Jacqueline Diamond - The Baby's Bodyguard

Why not take her camera? In the darkness, its flash might ferret out a suspect she couldn’t see and it would certainly provide a means of identifying him. She wouldn’t need to attack anyone or even get close.

Jack would hate the idea. If he were here, he’d warn her, as Gail had, that the man might be armed. But this wasn’t L.A.; it was Richfield Crossing, a town of around five thousand people where crime consisted mostly of fistfights outside the Whiskey Flats pool hall. Most likely the prowler would turn out to be a mixed-up teenager or a transient looking for food.

Casey threw on a sweater against the April coolness and retrieved her digital camera along with a flashlight. She also took a key and locked the door, although normally she left it open.

On the porch, as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she breathed in the perfume of blooms mingled with the scent of newly plowed fields a short distance away. A cool, moist breeze reminded her of last night’s fast-moving rainstorm.

Casey’s heart swelled with love for this place. Six years ago, she and her best friend, Sandra Rawlins, had moved west, full of dreams and fantasies. It had taken many changes and the breakup of her marriage to make Casey realize that Tennessee was where she belonged. More than ever, she appreciated the fact that her parents had bought this property, the Pine Woods Court, for their retirement. She just wished they’d had more time to enjoy it.

Still, if only Jack had agreed to have a family together, she’d have stayed in L.A. with him. The more she’d pleaded, however, the more he’d withdrawn, until nothing remained between them but a strained civility. That, and the white-hot passion that had flamed at their last meeting.

Casey didn’t regret what she’d done, because she loved her daughter even before birth. And she felt glad that at least she had a beautiful place to come home to, where Diane could grow up surrounded by old friends and lots of open space.

Unfortunately, right now that space had been compromised by someone who was obviously no friend. Someone about to be captured for posterity in all his digital ugliness.

As her vision adjusted, nearby dogwood trees came into focus, their pink blossoms appearing white in the dimness. Eager to catch the culprit before he escaped, Casey descended the steps in her rubber-soled shoes.

The four cabins, former motel units that her parents had remodeled into rentals, lay scattered about the wooded property behind the main house. To reach Gail’s place, she followed a footpath along rising ground, leaving her flashlight off to avoid attracting attention.

As she walked, the muscles of her abdomen, perpetually sore these days, tugged from the weight of the baby. Ignoring them, Casey listened for the crack of a twig or the brush of leaves.

She was nearing Gail’s place when she heard a creaking ahead, like that of a wheelbarrow or perhaps the hose storage reel. The trespasser might have bumped into something, or perhaps a raccoon was poking around with its dexterous little hands. The creatures abounded in the woods, along with possums, squirrels and deer.

“Gail?” Casey risked calling out, since she didn’t want the tenant to attack her by mistake. “Is that you?”

No answer.

When she emerged from the tree-lined path, the illumination seeping through the cabin windows intensified the surrounding darkness. Now Casey remembered what else she should have brought—her cell phone—although the darn thing didn’t always work up here, anyway.

She heard another squeak behind the cabin. Treading lightly, she angled closer.

In the shadows, a dark figure moved. Holding her breath, Casey lifted her camera and pushed the button.

As the flash ignited, a blast of icy water caught her full in the face. She staggered backward, dropping the camera and fighting a losing battle for balance. Her arms flailed as she tumbled, out of control.

Fear for the baby’s safety stabbed through Casey, followed by the jolt of her rear end hitting the ground. Ahead, scurrying noises marked the prowler’s flight into the woods.

He’d escaped. This time, he’d physically assaulted her and put her pregnancy at risk.

Although she’d avoided any real harm, hot fury dispelled Casey’s shivers. She was going to catch this creep, no matter what it took. And no matter who she had to call on for assistance.

* * *

AS JACK SQUEEZED ALONG the aisle, a travel bag slung over his shoulder and his laptop tucked beneath one arm, the flight attendant favored him with a warm smile and her umpteenth once-over. Marianne had the healthy tan of a surfer, a bubbly personality and an obvious interest in getting better acquainted.

They’d found several occasions for idle conversation during the flight from Hawaii, where he’d changed planes after arriving from Malaysia. Marianne had made a discreet inquiry regarding the absence of a wedding ring and responded to his explanation about his pending divorce by slipping her phone number onto his tray.

As he returned her cheerful farewell, Jack felt the card inside his pocket. He ought to call her before she headed out of L.A. again on the Honolulu run.

His partner in the Men At Arms Security Agency had insisted he take a day or two off to recuperate from a month of fourteen-hour days spent setting up a security system for a textile company. He wouldn’t mind spending his break with a willing companion.

Jack didn’t want to bring her to his Palms-area home, though. During the past eight months, he’d discovered that having a guest around only made the place seem emptier. Besides, it struck him as disloyal to Casey to take a woman to the house they’d once shared, even though she was the one who’d chosen to leave.

As he headed for the baggage claim, his cell phone rang. Seven-fifteen on a Friday evening and somebody couldn’t wait, Jack reflected wryly. Moving out of the stream of foot traffic, he flipped it open. “Arnett.”

“Jack! It’s me.” The hint of a Tennessee accent carried him out of his surroundings and into a warm zone he’d discovered the day he met Casey.

“How’re you doing?” Somehow, he managed a casual manner that gave no hint of the hot summer storm she aroused.

“I’m standing here dripping wet and my butt’s sore.”

The tantalizing image speeded his heart rate. He imagined his shapely wife with a T-shirt plastered against her lovely breasts, writhing eagerly against him as his hands cupped her bottom.

Put a lid on it, Arnett. She left you. Besides, she probably wants to know why you haven’t signed those divorce papers yet. “I take it you didn’t call to turn me on, right?”

“Jack!”

“So what’s up?” He dodged a luggage cart that threatened to take a piece of his ankle with it.

“We’ve got a stalker,” Casey said.

The word snapped him out of his sensuous frame of mind. “What do you mean? Are you all right?” Suddenly her description of her physical state took on ominous overtones.

“Some tenants have seen a prowler a few times, possibly one of the women’s ex-husband. He showed up again tonight.”

“He attacked you?” Jack’s gut response was to go after the guy. Having grown up in foster homes, he’d seen his share of men bullying women and it enraged him. During his years at the LAPD, he’d had to work hard to rein in his anger when dealing with domestic abuse.

And this was Casey. Maddening, alluring, a little bossy and sexy enough to melt him with one flash of her blue eyes. He’d kill anyone who hurt her.

“He squirted me with the hose and knocked me down. I didn’t even get a picture of him,” she grumbled.

“A picture?”

“I had my camera aimed right at him,” she said.

“But you can describe him to the police, can’t you?” Jack pressed.