Her Baby's Father

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.

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?”