That woman had had nothing in common with Liberty Reese-the grubby daughter of an African American drug addict who'd sold herself on Death Corner in Cabrini-Green to afford more drugs, who'd done multiple stints in prison, who hadn't been able to get clean when her daughter was shipped back to foster care for the third time, who couldn't tell Liberty who her father was or even if he was white, who'd given birth to a baby boy addicted to heroin and crack and God only knew what else.
That's not who Liberty was anymore. She would never be that lost little girl ever again.
She looked back in the direction the ambulance had gone. That little baby-he was lost, too. Just as her brother had been in the few weeks he'd been alive. Completely alone in the world, with no one to fight for him.
Liberty would not allow that to happen. Not again.
She opened her mouth to tell Marcus something-she wasn't quite sure what, but something-except nothing came out. Her throat closed up and tears burned in her eyes.
Oh, God-was she about to start crying? No-not allowed. Liberty Reese did not cry. She was always in control. She never let her emotions get the better of her. Not anymore.
Marcus looked down at her, concern written large on his face. He stepped closer to her and cupped her chin. "Liberty..."
"Please," she managed to get out. "The baby, Marcus." But that was all she could say because then she really did begin to cry. She dropped her gaze and swallowed hard, trying to will the stupid tears back.
The next thing she knew, Marcus had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. "It's okay," he murmured, his hand rubbing up and down her back. "The baby's going to be fine."
"You don't know that," she got out, trying to keep herself from sinking against his chest because Marcus Warren holding her? Comforting her?
The feeling, the smell of his body-awareness of Marcus as a man-blindsided her. Want, powerful and unexpected, mixed in with the panic over the baby and left her so confused that she couldn't pull away like she needed to and couldn't wrap her arms around him like she wanted to. She was rooted to the spot, wanting more and knowing she couldn't have it.
Marcus leaned back and tilted her head up so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. It wasn't fair, she thought dimly as she stared into the deep blue eyes that were almost exactly the same color as Lake Michigan on a clear day. Why couldn't he be a slimeball? Why did he have to be so damned perfect, hot and rich and now this-this tenderness? Why did he have to make her want him when she didn't deserve him?
He swiped his thumb over her cheek, brushing away a tear she hadn't been able to hold back. "It's important to you?" he asked, his voice deep. "The baby?"
"Yes," was all she could say, because what else was there? Marcus Warren was holding her in his arms and comforting her and looking at her as if he'd do anything to make her happy and dammit all if this wasn't one of her fantasies playing out in real life.
"Then I'll make it fine," he said. His thumb stroked over her cheek again and his other hand flattened out on her lower back. One corner of his mouth curved up into a smile that she knew well-the smile said that Marcus Warren was going to get exactly what he wanted.
And although she knew she shouldn't-couldn't-she leaned into his palm and let herself enjoy the sensation of Marcus touching her. "You will? Why would you do that for me?"
Something shifted in his eyes and his head dropped toward hers. He was going to kiss her, she realized. Her boss was going to kiss her and she was not only going to let him, she was going to kiss him back. Years of wanting and ignoring that want seemed to fall away.
But he didn't. Instead, he said, "Because you're important to me."
She forgot how to breathe. Heck, she might have forgotten her own name there for a second, because she was important to him. Not just a valuable employee. She, Liberty Reese, was important.
The alarm on her phone chimed, startling them out of whatever madness they'd been lost in. Marcus dropped his hand from her face and took a step away before he handed her phone to her. In all that had happened, she'd forgotten he had it.
It was eight forty-five? They'd started their morning run at seven. "You have a phone call with Dombrowski about that proposed bioenergy plant in fifteen minutes," she told him. Despite the heat that was building, she felt almost chilled without Marcus's arms around her.
Marcus laughed. "We're a little off schedule today. We haven't even showered."
Liberty froze as the image of the two of them in the shower together barged into her mind. Normally, they ran back to Marcus's condo, where he got ready while she caught the train to the office. Marcus had installed a shower in the restroom, so she would shower and dress there. She'd get started on organizing the notes she'd made during the run and Marcus would show up by nine thirty, looking as if he'd walked off a red carpet.
There was no showering together. Heck, there wasn't even any showering in the same building. That's how it worked.
But then, before ten minutes ago, there hadn't been any tears or hugs, either. Their physical contact was limited to handshakes and an occasional pat on the back and that was it.
"Shall I call him and reschedule?"
"Please do. Then we'll head back and I'll make a few calls." That was a perfectly normal set of Marcus responses.
Liberty was confident they were going to pretend that the touching and the holding and even the wedding date invitation had never happened. And that was fine with her, really.
But Marcus leaned forward. Even though he didn't touch her again, she still felt the air thin between them. His gaze dropped to her lips and, fool that she was, she still wanted that kiss that hadn't happened. The kiss that couldn't happen. "I promise you, Liberty-we won't lose that baby."
Three
It took Marcus the better part of three hours to find the right bureaucrat to deal with. The CEO of Children's Hospital, while sympathetic to Marcus's plight, could not legally provide any information on the baby. He did, however, call Marcus back in twenty minutes with the number of a DCFS supervisor.
The supervisor was less than helpful, but Marcus got the name of the manager of DCFS Guardians, who was responsible for assigning workers to these cases. It took some time to get ahold of the manager, and when he did, Marcus discovered a caseworker hadn't even been sent out.
"We're doing the best we can, Mr. Warren," the tired-sounding woman said. "But we have a limited amount of social workers and a limited amount of funds available to us. The baby will probably be in the hospital for several days. We'll send someone out as soon as we're able."
"That's not good enough," Marcus snapped.
"Well, how do you propose we deal with it?" the woman shot back.
The same way he dealt with everything. He wasn't about to let something like red tape get in his way. Marcus did a cursory web search and discovered that the current head of DCFS had gone to school with his father.
Well, hell. He should have started there. He knew how to play this game. He'd been raised playing an extended game of Who's Who. Political favors and donations were the kind of grease that made the wheels in Chicago run.
It took another twenty minutes to get through to the director's office and an additional twenty before Marcus had the man's personal promise that a caseworker would be assigned within the hour. "Of course, we don't normally keep nonfamily members updated..." the director said.
"I'd consider it a personal favor," Marcus said and in that, at least, he was being truthful.
Because after watching Liberty fold herself around that infant and cuddle the baby until he calmed down? After seeing Liberty's anguish as the baby was driven away in the ambulance? After impulsively pulling her into his arms because she was going to cry and feeling her body pressed against his?
After seeing that look of total gratitude when Marcus had said he'd take care of things?
Yeah, this was personal.
"Give your father my best," the man said at the end of the call.
"Will do!" Marcus said with false enthusiasm. He'd rather his father not find out about this particular conversation or the reason behind it. If Laurence and Marisa Warren knew about this, they'd give Marcus that disappointed look that, despite the decades of plastic surgery, was still immediately recognizable. It was one thing to trade political favors-but to do so for this? For an abandoned baby? Because his assistant got a little teary?