Her Baby's Father

As the man dived for the gun again, Sara thrust out a foot and kicked the automatic off the curb and under a car.

“Bitch.” The man’s face was a study in anger, his hands curled into claws. Jack’s fear leaped into his throat, but as he struggled up, the man apparently decided to cut his losses. After one more angry look, he whirled away and ran, disappearing around a corner.

His own anger boiling over, Jack started after him, but Sara darted forward, grabbing his arm and holding him back.

“Don’t.”

He tried to wrench away, but she held fast.

“Let him go.”

Rage had fueled his aggressive instincts, but he knew that he had little chance of catching the guy. Not when his running speed had been cut substantially by his injury. Plus the attacker probably had mapped out an emergency escape route before the attack.

Still, he was torn between imperatives.

The door of the restaurant burst open, and Patrick stepped out, his gaze landing on them. “I heard a scuffle. What happened?”

“A guy tried to rob us,” Jack answered.

“I don’t know,” Sara mused.

Jack turned toward her, seeing the indecision on her face. “You don’t think it was a robbery? I mean, what else could it have been?”

She looked torn. “He didn’t ask for our money, did he?”

Jack laughed. “I guess he didn’t get a chance to. You hit him in the face with your purse.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” she conceded.

“Fast thinking.”

“I took a self-defense course.”

“Don’t they advise you that it’s better to give up your wallet than get shot?”

“Yes. But I just…you know…” She raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture.

“I’m going to call the police,” the restaurant owner said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911.

Sara looked shaken.

Jack reached for her, pulling her into his arms, feeling her tremble.

She whispered his name in a way that made it sound like they’d had a whole lot more shared experiences than just what had happened today.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I am now. I was so scared.”

“But you didn’t lose your cool.”

She nodded against his shoulder, clinging to him, wrapping her arms around his back and pressing close.

Holding her in his embrace was wonderful. And he had the odd feeling that it wasn’t for the first time. There was a familiarity about her that sent a wave of contentment—and longing—through him. He wanted her, even when he knew that letting her get close to him could lead to disappointment.

He stopped worrying about that as he hugged her to him. He’d wanted to feel her body against his all evening. He hadn’t thought he’d get an excuse so quickly, although this wasn’t the kind of reason he’d have elected, if he’d had a choice.

He slid his hands up and down her back, wishing he could do more. He wanted to kiss her. More than kiss. He wanted her in a bed. Which astonished him. She’d see the scars on his body. The scars that reminded him of the worst day of his life. The scars that had shocked another woman.

But he couldn’t do the things he craved now. Not out here on the street. Not with the restaurant owner looking at them and the cops on the way.

She must have understood that, too, because she eased away from him, her gaze going to his.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Same here.”

“The gun was pointed at you.”

“You put yourself in danger.”

“I was terrified for you. I just acted instinctively.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Both of you just had a pretty nasty experience. Come inside and sit down.”

“Yes. Thanks,” Sara answered.

She followed the restaurant owner into the building, where chairs were now upside down on the tabletops. Quickly Patrick reached for the closest group and pulled four of them down.

His wife came out of the kitchen, looking concerned when she saw two of their diners had returned, both appearing somewhat the worse for wear.

“What happened?”

“Attempted robbery,” her husband said.

“You poor things,” she sympathized. “I’m Laura Walsh,” she said to Jack.

“Jack Morgan.” He looked from her to her husband. “Has there been a lot of crime down here?”

“Not a lot. But it happens from time to time. I’m so sorry you got into trouble right outside the restaurant.”

“Not your fault,” Jack answered.

“Can I get you some brandy?” Patrick asked.

“Yes. Thanks,” Jack answered.

Patrick stepped behind the bar and poured two glasses of Azteca de Oro and brought them over.

Jack took a sip. “Good stuff.”

“My best.”

Sara also took a small swallow. “Yes, this is good.”

“How are you doing?” Jack asked.

“Better. Thanks.”

The casual conversation stopped when the door opened and a uniformed officer stepped inside. He was young and fit, and had that confidence a uniform gave you until something bad happened. Jack knew all about that from his time in Afghanistan. He’d gone over there thinking the U.S. Army could whip the asses of the Taliban. He’d found out they didn’t give in easily. And they had no problems with fighting dirty.

“You called in an attempted robbery?” asked the officer, whose name tag said Robards.

“Yes,” the restaurant owner answered.

“We were the ones he assaulted,” Jack said, gesturing toward Sara and himself. “We’d just finished dinner and stepped outside.”

Robards looked at Sara. “You’re the woman who stages the houses, right?”

“How do you know?”

“My wife has taken me to a couple of showings. I saw you at one of them.”

Sara nodded. “I was working on a job all day. Jack and I came down here for some dinner—and to unwind.”

Jack laughed. “It didn’t turn out quite the way we expected.”

“It did until a few minutes ago,” she answered, her gaze searching his.

“Yes.”

Again, he forgot that they weren’t alone, until the police officer said, “Let me get some basic information.”

He took their names, phone numbers, addresses and email addresses. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Jack gave an account of the incident.

When he finished, Robards looked at Sara. “You were taking a chance with that purse stunt. He could have shot you.”

“I guess that’s right.” She shifted in her seat. “I just reacted when I saw the gun pointed at Jack.” Even though she told the cop the same thing she’d told Jack earlier, there was something about her expression that gave him an odd feeling, as though she were holding information back.

“What did the man look like?” the cop asked.

Jack raised one shoulder. “There wasn’t anything remarkable about him. He was medium height. His hair was thinning. But mostly I saw the gun.”

“What kind of gun?”

“An automatic.” Jack looked at Sara. “You kicked it under the car. Maybe it’s still there.”

“Show me where,” Robards said.

They all got up and went outside. Sara pointed to the spot where the weapon had disappeared. It was lying against the curb, and the officer was able to retrieve it and put it into an evidence bag.

“Good,” he said. “Anything else you can add to his description?”

She nodded. “Like Jack said, he was medium height. Thinning hair. A high forehead. A wide mouth. One of his front teeth was a little crooked.”

“You noticed that?” Jack asked.

“I was thinking he ought to get it fixed.”

“Anything else?” Robards asked.

“Bad skin. Well, you know, teenage acne scars.”

“Yeah,” Jack chimed in. “I forgot to mention that.”

Sara spoke again. “He was wearing dark slacks. A dark, long-sleeved knit shirt. His shoes were dark. I guess he was hoping to make himself inconspicuous.”

“Did you see his eye color?” the cop asked.

“They were light,” Sara said. “I don’t know exactly what color.” She thought for a moment. “Except for the scars, his skin was very pale. I don’t think he goes out much. And, uh, he didn’t sound like he was from around here. More like a New York accent.”

“He didn’t say much,” Jack answered.

“I know. Just an impression I had.”

“Had either of you seen him before?” Robards asked.

“No,” Jack answered.

Sara said the same thing, but she was a beat behind him.

“Are you willing to come in and look at some mug shots?” Robards asked.

“Yes,” they both said at the same time.

“Can you come in tomorrow morning?”

They both agreed.

By the end of the interview, Sara was looking wiped out.

“I’ll drive,” Jack said when they returned to her car.

She flopped into the passenger seat, leaned back and closed her eyes, but he saw her hands were clasped in her lap.

He started the car, pulled out of the parking space and headed toward home.

“Your quick thinking made a difference,” he said.

“Don’t give me too much credit,” she murmured. “You beat him up, and he ran away.”

“I think he’d have shot me if you hadn’t reacted.”

She nodded.

“Then you came up with a lot of details I didn’t notice.”

Her eyes snapped open. “I’ve trained myself to think about details. That’s part of my job.”

“Yeah. When the cop asked if you’d seen the guy before, you hesitated.”

She turned her head toward him. “I was trying to think if I had seen him.”

“And I assumed I hadn’t.”

“I guess it’s just the way we think about things.”

“Right,” he answered, still mulling that over. He hadn’t thought about his powers of observation until tonight.

Sara closed her eyes again, and he wondered if she wanted to sleep—or to avoid talking about their answers to the cop.

It was only a short ride to his house, which was a fifty-year-old rancher on a couple of acres off Route 144. The property had appealed to him because he hated the way the county was being built up with houses crammed onto tiny lots.

He shared a long driveway with several other home owners who also wanted some privacy. When he pulled up in front of the house, Sara opened her eyes and looked around. A security light had gone on, illuminating the low, rectangular front of the house, and he saw her looking at it.

“Not very impressive,” he said.

“I’m guessing you didn’t buy it to impress anyone.”

He laughed. “That’s for sure. I just wanted a place to live where I could be by myself.”

She nodded, and he wondered if he had given too much away with that answer. No use explaining that his parents had invited him to move back in to their mansion, and he hadn’t wanted the obligation of making conversation. Or having anyone comment on his physical-therapy schedule.

Jack knew that Mom and Dad were being protective of him. They hadn’t liked him joining the army. They’d been sick with worry when he’d gone off to Afghanistan. And they were still worried about his physical and mental shape.

He understood all that. Maybe he was making a dramatic improvement tonight. At least mentally.

He’d intended to tell Sara that he knew she was tired. Instead he heard himself say, “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “But I think I shouldn’t.”

“Because you decided this isn’t going anywhere?” he asked, wanting to get the disappointment over with in one fell swoop.

“Because I know it is. And if I come inside, there’s no telling what will happen. Then you’ll think I’m the kind of woman who…” She stopped and laughed. “I’d better not make suggestions, but I’m thinking we’re safe out here.”

As she spoke she reached for him across the narrow console, pulling him into her arms. “Oh, Jack,” she sighed, as she clung tightly to him.

“We both had a frightening experience,” he answered.

“It’s not just that, and you know it.” She pulled back so that her eyes could meet his.

“Yes.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then moved in closer again, lowering his head to cover her lips with his.

He was out of practice kissing. Out of practice with any kind of intimacy. But as soon as their mouths touched, he knew exactly what he was doing.

She made a small sound as his lips moved over hers, the friction setting up a vibration through his body.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he knew that the two of them could have died on the street outside the restaurant. Or he could have, if she hadn’t been with him.

Would he just have handed over his wallet if he’d been alone?

Probably not.

Since he’d come home, his mood had been reckless. He hadn’t cared much about what happened to him. That had changed as they’d sat over dinner. Changed even more when the man had come at them with the gun.

“Something could have happened to you back there,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Or to you,” she answered, turning her head so that her lips rubbed against his, then settling down with a more steady pressure.

He didn’t have to ask her to open for him. She simply did it, giving him access to her sweetness.

He liked the faint taste of brandy in her mouth. He liked the way she kissed. Loved the way she was doing exactly what he wanted. Like she was reading his mind. She couldn’t be, but they’d clicked in a way that was almost magical.

He stopped trying to analyze the attraction or his reactions or anything else. He simply wanted to enjoy this moment with her—to enjoy this woman.

He loved the soft skin of her arms when he stroked them, the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest. Her scent, which wasn’t anything he could define but was unique to her.

She kissed him as though they were two lovers at the end of the world who had thought they were doomed to live out their days alone. Then they’d found each other, and everything had changed.

“Jack,” she murmured against his mouth, her tongue finding the inside of his lips, the line of his teeth, stroking him with a maddening sensuality.

They had met only today. He had to keep reminding himself of that when he wanted to pick her up in his arms and carry her into the house. Straight to his bed.

And she would have come with him. She’d as much as said she would. Or she wanted to.

He ached to slip his hand between them and cup her breast, and it took all his restraint to stop himself from doing it.

He warned himself not to go too fast. Not to do anything that would ruin things before they really got started.

Forcing himself to go slowly, he pulled away. His breath was coming hard and fast. So was hers.

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, then lowered her head to his shoulder, gripping his arms.

He could have sat here all night holding her, if she would let him. “You should go before I take this too far.”

“I know.” The broken sound of her voice tore at him.

She didn’t raise her head or let go of him, but stayed where she was.

“Jack,” she said again, his name easing out of her like a long sigh. “I never thought this would ever happen again.”

The words jolted him. “What do you mean ‘again’?”

Chapter Five

Sara pulled away and kept her head down, because looking at him might make her reveal what she knew about their past and their future. “I didn’t mean to say that,” she said. “It just slipped out.”

“I don’t have any right to pry,” he answered in a gruff voice, and she knew he was wondering about what she could possibly have meant.

She dragged in a breath and let it out, fighting panic. What was she going to say now? It had to be something that made sense, but her mind stayed blank until she heard words coming out of her mouth.

“I was in love with someone. It was a very intense relationship. We were going to get married. Then he died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was very difficult for me to deal with.”

“I understand,” he said, and she knew he must be trying to imagine what that must have been like for her.

She went on quickly. “I’ve been kind of closed off since it happened. I guess you can say I threw myself into my work.”

“I understand,” he said again.

“When that gunman came at you, all I could think of was protecting you,” she admitted.

He reached for her again, holding her close, and she was overwhelmed by how much she was feeling—hope, turmoil, confusion, overlayed with panic that the past would repeat itself, after all. The urge to explain it all to him was like steam pressure building up inside her. But she knew she couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t believe her. She had hardly believed it herself when she’d woken up in the car outside the mansion. But it had gone on too long for her to doubt the truth.

If she couldn’t speak, she could allow herself the joy of holding on to him for a little while longer. Her hands crept around his back, and they clung together.

Finally, she knew that if she stayed any longer, she was going to end up in his bed.

“I should leave.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“We’ll see each other soon. You wanted me to look at that new building.” She made a snorting sound. “And we’re forgetting that we agreed to a romantic meeting at police headquarters to look at mug shots.”

“Funny how that slipped my mind.”

“It’s not exactly a fun expedition.”

“Yeah. But I can pick you up, and we can kill two birds with one stone. If that’s okay?”

“That’s fine. I don’t have any urgent jobs. I’ll be at the warehouse.”

“Okay.”

She fished one of her cards out of her purse and gave it to him. Then they both exited the car. He walked toward his front door and stayed there as she climbed behind the wheel, closed the door and backed up, before turning to wave at him.

Then she left, wondering if she had made a mess of everything.

Since the attack by the gunman, her mind had been spinning as she tried to weigh every word before speaking. Which wasn’t a good idea because that was going to make her sound like she was hiding something. Which she was.

She had told him that she’d loved someone, and he had died. That was Jack, of course.

And she couldn’t tell him that.

So what if he asked about her dead lover? Was she going to make up a name for him? Or was she going to say it was just too painful to talk about?

Hopefully the latter, if she could get away with it, because she hated lying. And she’d done it over and over all evening. Starting with her story about the hill on 108. When she’d realized where she was, she’d been terrified. She’d distracted Jack, and a car had almost plowed into them. The past meeting the present. Or the future meeting the present.

Her mind was half in tonight’s reality and half in the former one as she reached Route 144, where she waited for a truck to rumble past.

Her head was pounding from the details of the evening.

The man who had come at Jack was the same guy who had tried to kill him last time. Only in a different restaurant in a different town.

How had he even known where to find Jack? Or had he followed them from the house? Which would mean he’d known where Jack would be.

And then there was the big difference. Last time she hadn’t hit the man with her purse. Last time someone had come out of the parking lot and shouted at the gunman. The distraction had been enough for Jack to leap on the guy, like he did tonight. And after that, the outcome had been the same. The man had pushed Jack down and run away.

But tonight she’d been prepared with the pocketbook because it was later and she’d assumed nobody would be on the street.

She’d go to the police station with Jack, but they weren’t going to see the guy’s picture. At least she didn’t think so because she couldn’t be certain how things were going to work out this time.

Like, for example, Patrick hadn’t been there to make the call last time. A different police officer had shown up. And she certainly hadn’t ended up telling Jack that she’d had a lover who’d died.

That could turn out to blow up in her face. But it had seemed like the only way to keep from looking like a nut.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering what she should have said and done.

It was useless to keep second-guessing herself. She was just going to have to act as normal as possible. Normal for a woman who’d just met a man who interested her. Not normal for a woman who was meeting the father of her child. A man she thought was dead.

Only there was no baby. Not yet. That was in the future.

Could she keep from getting pregnant? That was a leading question.

Did she want to keep from getting pregnant?

In the darkness of the car, she shook her head. If Jack got killed again, she wanted to have his child.

“Stop it,” she almost shouted, then spoke more calmly. “He’s not going to get killed. That’s why you’re here. To stop it from happening.”

She wished she could be sure of that.

The problem wasn’t the guy with the gun. It was whoever had sent him.

At least she was pretty sure they wouldn’t try the same method again. Because they wanted Jack’s death to look like an accident or a random act of violence where he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Which meant two different robbery attempts wouldn’t seem like chance.

Or would they?

She gripped the wheel, wishing she could stop her mind from going in circles like a hamster running on an exercise wheel.

She turned into the industrial park where she lived. Not one of the country’s upscale areas, but the low rent was a big inducement for the tenants.

There were no cars in the lot, only a few trucks, and she was suddenly aware of how isolated the location was. Hers was one of a long row of warehouses with varying purposes. Most were rented by businesses that didn’t feel the need for showy premises. The man who owned the space next to hers sold garden furniture there, although his primary job was insurance agent. A few doors down was a carpet company. Next to that was a dealer in pinball machines and other old arcade games. Beyond him was a co-op artists’ studio with stained glass and pottery.

The industrial park was busy during the day. But she was the only tenant who lived here, and usually she was the only person around at night.

She pulled around so that her car was facing outward, toward the strip of trees that bordered the other side of the parking lot. She’d always liked the way it gave a woodsy feel to an area that was otherwise devoid of charm. Tonight she peered into the darkness under the trees and shivered. As she imagined someone standing in the shadows, watching her.

The attack in Ellicott City had been aimed at Jack, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was safe.

She’d played a part in saving Jack tonight. Would the man with the gun report her involvement to the person who had hired him? Or would he want to skip over the news that a woman had slammed a pocketbook into his face?

Maybe she’d just directed the killer’s attention toward herself by getting personally involved, and maybe that meant she was in danger. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get a gun—and learn how to use it.

Lord, what if this time around she was the one who got killed and Jack survived?

As that new idea took hold, she shuddered. Quickly she got out of the car and crossed to the steps that led up to the loading dock. At one side was the door she used when she wasn’t emptying or loading the truck.

The security light didn’t go on, and she remembered that she needed to change the bulb. Better not put that off, she told herself, as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

In the warehouse, another wave of unfamiliarity hit her. She’d been living here when she met Jack, but after he’d died and she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d started looking for another place to live, because she couldn’t raise a child in a warehouse.

Tonight she was back here. And Jack was going to pick her up here tomorrow. She switched on a light, trying to see the place from his point of view. This part of the building was filled with furniture that she used as needed at display houses. The sideboards, desks, armoires and tables tended to be older pieces that she’d found at garage sales and auctions, and refinished or refurbished. The chairs and sofas were mostly modern, since she wanted them to be comfortable. Along one wall were shelves of knickknacks and other small items that she used to create a homey feel at each property.