Cassie Miles - Lock, Stock and Secret Baby

“Yes.”

She waited for him to explain, but he was too busy watching in all directions and driving too fast. “Could you possibly be more terse?”

“No.”

The tires squealed as Blake rounded a corner. “That’s them. That’s their vehicle.”

At the foot of the hill in front of them, about two blocks away, she saw a black SUV. It made a left turn and disappeared from sight, thank goodness. Unless the bad guys doubled back, they were safe.

In a purely counterintuitive manner, Blake zoomed toward the other car. She shouted, “What are you doing?”

“Going after them.”

He’d just acknowledged that those men were possibly murderers. “Are you crazy?”

“My dad was murdered. I have few leads and no evidence. Those guys might know something.”

“Or they might kill us.”

“Try to get the number on their license plate.”

He hit the brakes to avoid a collision with a car pulling out of a driveway. At the corner, he had to stop again for schoolkids with backpacks crossing the street.

Finally reaching the corner, he turned in the direction the SUV had headed. This street fed into a main thoroughfare, and the other vehicle had already disappeared in traffic.

“Damn.” Blake’s right hand clenched into a fist which he pressed against his forehead. His jaw was tight. He winced, and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes deepened.

She sensed the depth of his frustration. Though she had no desire to ever see either one of those men again, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Dozens of questions popped inside her head. Usually, Eve was good at sorting out variables and assigning rational values, but she didn’t have enough information. “Why did you come to my house? Did you know I was in danger?”

“If I’d known, I never would have let you leave. I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way.”

His military phrasing reassured her; he sounded a bit like her father. “You must have had a reason for showing up on my doorstep.”

He made another left turn and drove in the direction of her house. “I called Prentice to set up a meet, and he told me that he might have accidentally put you in danger.”

“There are no accidents,” she said darkly. If she hadn’t been so confused, she would have been furious. Dr. Prentice was at the center of this tornado that had thrown her life into chaos. “Do you think Prentice is involved in your dad’s murder?”

“I don’t have facts or evidence,” he said. “My dad’s e-mail talked about the Prentice-Jantzen study. If he went public about the study, Prentice’s reputation would be damaged. From what I’ve learned, the Aspen IVF and Genetics Clinic is big business.”

“So your father was a threat.”

Blake nodded. “His files pertaining to the study are missing, probably stolen.”

“Did the police question Prentice?”

“He has an alibi.”

But he could have hired those two men in suits. “You should have told me your suspicions about your father’s murder. There’s no logical reason for you to withhold information.”

He pulled up to a stop sign and turned toward her. His gaze seemed to soften as he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t say anything about the murder because I thought you’d had enough shocks for one day.”

“True enough.” Finding out that she was pregnant and that her mom and dad weren’t her genetic parents were huge issues. “Nonetheless, it might have been useful to know about the potential for danger.”

“Don’t worry.” His voice was gentle. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

His touch warmed her through the cotton fabric of her jacket as he massaged her shoulder. He gave a light squeeze before turning back toward the road.

While she continued to stare at his perfect profile, the questions inside her head turned to gibberish. She wanted him to hold her and comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. Their brief physical contact had erased her intelligence like a bucket of white paint thrown against a blackboard filled with equations. With one pat on her shoulder, he’d turned her into a dumb blonde.

“When we get back to your house,” he said, “I want you to pack a suitcase. You’ll be staying with me.”

She couldn’t put her life on hold. There were important projects at work—schedules to be met and responsibilities to be handled. Though she should have been telling him all those things, all she could manage to say was, “Okay.”

Staying with Blake seemed like the most rational plan she’d heard all day.

BACK AT HER HOUSE, Blake stood in the center of her kitchen, which was incredibly clean. Either she was a neat freak or she didn’t actually cook. He suspected the latter. He faced her. “I want to reenact what happened while your memory is fresh. They were standing here, right?”

“The shorter one was there. The tall guy was closer.” She motioned him toward her. “Move eighteen inches forward.”

He did so. “Here?”

“Close enough.”

As she explained what had happened, using geometry analogies, he cursed himself for missing his chance to nab these two guys. He should have been faster, should have driven her home and entered her house first.

She pulled the chair down onto the floor and concluded, “Then I ran. And screamed.”

“And they didn’t come after you?”

Her chin lifted. “Apparently, I outsmarted them by creating an effective obstacle.”

Though he had no doubt that her IQ was double that of these two characters, an overturned chair wasn’t all that impressive. He motioned for her to start running. “Go ahead and show me what you did next.”

When she darted toward the front door, he hurdled the chair. Before her hand was on the doorknob, he caught her arm and spun her around to face him.

Her blue eyes widened as she leaned her back against the closed door and gazed up at him. “You got me.”

“And I wasn’t even running hard.”

“I can explain,” she said. “You were ready to chase me, and they weren’t. Plus you’re taller than them. Longer legs mean you’re faster. Or maybe I wasn’t moving as fast.”

“Or maybe those two guys were incompetent.”

They’d taken off like a couple of scared jackrabbits as soon as they’d realized she wasn’t alone. He would have thought Prentice could afford a better grade of thug.

“I still think we should talk to the police,” Eve said. “I can identify both of those men. I’m very observant.”

“Prove it.”

“The taller man was five feet eleven inches tall. He had a gold pinkie ring with an amber stone and his watch had a gold and silver band. Cleft chin. Small ears. High forehead. The other one probably put on some weight recently because the waistband on his trousers was tight.”

He watched her lips as she rattled off more details about their shoes and shirts and the cut of their hair. He could have stepped back and given her more space, but he liked being close. “You have a photographic memory.”

“It’s called eidetic memory or recall, and I’m not one hundred percent. But I’m good with visuals and numbers.” She reached toward him and rested the flat of her palm against his chest. “It’s a useful skill, especially for investigating. I’m sure we’ll find the man who killed your father.”

“We?”

“You and me,” she said. “With your Special Forces training and my logic, we’ll make a really good team.”

This plan had to be nipped in the bud. He caught hold of her hand and gently lowered it to her side. No way did he intend to get tied down with a partnership. This was his fight. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”