Another Woman's Baby

“Why would this man have killed Ben and Jackie, and why would he want to kill me?”

“We don’t know. We only suspect that the explosion was rigged and thought the man might follow up by killing their unborn child.”

“You don’t know more or you’re not saying more?”

“I’ve told you what I can.”

This couldn’t have anything to do with Jackie. It had to involve Ben. He’d seemed such a nice guy, not that she knew him all that well. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure Jackie knew him all that well either. She’d fallen in love with him on a vacation to some island in the Caribbean. They eloped a few months later. She’d never heard her mention Ben’s family.

“So you think the man is not after me but after the baby?”

“We think it’s possible. That’s why I’m here.”

Her heart plunged to her stomach. This madman, whoever he was, planned to kill the baby. The ultimate pay-back to Ben for whatever sin he’d committed in this man’s eyes. He’d kill not only Ben, but his wife and his unborn child.

She was exhausted, so tired she could barely stand, and yet something pushed and hardened inside her, a protective surge that was so strong it nullified the fear. Her fingers clutched the back of the chair and she faced Bart. “Tell me what I have to do.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to stay in Orange Beach?”

“It means I’ll sleep on the sand in a hurricane if that’s what it takes to stop this lunatic and protect the baby.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“We need to go to your condo and pick up your things. I want to see your badge and I want to talk to your supervisor. But if this checks out, you just got yourself a partner.”

December 9

MEGAN WOKE to the smells of frying bacon, freshly brewed coffee and salty air. She stretched, then groaned as the ache in her arms and legs clamored for attention. She moved slower this time and ran her hand along her stomach.

“Good morning, little one. I smell food. I’m assuming that means our guest is cooking. He’s the same dark stranger I told you about, but I checked all his credentials last night. Apparently he’s a real FBI agent and he’s here to protect us. The cooking is a bonus. So even though someone roughed us up a little last evening, you don’t need to worry about a thing, not until you get ready to come kicking into the world. I hear that’s a bumpy ride.”

She, on the other hand, had a few things to worry about. She’d talked to the doctor last night, told him partial truths, and he’d said she was probably fine as long as she didn’t have any bleeding or contractions. Still, she was glad she had an appointment scheduled for this afternoon.

And somehow she’d have to deal with living with a man in the house. She was about to slide her feet over the side of the bed when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. So she pulled the sheet up to her neck and waited for Bart to appear. When he stopped at her door, he had a wicker breakfast tray in hand.

“Don’t tell me that’s for me,” she said.

“I figured you deserved it after last night.”

“Are you going to join me?”

“Do you want company?”

“Why not? I think we need to talk about how I’m going to explain your living here for a few days.”

“I have that all worked out.”

He narrowed his eyes and his mouth stretched to the left side. She had the feeling he was about to hit her with something she wasn’t going to like, and she didn’t want bad news to spoil her appetite again. The baby needed nourishment. “Have your breakfast before it gets cold. The plans can wait until after we eat.”

She picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled on the end of it as he went downstairs to fix a tray for himself. The bacon was crunchy, just the way she liked it. She washed it down with coffee. For the first three months of the pregnancy, she hadn’t been able to drink coffee without getting nauseous, but now it tasted better than ever. Still, she limited herself to one cup a day. Too much caffeine was not good for the baby.

Neither was having a killer chase her. And she had an idea that Bart’s plan wouldn’t make her feel any better. She’d find out soon enough. In the meantime, she took another sip of coffee and tried to find a way to get close enough to the tray not to spill food all over herself. “No offense, baby, but you do take up a lot of space.”

After a few minutes, Bart appeared at the door, and she tried to ready her mind for the next round of surprises from the stranger with a badge.

Chapter Five

Bart set his tray on the table by the window. “This is some layout you have here. The closest I’ve ever been to living the life of the rich and famous.”

“My grandfather built it for my grandmother years ago. He wanted her to have her dream house. She designed it herself, down to the gingerbread trim. It could use some restoration, but it suits me fine the way it is.”

“This is a beautiful stretch of land and there are no high-rises nearby to block the view.”

“My grandmother said the land was practically worthless back then, nothing but miles of sand. No one ever expected this stretch of beach to build up the way it has.”

“I can see why it did. It rivals the Caribbean for sheer beauty.”

“Is this really your first trip to the area?”

“It is. You actually caught me in the truth.”

“So what do I believe about you? Is Bart Cromwell even your real name?”

“It is for now, and that’s about as real as it gets for me. Every assignment I’m a different person with a different background, a different personality. Right now I’m Bart Cromwell, a used-car salesman from Nashville. I can fix you up in a great little low-mileage sedan for less than two hundred dollars a month. Don’t worry about your debt. Everybody’s credit’s good with me.”

“Hey, you are good,” she said. “Makes me want to go out and kick some tires and peek under a hood.” But in other words, there was no use bothering to get to know him. He would never be who or what he claimed. She spread a layer of orange marmalade on her buttered toast. Whoever he was, he made a good breakfast.

He forked a bite of egg. “There’s got to be a dozen rooms in this place.”

“I’ve never counted them, but let’s see. There are six bedrooms, countless baths, the big family room where we sat by the fire last night, the kitchen, a library, that little cubbyhole at the top of the stairs on the third floor. There’s a treadmill in there in case it’s too wet to walk on the beach. And then there’s the cupola. It’s used mostly for storage now, but when I was a teenager, it was where Jackie and I went to giggle and talk about boys.”

“You and Jackie Brewster. As close as two people could be.”

“Only she was Jackie Sellers back then.”

“Right. Daughter of Janelle and Lane Sellers. But back to the subject of Pelican’s Roost. Your grandmother must have known you loved the place when she left it to you free and clear.”

“You do know everything about me.”

The conversation died as they ate. Bart finished first even though he’d had twice as much on his plate. He didn’t appear to have an inch of fat on him, yet his appetite was ravenous. She’d like to find out his secret.

After he drained his coffee, he turned from the window and fastened his piercing blue eyes on her. “Actually, I don’t know everything about you, Megan. I only know facts that are in a computer somewhere or that are common knowledge.”

“What else is there to know?”

“Tell me about your relationship with John Hardison.”

“He’s my associate. We’re heading up a merger team together at the present time.”