Another Woman's Baby

Damn. What was she thinking? This baby would never come to Pelican’s Roost. Never play with her in the surf or on the sand. Never be a part of her life at all. She closed her eyes and wished that it was January and that everything was over and done with.

Taking deep breaths, she forced herself to clear her mind of thoughts of the baby and think only of the water, constant, eternal, forever moving with the tides.

“All safe and sound.”

She jumped at the voice, her head jerking from the back of the lounge chair.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Leroy said, stepping between her and the edge of the balcony.

“I must have fallen asleep.”

“No problem. I just wanted to let you know that I checked the house from top to bottom. You got a leak in one of the faucets upstairs. I’ll come back and fix it for you one day next week if you like. It won’t take much.”

“I’d appreciate that, as long as you let me pay you.”

“I’m not opposed to taking cash.” He leaned against the balcony, his shaggy blond hair blowing into his face. “Mama says you’re having another woman’s baby for her. That’s pretty weird, isn’t it? I mean, not a lot of people do that, do they?”

“More than you’d think.”

He nodded. “Still seems strange. I guess I’ll be going, unless you need something else while I’m here.”

“I’d like to pay you for your time and trouble,” she said, expecting him to say no.

“Whatever.”

She walked to the kitchen and retrieved her wallet. “Is ten dollars enough?”

“Whatever.”

She handed him a five and a ten and walked him to the door. He had Fenelda’s coloring, but the deep-set eyes and sunken cheeks must have come from his dad. She barely remembered the man, but she was sure she’d met him a time or two over the years. She’d met Leroy, too, but he was much thinner than she’d remembered, with a kind of raunchy look about him that she hadn’t expected in Fenelda’s son. She wasn’t sure how old he was, near thirty, she’d guess.

Still, he’d done what she asked and she’d rest better for it tonight. She felt a little foolish, but at this point in time, damaged pride was much better than lost sleep.

But she was going to have to get a grip on herself and not let a tall, dark and sexy stranger destroy the level of safety she’d always enjoyed at Pelican’s Roost. It was the hormones, she told herself again. What else could it be? She was probably in the safest place in the world.

December 8

MEGAN HUGGED her jacket around her as she strolled along the beach. The day had been warm, but the air had turned cold as the sun set, and now the wind had picked up. It whipped her hair around her face and sent the waves crashing against the sand. But the sky was clear, and the stars seemed so near she felt she could reach up and grab a few to save for a time when she knew what to wish for.

Fortunately there had been no sign of the man she’d come to think of as her dark stranger since he’d joined her for lunch three days ago, though she found herself looking for him everywhere she went. At times, she even felt as if someone was watching her and she always imagined it was him.

One night she’d even dreamed about him, a nightmare that had turned erotic. That was what happened to a woman who hadn’t had sex in so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Desire had returned full force in the dream, and after she’d wakened, she’d lain awake for over an hour, imagining what it would be like to make love with the rugged stranger, her body reacting as if his hands were actually on her, caressing and touching her most intimate parts.

There was no accounting for dreams, but in reality, her life in Orange Beach settled into a comfortable routine. A walk in the morning, lunch in some out-of-the-way restaurant, an afternoon spent relaxing and reading, and sunset on the beach.

“The wind’s picking up, little one. We’ll have howling and whining to entertain us tonight while we sleep. Old fishermen crying about the ones that got away. That’s what Grandma used to tell me when I’d complain of the noise.”

Standing at the edge of the water, she took a few steps out, stepping into a low wave. She slipped her hand under her loose blouse and stroked her stomach. She was growing larger every day.

Her first appointment with Dr. Brown would be tomorrow, but he already had her records from her doctor in New Orleans. “I guess we better start back, little one. I’m getting hungry.”

A bowl of hot soup would taste good tonight. She looked out at the Gulf one last time. The steady cresting and falling was almost hypnotic.

It rocked her into a state where she let herself imagine holding a baby girl in her arms and letting it nurse from her breasts, singing her a lullaby and then tucking her into a white crib.

She was so lost in the thoughts that at first she didn’t hear the footfalls on the sand behind her. When she did, she spun around just as someone grabbed her wrists and started dragging her farther into the water. She tried to see who it was, but the man’s body was black and his face was covered by a ski mask.

All she knew was that he was strong and she couldn’t resist his pull. The cold water rose to her waist and stung her skin, made her breath burn in her lungs. She tried to scream, but he shoved her face into the water.

The salt burned her eyes and throat. She had to get to the surface, had to get air, but he pushed her deeper and deeper. She could hear him cursing now, screaming obscenities. Finally the pressure on her neck and head gave way and she floated to the top. She opened her eyes.

The mask was gone. She could see the man’s face in the moonlight. It was him. The dark stranger. She’d been right all along. He’d come to kill her and the baby.

Chapter Four

“Megan. Hold on. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

The brute was dragging her again. She managed one kick. Her feet scraped against the sand. They were going back to shore, but he was holding her head out of the water. She choked and spit out a stream of water.

“That’s the way. Clear your lungs. Here. Let me help.” He supported her forehead with his hands while she coughed and sputtered and spit up water. Air rushed into her lungs in a sweeping, caustic sensation, and she grew so dizzy that the man’s face blurred and became two.

“Why are you following me? Why are you doing this to me?” The words came out chopped and hoarse. She tried to pull away, but he held her against him.

“Listen, Megan. It wasn’t me who tried to kill you, and you better be glad I’ve been following you. If I hadn’t been, you’d be sleeping with the fishes tonight.”

“Get away from me. Now.” She tried to scream. He stifled her with a broad hand over her mouth.

“Would you just pipe down and listen. I’m an FBI agent and I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to keep someone else from doing it. I almost slipped up, big-time.”

He was crazy. No one wanted to kill her except this lunatic. She was weak and her head was pounding, but she had to get away from this man.

“I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth, but don’t scream.”

She begin to cough again, the taste of seawater making her sick. When she finally stopped coughing, she pushed at him again, only she was trembling and so weak the effort was useless. “Get away from me. Please. Leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She tried to scream, but again he cut off her cries with his hand over her mouth. “Megan, you have got to listen. I’m not lying. I’m with the FBI. You have to trust me.”

He pulled her against his chest and kept her wrapped in his arms. His mouth was at her ear. “You’re Megan Lancaster. You work at Lannier. Your supervisor is John Hardison. The baby you’re carrying belongs to Jackie Sellers Brewster.”

“How do you know these things.” She was stunned.

“Because I’m who I say I am.”

“Why would you be investigating me?”

“I’m not. I’m investigating the explosion that caused Ben and Jackie Brewster’s deaths.”