Joanna Wayne - Another Woman's Baby

He held on to her as he walked her to a chair. “How do you feel? Are you having any kind of pains in your stomach?”

“I feel as if I was run over by a truck.” She touched her hand to her stomach. “But I’m not having any contractions or unusual stomach pains. And I felt a couple of good strong kicks when you were carrying me back to the house.”

“The water probably acted as a support for your body.”

“Lucky me.”

“You are lucky. You’re alive.”

Which is more than she could say for Jackie and Ben. The impact of Bart’s words finally sank in. She dropped to the wooden rocker in front of the fireplace, the horror and pain she’d felt at hearing of Jackie’s death overtaking her as if it had happened all over again. “Why do you think someone murdered my friends?”

“First you need to get out of those wet clothes.”

She looked at the stairs and moaned. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to climb them.

“Are your clothes upstairs?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you stay in the chair and let me get you a robe?”

And then she’d be forced to entertain the dark stranger in just a robe. Only the wet clothes she had on now were no better. They clung to her, outlining the baby paunch and the tips of her nipples.

“It’s in the bathroom—the third door on the right,” she said, choosing the lesser of two evils. “It’s blue. You can’t miss it.”

He climbed the steps two at a time, probably afraid to be gone long, worried that she’d call the police. Part of her wanted to, but the man’s words were taking root in her mind and were starting to make sense. If it had been him who was trying to kill her on the beach a few minutes ago, he’d have had no reason to back off. And if he wasn’t with the FBI, how did he know that she was carrying Jackie’s baby?

Still, she had lots of questions. And she wanted answers.

“BART.”

He looked up from the fireplace and the logs he was lighting as Megan came back into the huge family room. She’d tied a towel around her hair, turban style, and exchanged her wet clothes for the fuzzy blue robe. It stretched over her stomach and fell into loose folds around her ankles.

“I thought I’d build a fire, if that’s all right,” he said.

“It’s perfect. You should change out of your wet clothes, too.”

“I’m six feet two inches. I doubt you’d have anything to fit me. Besides, these shorts will dry fast.” And he’d already shed his T-shirt to reveal a magnificent chest.

“At least you were dressed for the occasion.”

“I’m just glad I had my binoculars on you at the exact moment he attacked.”

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Standing in a cluster of sea oats just past your gazebo.”

“Do you watch me every time I leave the house?”

“I try,” he admitted.

“That’s all you do—just watch me?”

“I’ve had worse jobs, and in a lot worse places. Besides, you’ve made it fairly easy lately, going to lunch at the same time every day, walking at the same times.”

“I’m a creature of habit.”

“Most folks are,” he added. “The decent ones and the criminals. That’s how we trap a lot of them.”

“So you followed me here to Orange Beach because you expected someone would try to kill me?”

“We thought it was possible.”

“We meaning the FBI?”

“Right.” He raked the windblown hair away from his face.

Megan took the towel from her head and began to rub it over the ends of her hair. It looked darker when it was wet, black and shiny. It struck him again how pretty she was and how vulnerable she looked. He’d never guarded a pregnant woman before, never realized that it would affect him the way it had.

A few minutes ago, when he’d seen her fighting for her life, the usual surge of adrenaline had been fueled by a fury he seldom felt anymore. What kind of monster would attack a pregnant woman? A foolish question. He knew this monster and nothing was beyond him.

But pregnant or not, Megan Lancaster was no pushover. She’d fought like a wild woman in that water, and he had the feeling he was going to have a hard time getting her to let him call the shots from here on out. But nobody loved a challenge more than he did.

The sputtering logs caught in a burst of flame, sending fingers of fire up the chimney. He closed the screen and backed away. “That should chase away the chill.”

She was standing behind him with a beach blanket. “This might help, too, especially until your clothes dry.”

“Great idea.” He wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Did you get a good look at the man who tried to kill me?”

“I couldn’t be sure. It was dark, and it happened so fast. Once I pulled him off you, he took off before I had a chance to yank that stupid mask from his face.”

“Why didn’t you go after him?”

“If I had, you would have drowned.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Now we need to think about food. Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch.”

“Good. Neither have I.”

The phone rang. She jumped up to get it, but he caught her arm. “Let it ring.”

“It’s probably my boss. He’ll keep calling until I answer.”

“John Hardison?”

“Yes.”

“Then answer, but don’t say anything about what’s happened.” He read the questions in her eyes, mixed with a tinge of suspicion. That was the one thing he hated about this job—innocent people got caught up in the actions of hardened criminals. “Trust me, Megan. I’ll protect you and the baby. You won’t get hurt again, but you have to do what I say. Just answer the phone and act as if nothing’s wrong.”

He listened to her end of the conversation while he rummaged in her cabinets for food. She was eating for two, and he was hungry himself, but his culinary talents were extremely limited. After they ate they’d work out a plan. No more trying to guard a woman in a secluded old beach house. She wouldn’t like it, but he was going to stick to her every second of the day and night until the man he was after was behind bars.

Even if it took him right into the delivery room.

MEGAN SAT at the kitchen table, using her spoon to make swirls in the remains of her tomato soup. Bart was on his second bowl and he’d eaten every bite of the BLT sandwich he’d made. She’d only managed to get down half of hers and a few sips of the soup.

It seemed strange to be sitting across the table from the man she’d seen as sinister and frightening up until an hour ago. Now she was buying into his story even though she’d still seen no real proof of who he was.

“I’d like to see your badge,” she said, not that she’d know the difference if it was a fake.

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll give you a number at the bureau. But in the meantime, I’ll need to pick up some clothes over at my condo. As big as this place is, I’m sure you have lots of extra bedrooms.”

“You can’t stay here.”

“It’s the best solution.”

“Not for me.”

“You have a short memory, Megan.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “A little over an hour ago, you were fighting for your life. The man ran off, but he’s still out there somewhere waiting for his chance to attack again. I’m not planning to leave you alone—not for a second.”

“I’ll decide that after I have proof you are who you say you are.”

He wiped his mouth with the flowered cotton napkin. “Are you always this suspicious?”

“I work in the world of big business. I learned long ago not to trust anything but verifiable facts.”

“Good. I’m not a particularly trusting man myself. Now, why don’t you call your doctor and then we’ll make a little trip to my condo to pack my suitcase.”