Her Baby's Father

At the moment, there was something she needed to check.

She’d told Jack that she could go with him tomorrow to see the new Morgan offices because that was what had happened last time.

Was it still true that she had the day free?

She hurried to the back of the building and stepped through the door that separated her living quarters from the furniture storage.

Inside she’d made herself a cozy little efficiency apartment, if one ignored the industrial cinder-block walls and the high ceiling with the ductwork overhead. Her bed was on one wall, with an Indian spread and pillows that made it look like a couch. Several easy chairs came from her warehouse stock. Her computer was on an old library table. And she’d kept several cabinet pieces that she loved, a Victorian dresser and a chest of drawers. The clothing she needed to hang up was in a vintage armoire. At the end of the bed were open shelves where she stored her decorating books and some of the small items that might go out to various model houses.

The kitchen was along the wall opposite the bed. It had a small sink, an under-counter refrigerator, a two-burner stove and a microwave. The small bathroom was next to it. There was no tub, but a previous tenant had put in a shower.

After booting her computer, she quickly checked her calendar and was relieved to find she actually was free for tomorrow.

She was just checking her email when her cell phone rang. There was no landline in the warehouse, which had worked okay because she did a lot of her business through email.

She tensed, until she saw the caller ID. Jack.

How could she have forgotten that he’d called that evening to make sure she was okay?

Pressing the Receive icon, she raised the phone to her ear.

“Hi,” she said, thinking that she probably sounded a little breathy.

“I wanted to make sure you got home okay. And—you didn’t get my number.”

“Right. I was kind of scattered.”

“Understandable.”

He gave her his home and cell numbers, and she wrote them down, although she already knew them by heart.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“Still a little spooked.”

“Likewise.” He waited a beat before asking, “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

“What’s convenient for you?”

“How about ten? We can do the police station bit, then look at the office spaces, then have some lunch.”

“That sounds good.”

There wasn’t much more to add to the conversation. Well, there was a whole lot more she wanted to say, but she knew none of it was appropriate at this stage in their relationship.

“Do you own a gun?” he suddenly asked.

She drew in a quick breath. She’d been thinking about that.

“No.”

“You should probably get one.”

“I’ve thought about it. Actually, my mom had one at the shop. And when I was a teenager, I took shooting lessons. So I know how to handle one.”

“But you don’t have one now?”

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