Beth Cornelison - Baby Trouble

“Oh, and one more thing, William.”

The lawyer looked up sharply from the sticky note on which he was copying a name and phone number.

“Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. Consider this little visit a privileged interaction between the two of us. As far as you know, I’m still sitting in a padded cell somewhere, staring at my toes and drooling down my chin. Got it?”

The attorney frowned. “I understand. Actually, I don’t understand, but I will abide by your wishes.”

“Thanks, William.”

“Will you tell me the whole story someday?”

“If things go well, you’ll never see or hear from me again.” As the finality of that struck Nick he made brief eye contact with the attorney who’d been a friend and confidante for many years. “Thanks for everything. You’re a good man.”

“You, too. If you ever need anything, just let me know. And good luck.”

Nick turned and left the office. Good luck, indeed. He’d probably need a bona fide miracle before it was all said and done to avoid the clutches of his past.

He waited until he was back in Washington D.C., leaving Reagan International Airport to drive home, before he called Laura. She had too many scary resources with which to track him down for him to risk calling her any sooner. She would be completely freaked out by now, but he’d had no choice. He had to deal with his past on his own. And after hearing what William Ward had to say about his last years leading up to his capture, it had turned out to be a damned good call to keep Laura and the kids far away from the mess he’d apparently made of his life.

Laura answered her cell phone on the first ring with a terse hello.

“Hello, darling. It’s me.”

“Thank God, Nick. Are you all right? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

He felt terrible hearing her panic and relief. Good Lord willing, he’d never scare her like this again. “I’m fine. I’ll be home in about an hour. There was something I had to take care of.”

A pause. “Can you talk to me about it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. But it’s handled. No worries.” At least he hoped there was nothing to worry about. The P.I. he’d spoken to in Boston had been confident he could find everything that had ever existed on one Nick Cass prior to six years ago. If the man had ever actually existed, Nick would know all about him in a few days.

The cab delivered him to the mansion’s front door in closer to two hours than one—there’d been an accident and traffic was hellish. As he stepped inside, Adam shouted a greeting that warmed Nick all the way to his soul. Laura held herself to a walk as she came to greet him, but she squeezed him so tightly it hurt and he thought he felt a sob shake her momentarily.

“I’m sorry, darling. I knew you’d want to go with me, but I had to take care of a piece of old business on my own.”

Her muffled voice rose from his chest. “Did you kill anyone?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Are we okay?”

His arms tightened convulsively around her. “That’s the whole idea. I love you and the children more than life.” They stood locked together like they’d never let go of each other for a long time. Finally, he murmured, “Am I forgiven?”

“Of course. I could never stay mad at you. If you say you had to do something, then you had to do it. If you can’t talk about it with me, there’s a good reason for that, too. And if you say you love me, I believe you.”

He tilted her chin up to kiss her. “I am, without question, the luckiest man on Earth to have you.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him back. “And don’t you ever forget it,” she murmured.

“Never.” Their lips met, and the passion that always simmered between them boiled over immediately. His mouth slanted across hers, and she clung to him eagerly.

“Eeyew! Gross!” Adam exclaimed from the steps above them.

Nick lifted his mouth away from Laura’s and smiled up at his son. “For now, you hold on to that thought, young man. But trust me. In a few years, girls won’t be nearly so disgusting.”

“But Mommy’s not a girl. She’s a … mommy.”

Laura laughed in Nick’s arms. “Gee, thanks, kid.” She scooped up Adam and swung him around until they were all laughing.

And just like that, life was back to the way it was supposed to be. As Nick followed his family toward the kitchen, he experienced an overwhelming sensation of having dodged a bullet.

The sensation lasted exactly one hour. That was when Carter Tatum called to inform him that he was to appear at a pre-trial hearing in three days’ time. Three days for the private investigator to give him enough ammunition to hold off a pack of sharks out to tear him to pieces. It was almost enough to make him reconsider enlisting Laura’s prodigious skill with computers to help him research his Nick Cass identity.

Almost. But not quite.

Laura understood Nick’s nervousness as his first encounter with AbaCo’s lawyers loomed only a few hours away. But there was something else going on with him. He kept checking his cell phone like he was expecting a message, and the longer it didn’t come, the more tense he was quietly becoming. It took knowing him exceedingly well to see the signs of his stress—the tightness around his eyes, the absent quality to some of his comments, the very occasional twitch of a thumb. She had to give Nick credit. He had amazing self-discipline to give away so little as a limousine whisked the two of them toward Washington, D.C.

His self-control held through the hearing, but he wasn’t put on the witness stand and grilled, either. The legal proceeding mostly consisted of motions and technical arguments between the lawyers. As far as she could tell, they were wrangling over the rules of engagement for the trial to come. All in all, it was rather anticlimactic.

The hearing was adjourned, and Nick joined her in the aisle, looping an arm over her shoulder as they stepped outside …

… into a barrage of lights and microphones and shouted questions.

Nick reared back hard beside her, going board stiff. The Tatum team of attorneys leaped forward to intercept the phalanx of reporters, but it was too late. The press had spotted Nick. The story of his kidnapping and rescue had made a brief sensation last year, but thanks to his inability at the time to give interviews and put a poster-boy face to the story, it had faded quickly.

Unfortunately, the media had put two and two together, and they wanted the scoop on the miracle man now. Laura was half-blinded by flashing lights exploding at them from all directions. Good thing she was completely out of her old line of work. One media assault like this would’ve blown her cover permanently.

Nick swore quietly beside her. To the lawyers, he said tersely, “Get us out of here. Now.”

The Tatum support team hustled her and Nick down the front steps and into the waiting limousine. He collapsed on the plush upholstery, swearing steadily under his breath in what sounded like Greek. What was up with that?

The car door closed, and silence descended around them.

He yanked out his cell phone and punched in a number. She caught only the first few digits—617 area code. Boston?

“It’s Nick Cass,” said into the device tersely. “What have you got for me?”

He listened in silence for a long time, his jaw clenching tighter with each passing minute. And then he finally ordered, “Keep looking.”

“Who was that?” Laura asked as he put away his phone.

He looked up at her grimly. It was like staring into the eyes of a total stranger. Cold shock washed over her. Who was this man sitting beside her? She couldn’t ever recall seeing that expression of irritation or determination in his gaze before.