Julie Miller - Assumed Identity

“Yeah.” He wasn’t real comfortable making small talk and keeping her company until the police arrived on the scene—even though he knew several of the officers and detectives in this precinct because they frequented the Shamrock Bar where he worked most nights. He was even less comfortable with the unfamiliar desire to pull those slender shoulders against his chest and shield her from the fear that lingered in her eyes.

No connections. No commitments. No caring.

Those were the three Cs he’d lived by for the past two years. They were the only way he could guarantee that the nightmares from his forgotten life couldn’t come back and destroy anyone else before he had the chance to remember the truth—good or bad—and to deal with it.

“Mr. Lonergan?” He realized she was still waiting for him to answer her question. “Did you see him?”

“I didn’t see his face.” She carried the towels to a hamper beside the bassinet and dropped them inside. “But he was short for a man—not much taller than you. And he could run like the devil.”

“Would you have tried to capture him if you weren’t worried about me?”

Jake considered the honest answer. True, he couldn’t have run the guy down. But he could have pulled the gun from his ankle holster and shot him—probably hit his mark, too. Even in the dark. In the rain. Although he hadn’t shot a man in the two years he could remember, Jake had the strongest feeling that he was able to make a shot like that. How else could a man handle a knife the way he could, and know so much about weaponry and choke holds and throwing a punch?

But there was honest, and then there was too much honesty. He suspected that informing Robin Carter he carried both a gun and a hunting knife, and that he possessed the skills to use them better than most, wouldn’t give her the reassurance she was looking for right now. He shook his head. “One good deed for the night’s all I got in me.”

“I asked you not to say things like that.”

“Look, lady—”

“Robin,” she corrected him. “I also asked you to call me Robin.”

He blew out a long sigh, conceding to her will—for the few moments longer he intended to be a part of her life. “Robin. You don’t really know me. You shouldn’t automatically trust me.”

“I trusted you because I had to. You haven’t disappointed me yet.”

Oh, hell. That sounded like some sort of relationship had been forged between them.

Jake was relieved as much as he was on edge when he heard the sirens in the distance outside. He nodded toward the back door where they’d come in. “You stay here with the kid. I’ll wait outside and show the police in.”

It was one thing to serve a cop a drink. It was something else to stand there and answer his questions, maybe come under scrutiny himself for wandering the streets so late at night. And being armed the way he was bound to raise a few suspicions.

Jake surmised the distance and direction of the approaching flashing lights. He paused for one shameless moment to admire the apple-shaped curve of Robin Carter’s backside, emphasized by the clinging hug of her wet jeans, as she bent over the bassinet, tending to her sleeping baby again.

The cops were close enough. She’d be safe.

“Thank you again, Mr. Lonergan. By the way, you never told me your first name...”

He never heard the end of her sentence. By the time she straightened from the bassinet, he was gone.

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