His Forever Family

“Shh, shh,” Liberty soothed as Marcus talked to the 911 dispatcher. “Here, let’s try this.” She dipped her finger into the water and held it against the baby’s mouth. He sucked at it eagerly and made a little protest when she pulled her finger away to dip it into the water again.

He latched on to her finger a second time—which had the side benefit of cutting off the crying. Liberty took a deep breath and tried to think. There’d been a baby at her second foster home. How had the foster mother calmed that baby down?

Oh, yes. She remembered now. She began to rock back and forth, the gravel cutting into her legs. “That’s a good boy,” she said, her ears straining for the sounds of sirens. “You’re loved. You can do it.”

Agonizingly long minutes passed. She couldn’t get the baby to take much more water, but he sucked on the tip of her finger fiercely. As she rocked and soothed him, his body relaxed and he curled up against her side. Liberty held him even tighter.

“Is he okay?” Marcus demanded.

She looked up at him, trying not to stare at his body. Never in the three years she’d worked for Marcus had she seen him even half this panicked. “I think he fell asleep. The poor thing. He can’t be more than a few days old.”

“How could anyone just leave him?” Now, that was more like the Marcus she knew—frustrated when the world did not conform to his standards.

“You’d be surprised,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze back to the baby, who was still ferociously tugging on her finger in his sleep. Aside from being hot and filthy, he looked healthy. Of course, she’d never seen William before he died in foster care, so she didn’t know what a drug-addicted newborn looked like. This child’s head was round and his eyes were still swollen; she’d seen pictures of newborns who looked like him. She just couldn’t tell.

“You’re just about perfect, you know?” she told the infant. Then she said to Marcus, “Here, wet your shirt again. I think he’s cooling down.”

Marcus did as he was told. “You’re doing an amazing job,” he said as she wrapped the wet cloth around the baby’s body. The baby started at the temperature change, but didn’t let go of her finger. Marcus went on, “I didn’t know you knew so much about babies,” and she didn’t miss the awe in his voice.

There’s a lot you don’t know about me. But she didn’t say it because it’d been less than—what, twenty minutes? If that. It’d been less than twenty minutes since Marcus Warren had said he trusted her because she was the one person who was honest with him.

She wasn’t—honest with him, that was. But that didn’t mean she wanted to lie outright to him. She hated lying at all but she did what she had to do to survive.

So, instead, she said, “Must be the mothering instinct.” What else could it be? Here was a baby who needed her in a truly primal way and Liberty had responded.

The baby sighed in what she hoped was contentment and she felt her heart clinch. “Such a good boy,” she said, leaning down to kiss his little forehead.

Sirens came screaming toward them. Then the paramedics were upon them and everything happened fast. The baby was plucked from her arms and carried into the ambulance, where he wailed even louder. It tore her up to hear him cry like that.

At the same time, a police officer arrived and took statements from her and Marcus. Liberty found herself half listening to the questions as she stood at the back of the open ambulance while the medics dug out a pacifier and wrapped the baby in a clean blanket.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked when one of the paramedics hopped out of the back and started to close the door.

“Hard to say,” the man said.

“Where are you taking him?”

“Northwestern is closest.”

Marcus broke off talking with the cop to say, “Take him to Children’s.” At some point, he’d put his shirt back on. It looked far worse for wear.

The paramedic shrugged and closed the doors, cutting Liberty off from the baby. The ambulance drove off—lights flashing but no sirens blaring.

The cop finished taking their statements. Liberty asked, “Will you be able to find the mother?”

Much like the paramedic, the cop shrugged. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she’d barely survived childhood because, aside from Grandma Devlin, people couldn’t be bothered to check on little Liberty Reese. “It’s a crime to abandon a baby,” he said. “If the mother had left the baby at a police station, that’s one thing. But...” He shrugged again. “Don’t know if we’ll find her, though. Usually babies are dumped close to where they’re born, and someone in the neighborhood knows something. But the middle of the park?” He turned, as if the conversation was over.

“What’ll happen to the baby?” Marcus asked, but Liberty could have told him.

If they couldn’t find the mother or the father, the baby would go into the foster system. He’d be put up for adoption, eventually, but that might take a while until his case was closed. And by then, he might not be the tiny little baby he was right now. He might be bigger. And he was African American. That made it that much harder to get adopted.

She looked in the direction the ambulance had gone.

The cop gave Marcus a sad smile. “DCFS will take care of it,” he said.

Liberty cringed. She did not have warm and fuzzy memories of the Department of Child and Family Services. All she had were grainy memories of frazzled caseworkers who couldn’t be bothered. Grown-up Liberty knew that was because the caseworkers were overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids in the system. But little-kid Liberty only remembered trying to ask questions about why her mom or even Grandma Devlin wasn’t going to come get her and being told, “Don’t worry about it,” as if that would make up for her mother’s sudden disappearances.

What would happen to the baby? She looked at her arms, wondering at how empty they felt. “Marcus,” she said in a hoarse voice as the cop climbed into his cruiser. “We can’t lose that baby.”

“What?” He stared at her in shock.

She grabbed on to his arm as if she was drowning and he was the only thing that could keep her afloat. “The baby. He’ll get locked into the system and by the time the police close his case, it might be too late.”

Marcus stared down at her as if she’d started spouting Latin. “Too...late? For what?”

Liberty’s mouth opened and the words I was a foster kid—trust me on this almost rolled off her tongue. But at the last second, she snapped her mouth shut. She’d created this person Marcus saw, this Liberty Reese—a white college graduate, an excellent manager of time and money who always did her research and knew the answers. Liberty Reese was invaluable to Marcus because she had made herself valuable.

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?

“What do you hope to gain out of this?” That’s what his mother would say in her simpering voice, because that’s what life was to her. Everything, every single human interaction, had a tally associated with it. You either gained something or you lost.

Warrens were never losers.

And his father? The man famous for his affairs with his secretaries? “If you want her, just take her.” That’s what his father would say.

He didn’t want to be that man. He didn’t want to use Liberty because he had all the power in their relationship. He was not his father.

Still, his father cast a long shadow. Marcus had gone to the university his parents had picked. His girlfriends had been preapproved daughters of their friends. Hell, even his company, Warren Capital, had been his father’s idea. What better way to curry power and favor than to literally fund the businesses of tomorrow?

It had taken him years to loosen the ties that bound him to his parents, but he’d managed to separate his life from theirs. Liberty was a part of that, too. His mother had some friend of a friend she’d wanted him to hire—someone she could use to keep tabs on Marcus. Instead, he’d defied her by hiring a young woman from a family no one had ever heard of based on the strength of her recommendations and her insistence that she jogged regularly.

Marcus had paid for that act of defiance, just as he’d paid for refusing to marry Lillibeth Hanson. He may have lost favor with his parents, but he’d gained much more.

He’d gained his independence.

Still, he couldn’t have his parents finding out about this. It simply wouldn’t do for them to interest themselves in his life again.

“Mr. Warren?” Liberty stuck her head through his office door. He didn’t miss the way that he was “Mr. Warren” again, as if she hadn’t called him Marcus by the side of the jogging trail this morning.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Chabot is on the line.” Marcus must have looked at her blankly, for she went on, “The producer for Feeding Frenzy? He wants to confirm the meeting when you’re in Los Angeles after the wedding.”

Right. Marcus had spent his entire morning tracking down someone—anyone—who knew about the little baby. He did actually have work to do.

“What did you tell him?”

She notched an eyebrow at him. “I put him on hold.” The panic-stricken woman from the run this morning was gone and in her place was his competent, levelheaded assistant. Ms. Reese was impeccably dressed in a gray skirt suit with a rose-colored blouse underneath. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a slick bun and her makeup was understated, as always.

He’d wanted to kiss her this morning. The impulse had come out of nowhere. He’d watched her hold that child and felt her palpable grief when the ambulance had driven off. He’d wanted to hold her, to let her know it’d be okay. And then she’d looked up at him with her deep brown eyes and...

“Thank you, Ms. Reese,” he said because what he needed right now was not to think about that impulse or how he’d joked that he should take her to the wedding only to realize he hadn’t been joking. Which was a problem. She was an assistant—not part of his social circle. If he showed up with her, people would talk. Marcus Warren, slumming with his secretary. Or, worse, they’d assume that Liberty was manipulating him just as Lillibeth had.

But he wanted to take her. She was safe and trustworthy. And she was the one telling him to do what he wanted.

She gave him a little nod and turned to go.

“Liberty,” he said.

She paused for a beat before she turned back around. “Yes?”

“I’ve made some calls about the baby. I’ll let you know when I hear anything.”

Her face softened and he was struck by how lovely she was. Underneath that executive-assistant mask was a beautiful woman. He just hadn’t realized how beautiful until this morning. “Thank you.”

He had nothing to gain by tracking down that baby. The child wouldn’t bring him more power or money. The baby boy wouldn’t be able to return a favor when Marcus wanted.

But he’d made a promise to Liberty.

He was going to keep it.

* * *

The ad mock-up for Rock City Watch drifted out of focus as Liberty wondered about that little baby. It’d been four days since she’d held him to her chest. Was he still in the hospital? Was he okay?

She shouldn’t be this worried, she decided as she tried to refocus on the ad. Worrying wasn’t going to help anything. And besides, Marcus had promised he’d look into it and she had to have faith that he’d keep that promise to her.

Of course it’d also been four days since Marcus had wrapped his strong arms around her and told her he’d find the baby because the child was important to her and she was important to Marcus.

Since that time, there’d been no hugs, no long looks. There’d been no more mention of the wedding, although that would have to change soon. If he continued to insist on going, he needed to pick a date. A safe date, she mentally corrected herself. Someone who wouldn’t look at him and see nothing but a hot body and a huge...

Bank account.

The phone rang. “Warren Capital Investments. How may I assist you?”

“Ms. Reese.” The coquettish voice of Mrs. Marisa Warren floated from the other end of the line. Liberty gritted her teeth. So this was how today was going to go, huh? “How is my son today?”

“Fine, Mrs. Warren.” But Liberty offered no other information.

When she’d first been hired, Marcus had made it blisteringly clear that she worked for him, not for Laurence or Marisa Warren. If he ever caught her passing information to his parents about his business, his prospects or his personal life, well, she could pack her things and go. End of discussion.

Luckily, Liberty had gotten very good at telling people what they wanted to hear without giving anything away.

“I was wondering,” Marisa simpered, “if my son has settled on a date for the Hanson wedding? It’s a few weeks away and he knows how important it is.”

When she’d first started fielding these nosy calls, Liberty hadn’t entirely understood why Marcus was so determined that nothing of his life leak out to his parents. After all, she’d grown up dreaming of having a mother and a father who cared about her. And Marisa Warren seemed to care about her son quite a lot.

But appearances were deceiving. “Mrs. Warren,” she said in her most deferential tone because it also hadn’t taken her long to realize that while Marcus might treat her with respect and dignity, to his parents she was on approximately the same level as a maid. “I couldn’t speak to his plans for the wedding.”

“Surely you’ve heard something...”

Liberty focused on keeping her voice level. “As you know, Mr. Warren doesn’t share personal information with me.”

She wasn’t sure at what point this wedding had crossed from personal to business and back again. When Marcus’s relationship with Lillibeth had blown up in the media, she’d read what she could—but he’d never once broached the topic during office hours. It was only when they were running that he’d even touch on the subject—and even that was more about damage control than “feelings” and “sharing.”

He’d asked her to prepare a roster of acceptable women with whom to attend this wedding. And then he’d asked her—however jokingly—to be his date.

“Hmph,” Mrs. Warren said. It was the least dignified sound she was probably capable of making and, in her honeyed voice, it still sounded pretty. “Have him call me when he’s free.” She never asked to speak to Marcus when she called his office number. That was the thing that Liberty had realized about that first call. Mrs. Warren wasn’t calling to talk to Marcus. She was calling to talk to Liberty about Marcus.

Liberty knew where her loyalty lay, even if Mrs. Warren didn’t. “Of course, Mrs. Warren.”

She hung up and finished analyzing the Rock City Watch ads. If Marcus was going to push them as a high-end luxury good, then the ads needed to be slicker. There was too much text talking about Detroit’s revival, and the photography needed to give off a more exclusive vibe, she decided.

What rich people wanted was exclusivity. That’s what she’d learned in the three years she’d worked in this office on North LaSalle. Not only did they want the best, they wanted to be damned sure that it was better than what everyone else had. It wasn’t enough to own a great watch or a fancy car or live in an expensive building. Rich people wanted to make sure that theirs was the only one. She figured that was why they spent so much money on artworks. By definition, those were one of a kind.