M.J. Rodgers - Baby By Chance

David’s father smiled at him and said, “What did she want?”

David wondered whether he should say. Maybe a discussion was what he needed to put everything in order.

“She wanted me to find some guy she had a one-night stand with. Seems she’s carrying his kid.”

“Not exactly an everyday request,” Charles said, “but I don’t see the problem.”

“She made me drag every detail out of her like I was a prosecuting attorney. Even when I explained that she had to be totally honest, she held back crucial information.”

“What was that?”

“She was wearing a wedding band, yet she said nothing about being married. And I gave her plenty of opportunity to spit it out.”

Charles shrugged. “So she was embarrassed or ashamed or both. I’m not saying that dealing with a cheating spouse is pleasant, just part of the job. And there’s nothing that says we have to like a client.”

“But this one didn’t look like someone who should be lying.”

Charles let out a long sigh of understanding. “Ah, so that’s the problem. You do like her.”

Dear Reader,

I love to read about heroines and heroes.

In this world of cranky kids and kitty litter, unbalanced checkbooks and bad-tempered bosses, sagging skin and stretch marks, it’s great to be able to open a Harlequin Superromance novel and find a gal who handles life’s petty concerns with such panache that she inspires you to think your best thoughts, do your noblest deeds and be your finest self.

That’s what I call a heroine.

The guys who win the hearts of these gals have to be special—and they are. Tough, tender and downright tempting, they can melt the polish right off your toenails. I’d like to introduce you to four such men. The Knight brothers are a talented team of investigators whose modern-day armor consists of quick minds, steel bodies and strong integrity. Their motto is When You Need Help, Call On A White Knight. These men are ready to put themselves on the line for what’s right and for the women they love.

That’s what I call a hero.

David Knight’s story is the first in the WHITE KNIGHT INVESTIGATIONS series. David has earned his share of battle scars and is convinced he’s prepared for anything—until he meets Susan, the lovely nature photographer who desperately needs his help in finding the father of her unborn child.

I hope you enjoy David and Susan’s tale. And may love always find the heroine in your heart.

Warmest wishes,

M.J. Rodgers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SUSAN HAD A HARD TIME believing it had come to this. If someone had told her a week ago that she would be seriously considering hiring a private investigator, she would have laughed.

People came to her for help. She was the sensible, self-reliant one who always handled whatever problem came her way. At least, she had been.

She drove past the White Knight Investigations’ offices every day on her way to work. When You Need Help, Call On A White Knight, the sign said. The promise implicit in that motto never failed to conjure up the romantic image of a tall, stalwart warrior in silver armor charging on his sturdy steed to help some hapless heroine.

A nice fantasy. But the key word here was fantasy.

Even if the King Arthur legends could be believed and men with high ideals had rescued damsels in distress in the sixth century, she knew perfectly well that damsels unlucky or foolish enough to get themselves into distressful situations in the twenty-first century had better be ready to rescue themselves.

Yet knowing all that didn’t stop her from slowing as she approached the White Knight offices this morning. She wanted to believe, because she was in a mess. And she gladly would have traded all the idealistic heroes in history on white horses for the help of one fat, balding modern-day cynic driving a VW Bug—as long as he was a competent and intelligent investigator.

Their number was on the sign. Maybe she’d call for an appointment. Then again, maybe not. She’d gotten herself into a situation that was as embarrassing as hell for herself to accept, much less explain to someone else.

An unexpected light in the office window had Susan turning the steering wheel of her SUV. The offices were always dark at this hour. That light beamed down on her like a special invitation, a message that someone waited for her up there, someone who would listen and would be willing to help.

She maneuvered her vehicle into the parking lot and switched off the engine. She sat behind the wheel for a moment as the drizzle smeared her windshield, uncomfortably aware that levelheaded women didn’t lead their lives by attributing the guiding hand of fate to an unexpected office light. Still, as long as she was here, it probably wouldn’t hurt to go up.

The front door to the office-building complex was open, a bakery shop on the first floor already filling the foyer with the warm aromas of yeast and rising dough. Normally such smells would have been welcome. But today she couldn’t get away from them quickly enough. She dashed for the elevator and punched the button for the top floor where the White Knight offices were located.

The elevator made its journey with an efficient swoosh of gears. When the doors opened, she stepped out on a lovely curved landing. A floor-to-ceiling picture window overlooked the small city of Silver Valley, jewel-like in the early morning light.

As tempted as she was to linger over the dazzling scene, she knew that if she didn’t continue with this sudden impulse, her common sense was going to kick in and have her retreating back to her vehicle.

The light she had seen from the street was spilling out from the reception area of the White Knight offices. Her footsteps made no sound on the thick carpet as she made her way toward it.

She halted in the shadows just outside the open door and peered inside. Her eyes swept over the oak desk, the thick gold carpet, the tasteful assortment of art hanging on the pastel walls, the impressive expanse of windows.

But it was the man facing those windows who claimed her real attention.

He was at least six-three, with shoulders and arms like a logger’s. His full bark-brown hair was cleanly cut at the nape of his neck. A dark green sweater stretched over his muscled back. Tailored black slacks hugged his long legs. One of his huge hands hung casually by his side. The other was holding something in front of him that she couldn’t see.

The solid strength of his body and the calm, innate confidence in his stance put Susan immediately in mind of the sturdy cedar that had stood outside her bedroom window when she was a child. That cedar had borne the weight of her treehouse, weathered the worst of winter’s storms and soaked up the tears shed by her young self.

Her heart filled with sudden hope. Maybe, just maybe, the impulse that had brought her here wouldn’t prove to be so crazy, after all.

DAVID SAVORED HIS COFFEE as he watched the traffic beneath his window. Mornings were always his favorite part of the day; he enjoyed watching the world wake up and get busy, especially in this part of the world.