Delores Fossen - Daddy Devastating

“Who the hell is Lissa?”

For the first time since they’d started this little wrestling match and confusing conversation, Julia relaxed. At least, she went limp, as if she’d huffed all the breath right out of her. “My first cousin, Lissa McIntyre.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you don’t remember her?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Russ answered, honestly.

Her muscles went stiff again, and the remainder of the fear faded from her expression. It was replaced by a healthy dose of anger. “Let me refresh your memory. San Antonio. Last December. You met Lissa at a downtown bar, and after a night of drinking you went into one of those photo booths on the Riverwalk and had your picture taken.”

Russ went through the past months. Yeah, it was possible he’d met a woman in a bar. But he certainly didn’t remember anybody named Lissa, and he absolutely didn’t remember taking a picture in a photo booth.

“Why are you here?” he asked, pressing her further.

“Because Lissa wanted me to find you.” Julia took a deep breath. “She’s dead. She was injured in the hostage standoff at the San Antonio Maternity Hospital two weeks ago. The doctors tried to save her but couldn’t.” Her voice broke, and tears sprang into her blue eyes. “She used her dying breath to ask me to find you.”

He’d heard about the hostage situation, of course, it’d been all over the news. And he was also aware there’d been several deaths. But that had nothing to do with him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Russ said, because he didn’t know what else to say. This still wasn’t making any sense. “But why the hell would your cousin want you to find me? “

She stared at him. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

There was some movement at the back end of the alley. A shadow maybe. Maybe something worse. So Russ eased his hand into the slide holster in the back waistband of his jeans.

She snatched the purse from beneath her arm and practically ripped the bag open. “Look, I know Lissa was probably a one-night stand, but you have to remember her.”

Julia pulled out a photo of an attractive brunette and practically stuck it in his face. Russ glanced at it, just a glance, and he turned his attention back to that damn shadow.

Was it Milo?

Or had one of the working girls grown a conscience and called the cops?

Those were the best-case scenarios. But Russ had a feeling this wasn’t a best-case scenario kind of moment. He took out his gun and kept it behind his back.

“Well?” Julia demanded. If she noticed the gun, she didn’t have a reaction—which meant she almost certainly hadn’t seen it. “Do you remember Lissa?”

That was an easy answer. “No. Why should I?”

She made a sound, not of anger but outrage, and grabbed another photo from her purse. Russ glanced at it, too, and saw the baby. A newborn, swaddled in a pink blanket.

He froze.

Oh, this was suddenly getting a lot clearer. Or was it? Was this hot brunette really a black-market baby seller? If so, she certainly didn’t look the part.

“Did Milo send you?” he snarled. “Is this the kid the seller’s offering? Because it’s not supposed to be a girl.”

Julia went still again. Very still. And Russ risked looking at her so he could see what was going on in her eyes.

“Seller?” she repeated. There was a lot of emotion in that one word. Confusion, fear and a boatload of concern. “No. The newborn in the picture is Lissa’s.”

“I don’t understand.” Was she trying to sell her own cousin’s kid?

“Well, you should understand, because you’re the baby’s father.”

What?! It felt as if someone had slugged him in the gut. “Father?” Russ managed to say, though it didn’t have any sound to it.

Ah, hell.

Russ’s stomach dropped to the cracked dirty concrete, but that was the only reaction he managed. There certainly wasn’t time to question Julia about what she’d just said about him being a father.

The movement at the back of the alley grabbed his full attention. Because the shadow moved.

So did Russ.

He shoved the photos back into her purse and gave Julia the keychain with the pepper spray. She might need it. He hooked his left arm around her, pushing her behind him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Julia looked around, and no doubt saw the figure dressed in dark clothes and wearing a ski mask.

Russ took aim.

But it was too late.

Another man stepped into the alley from the front sidewalk. He lifted his gun. So did the ski mask wearing man.

They were trapped.

Julia clamped her teeth over her bottom lip to choke back a scream. What was happening?

“Lower your gun,” the man at the front of the alley warned Russell. “Keep your hands where I can see them and don’t make any sudden moves.”

The man giving the orders was tall and lanky and wore jeans and a scruffy t-shirt—unlike his comrade at the other end of the alley who wasn’t wearing a ski mask. And that frightened Julia even more, because it meant Russell and she could identify him.

And that meant the man might kill them for that reason alone.

Of course, he might have already had killing on his mind before he stepped into that alley.

Julia cursed herself. How could she have gotten herself into this situation again? She didn’t have the answer for that yet, but she wouldn’t just stand around and whimper about this, and she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

She cleared her throat so her voice would have some sound. “What’s going on?” she asked Russell.

Not that she expected him to tell her. So far, he hadn’t volunteered much, and she didn’t trust him any further than she could throw him. Still, Russell had stepped in front of her when the men first appeared, and he appeared to be trying to protect her. For all the good it’d do.

They literally had two guns aimed right at them.

Julia felt the jolt of panic and tried to get it under control before it snowballed. Not easy to do. Everything inside her was telling her to run for her life.

“Keep quiet,” Russell growled. “Stay calm. And slow down your breathing.” He glanced back at her, his coffee-brown eyes narrowed and intense. His gaze slashed from one end of the alley to the other, and he finally lifted his hands in surrender.

“Who are you?” Russell asked the man.

The ski-masked gunman stayed put, but the other one walked closer. He was dressed better than his partner. His crisp khakis and pale blue shirt made him look more like a preppy college professor than a criminal, and there were some threads of gray in his dark hair. But there was no doubt in Julia’s mind that this man was up to no good.

“Who are you? ” the preppy guy echoed, aiming his stare at Russell.

“Jimmy Marquez,” Russell replied.

Julia hoped she didn’t look surprised that he’d given them that name—the same one he’d used in the bar when she had first approached him. It wasn’t his real name, she was sure of that. She’d paid Sentron Securities too much money for them to make a mistake like that.

“And who the hell are you?” Russell added, staring at the approaching man.

“Milo.”

She felt the muscles in Russell’s arm relax. Why, she didn’t know.

“Well, it’s about damn time you showed up,” Russell snarled. “You should have been here yesterday. I waited in that bar half the night for you.”

Milo offered no apology, no explanation. He merely lifted his shoulder and tipped his head to the ski-masked guy.

Both men lowered their weapons.

That didn’t make Julia breathe any easier. Something dangerous and probably illegal was likely about to happen, and she had no idea if she could rely on Russell. Thankfully, he kept his gun gripped in his hand.