Delores Fossen - Newborn Conspiracy

Tanner .

For some reason, hearing the baby’s name packed a huge wallop. Logan had experienced a similar feeling when he first held the little boy in his arms. Now, that little boy had a name. Tanner. And he was sleeping in the backseat just a few feet away.

Logan couldn’t see the baby because the infant carrier seat was facing away from him. And he was reasonably sure that it wasn’t a good idea for him to see his son. Not just yet, anyway. Not until he’d straightened out a few things with the boy’s mother.

Who might be actually telling the truth.

And this time, Logan knew it didn’t have anything to do with her hair and mouth. Nope. She was making sense. Well, sort of. She was making as much sense as there could be in their situation.

“If you didn’t set all of this up, then who did?” Logan asked.

“I honestly don’t know, but it could have been anyone at Brighton. It’s been all over the news about the illegal things they were doing there. Maybe that illegal activity included using DNA contributions without first getting permission from the donor.”

Yeah. Logan had thought of that. And he’d dismissed it. “Someone forged my name on a release form at Cryogen Labs. That person also paid a hefty testing and processing fee to make sure the semen was still viable. It would have been a lot cheaper just to pay a new donor.”

Her silence let him know that she was probably thinking about that. The silence didn’t last long. From the backseat, there was a tiny sound. Like a little grunt. That grunt was followed by some movement.

And then a kittenlike cry.

Mia put her forearm over her chest. Specifically, her breasts, and pressed hard. “Tanner’s crying makes my milk let down.”

He didn’t have a clue what that meant, and his blank stare must have conveyed that.

“I have to feed him,” she snapped.

“Oh.”

Well, that left him with a dilemma. He couldn’t leave, not until they had this mess figured out. But the baby was obviously hungry. The kittenlike sounds increased in both volume and intensity.

And that wasn’t all.

With everything else going on, Logan noticed the slow-moving dark-gray car that turned into the parking lot. Any car would have garnered his attention since the attack on him six and a half weeks earlier. But with the baby, Logan’s concerns were heightened.

Really heightened.

Man. This wasn’t good. He needed to view what was going on here objectively, and he couldn’t do that if he was worried about the baby. Still, he couldn’t totally dismiss the emotions and feelings that came with unexpected fatherhood.

Mia must have noticed his mental battle because she followed his gaze to the gray car that was now one row over from them. “Do you know the person in that car?”

“I don’t think so.”

Her breathing was suddenly a little choppy. “Maybe it’s your ex-girlfriend?”

“No.” But he almost wished it was Genevieve Devereux. The alternative scenarios were much, much worse than running into a lying, scheming, psycho ex with a penchant for stalking.

Logan had been on the job for nearly seven years. And never once had the job come home with him.

Not until six and a half weeks ago.

Then, he’d been shot in the leg while doing target practice on Christmas morning in the woods near his former training facility.

But was the job responsible for that and had the job followed him here? Had someone associated with the mission sent an assassin to try to put another bullet in him? He didn’t want to believe it was possible, but he was having a hard time coming up with theories that didn’t involve his last mission.

Or Mia Crandall.

“See what you can do to soothe the baby,” Logan insisted when the cries became louder. He eased his gun from his leather shoulder holster and fastened his attention to the gray car. The windows of the vehicle were heavily tinted so he couldn’t see the driver. The license plate had been obscured with mud.

“Oh, God,” he heard Mia say.

His attention snapped to her. She was looking at the gun and, judging from her expression, she didn’t care much for it. Tough. He wasn’t putting it away.

Mia drew in a series of sharp breaths and it seemed as if she were on the verge of hyperventilating. “Phobia,” she managed to say through those sharp breaths.

Logan shook his head. “What?”

“Phobia. A huge one. About the gun.”

She wasn’t kidding, either. He could see the sweat pop out above her upper lip. She was shaking. Actually shaking. Logan had read the police report of the incident involving the death of her parents fourteen years ago. Guns had been used.

And a switchblade.

Logan rethought that part about keeping his gun drawn. He didn’t want her to craze out on him. He eased his gun back inside his coat so that it would still be ready to use but would be out of sight.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Logan pushed that emotional response aside and tried to come up with a solution to this possible problem. His first instinct was to put Mia in the backseat with the baby so he could drive away. But it was broad daylight and they were outside a pediatric clinic. An assassin wasn’t likely to make his or her move here.

He hoped.

“Something is wrong,” she insisted.

She reached for her diaper bag. Without taking his eyes off the car, Logan snagged her wrist. He didn’t know if she had another can of pepper spray stashed inside and he didn’t want to take the chance that she might use it on him.

“I’m getting a pacifier,” she informed him through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to sit here in this parking lot any longer. Not with that car inching toward us like a killer shark.”

Logan heard something in her voice. Not fear. But familiarity with fear. Then, he remembered her saying that she’d been followed and that someone had planted a tracking device on her car.

“How about an ex-boyfriend?” Logan asked. “Is there one in the picture?”

“No.” She located the pacifier, reached over the seat and apparently put it in Tanner’s mouth. It must have worked because the baby’s crying stopped. “I’m leaving now. Get out.”

“ We’re leaving. I’m not getting out. This isn’t a good time for Tanner and you to be alone.”

Mia didn’t argue. She strapped on her seat belt, threw the car into gear and backed out of the parking space. She didn’t waste any time. Nor did she panic. Mia drove away from the clinic, took the first turn to the right and then made an immediate turn left on the next street. She continued the process for four more blocks, all the while checking the rear-view mirror.

“You’ve done this before,” Logan commented, staring into his side mirror. He didn’t see the gray car but that didn’t mean it wasn’t trying to follow them.

“I told you about the problems I had with exactly this sort of thing.”

Yes, she had. And it was also a matter of police record. Still, there were things that the police records didn’t tell him. “What happened when someone tried to kidnap you?”

“It was…terrifying.” And that’s all she said for several long moments. “Early one morning when I stepped outside to get my newspaper, a van pulled up in my driveway. A person wearing a ski mask and bulky clothes came rushing out of the van and tried to use a stun gun on me. I threw the paper at him. I must have hit him or her in the eye because the person stopped. That’s when I ran back inside. My neighbor saw the whole thing and yelled out for help. The person got back in the van and sped away.”

Logan didn’t want to know how scary that must have been. Pregnant and with someone out to get her. It was even more unsettling when he factored in that Mia had been carrying his child at the time. That meant the moron in the van had put his son at risk.