.

Marnie said, “I just got paged to Four West. She can’t be left unsupervised.”

“Why not? Is she a felon?”

“I’m not kidding, Koby. You cannot leave her alone with the baby. When you leave, she leaves.”

“I will watch her like a marine.”

Marnie was already walking away. “Your charm’s going to fail you one day, Koby. Then what will you have?”

“I think I will have my job,” he retorted. “From you it is shown that charm is not necessary for the position.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” She scurried out of the room, and through the glass window, I saw her racing down the hallway.

He set the tray down on a metal table and directed his jeweled eyes down to my face. “So you are the one who found treasure in the snake pit?”

“I’m the one who pulled her out of the Dumpster. How did you know?”

“The paramedics told me the story.” He checked the clock, then signed a clipboard attached to my baby’s bassinet. “I need to take her blood.”

“She’s sleeping so soundly.”

“I have a light touch. Perhaps she will sleep through the entire procedure. If you continue to hold and rock her, it will make it easier.”

I made a face. “Where do you take the blood from?”

“From the heel.”

My eyes crawled upward to his badge. Though Marnie had called him Koby, his name tag revealed him to beYAAKOV KUTIEL-R.N., M.N., M.P.H. CRITICAL CARE NEONATOLOGY. Yaakov was my stepbrother’s legal name, although my dad usually called him Jake or Jacob. Yaakov was a name associated with Jews or Russians. The man didn’t appear to be of either stock. “How is she doing?”

“Very well, although she did have some drop in temperature from exposure.” He took several slides out from their protective wrappers, marking each one with a number on its label. “Not too much of a drop because, the EMT tells me, she was covered up with the garbage bags.”

“Yes.”

“She was crying when you found her, no?”

He enunciated his words in the clipped cadence of those from Africa.

I told him yes, she was crying.

“So she had plenty of oxygen in her little lungs.” Out came a blue-capped needle. “She was fresh from the womb, you know.”

“I know. The cord was still attached.”

“The EMTs tell me that someone didn’t bother to wipe off the amniotic fluid, just pushed her out and dumped her.”

“Now that’s not entirely true,” I balked. “I wiped her face with a sterile napkin.”

“Perhaps they were referring to her body.” He unwrapped a small glass tube. “It is good you found her so soon. Always babies lose weight after birth.”

“Miracles happen.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Sometimes they happen to you.” He stood close to me, peeling back her little pink blanket and exposing a tiny foot. “Has someone found her mother?”

“Not yet, but we will… hopefully.”

The nurse furrowed his brow. “We?”

“Yes, we… I’m a police officer.”

A slight raise of his eyebrow, though he said nothing.

“I see they didn’t tell you the complete story.”

“No, that is true.”

“I was riding solo last night. A busboy flagged down my cruiser when he heard the crying,” I said. “I was thinking about doing a door-to-door search for her mother tomorrow morning before I go back on duty.”

“A dedicated cop.”

I said, “It’s the way I was made.”

“Dedication is good.” He examined the heel, swiped it down with some yellow cleansing liquid, then gave it a quick stick, squeezing it with gloved hands to extract droplets of blood. The infant wrinkled her nose and pouted, but after some gentle rocking, she decided that her best option was to stay asleep.

Silence as the man worked, gathering the blood into a pipette and smearing it onto the slides. When he was done, he placed a bandage on the infant’s heel, then gently tickled the sole of her tiny foot with a gloved hand. She retracted her leg in her sleep, then let it fall loose.

He chuckled. “Good reflexes.”

I smiled. “Well, she didn’t wake up.” I finally screwed up the nerve to make eye contact. “You must indeed have a light touch.”

“I should have been a surgeon.”

“Why didn’t you?”

I winced as soon as the words came out. His topaz eyes went from the infant to me. There was motion behind the mask. I could tell he was smiling.

He said, “I speak in metaphors.”

“Oh…” I felt my face go hot. “That was nosy as well as tactless. Sorry.” I should have kept my mouth shut. Should have known better by now.

He laughed as I got hotter and hotter. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“Disapp-I…” Stupid, stupid, stupid. I kept my voice even. “Just making random conversation.”

His eyes crinkled upward at the corners. “I must take these slides to the lab. You have to put her back now.”

I looked at the package in my arms and sighed, again stroking her cheek with my gloved hand. I could have held her forever. “Good night, pumpkin.” So soft. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Reluctantly, I stood up and placed her back in her bassinet. He picked up his tray and walked me to the nurses’ station next to the baby nursery so I could remove my protective shell. Off came the face mask, then the cap. I unpinned my hair, shaking it out with a little more drama than necessary. Then I began to peel off my paper suit. First the shoe coverings, then I rolled down the pants, pulling them off, leg by leg, feeling rather clumsy because I was standing instead of sitting. It also felt a little peculiar, this pseudo-disrobing in front of a stranger. As I attempted to lift the shirt over my head, I realized it was tied in back. I reached around to undo the strings but was having trouble with the knots.

I glanced at my chaperon and caught heat from his staring eyes. The intensity caught me off guard and I felt myself go warm. Immediately, he looked away, his complexion darkening a shade. He had undone the top ties of his mask, exposing the rest of his face-an aquiline nose, a generous mouth, and a strong jawline ending in a square chin.

His gaze fell over the top of my head. “Need help?”

“If you could.”

He fumbled under my long tresses, his fingertips brushing my back as he undid the knotted strings. I felt an electrical surge. I think I might have shuddered, but he didn’t comment if I did.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I slipped off the shirt, snapped off the gloves from my hands, and picked up the discarded suit. He pressed the pedal of a trash can and I threw the disposable clothes away.