Jacqueline Diamond - The Baby Scheme

Alli dodged behind a parked truck. Keeping low, she and Kevin made their way between the rows of cars.

The van continued to prowl. Passing several vacant spaces, it came relentlessly in their direction.

When the glare of a lamp illuminated the interior, she saw two men in the front seat. Pairs of men didn’t generally cruise around swanky hotels in the middle of the evening, passing up available spaces.

Unless they were looking for someone.

Kevin kept darting in a stop-and-go pattern, homing in on his car. At last they reached the sedan and he opened the door with a key.

“The next part’s going to be tricky,” he said. “Keep your head down in case they start shooting.”

“Maybe we should call the cops….”

Dear Reader,

As a former newspaper and Associated Press reporter, I enjoy reliving the excitement—and the sometimes sharp mix of personalities—that one finds in a newsroom. I may lack Alli’s disregard for danger, and I never suffered a backstabber on the order of Payne Jacobson, but if fiction didn’t heighten our experiences, it would be dull indeed!

Kevin Vickers isn’t based on any individual police officer or detective I’ve known, but in my single days, visiting the police station was the highlight of the morning. After reading the log, I’d chat with lieutenants and sergeants in the detective, patrol and traffic bureaus. Some of them definitely fit the bill as hunks! Most proved patient and quite helpful. I’m glad to say that, unlike the stereotype of the antagonistic reporter, I sometimes managed to repay the favor in my articles by encouraging witnesses to come forward.

So there’s a bit of nostalgia for me in this tale, but Alli and Kevin ran away with the story and made everything fresh again. I hope you feel that way, too!

If you enjoy the book, please e-mail me at jdiamondfriends@aol.com and visit my Web site at www.jacquelinediamond.com.

Best wishes,

The Baby Scheme

Jacqueline Diamond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A former Associated Press reporter, Jacqueline Diamond has written more than sixty novels and received a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times magazine. Jackie lives in Southern California with her husband, two sons and two cats.

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

913—THE IMPROPERLY PREGNANT PRINCESS

962—DIAGNOSIS: EXPECTING BOSS’S BABY

971—PRESCRIPTION: MARRY HER IMMEDIATELY

978—PROGNOSIS: A BABY? MAYBE

1046—THE BABY’S BODYGUARD

For Kurt

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Alli Gardner had just arrived at her newsroom desk on Thursday morning when she spotted the startling front-page headline. As she sank down and read the story, her feeling of shock shifted to outrage.

The allegation that the recently named mayor of Serene Beach, California, had run backroom gambling tournaments to benefit his computer stores didn’t surprise her. After all, she’d done the research and written the story.

The problem was, it didn’t carry her byline.

She read the first few paragraphs again. Those weren’t only her facts—they were her words. Yet she hadn’t quite finished the exposé the previous night and therefore hadn’t submitted it, although the assistant managing editor had known she was working on it.

The byline belonged to Payne Jacobson, the assistant managing editor’s nephew.

In her five years with the Orange Coast Outlook, Alli had never considered the possibility that someone might raid her computer. That is, not until Payne joined the staff six months ago.

After he’d twice written articles based on her research and quotes, she’d complained to his uncle that he must have found a way to access her computer files. But not only had Ned Jacobson sided with his nephew, he’d hinted that Alli feared competition.

This time, she’d deliberately kept all the notes on her personal laptop to prevent Payne from accessing them through the newspaper’s networked computer system. She’d taken the laptop home at night, too, but she’d left it unattended on her desk several times during the past few days.

The jerk couldn’t have read her files last night. That meant he must have installed spy software.

Alli felt as though steam were pouring out of her ears. If that weasel thought she was going to sit still over this, she had news for him—the kind of news he wouldn’t want to steal.

She flipped open the laptop and typed in “You little thief!” then added a few more colorful insults for good measure. As she saved the file, she glanced across a group of desks to where the twenty-three-year-old sat smirking while typing on his keyboard.

His blond, designer haircut and trendy suit couldn’t offset the thinness of his face or the deceitful cast of his small eyes. Of course, she wasn’t exactly an unbiased observer.

As she waited for his spyware to steal her latest keystrokes, Alli reflected on how hard she’d worked to earn her reporter’s job, while Payne had waltzed into it, courtesy of his connections. After completing journalism school, she’d labored for two years as a writer in a public relations office, then spent three years at a weekly before landing this position against stiff competition.

Even so, she wouldn’t object if Payne were honest and did good work. But his writing—when he did any of his own—had a clunky, amateurish quality despite Ned’s editing. In addition, according to his annoyed interviewees, he often misquoted them. Surely anyone other than a doting relative could tell that he hadn’t written this exposé.

Across the room, she saw Payne’s cheeks flush and his gaze flick toward her. Insult received. She’d proved her point about the spyware.

Beyond him, behind a glass office window, J. J. Morosco stood up and stretched. Despite the early hour, the short, rotund managing editor had been at work for quite a while.

A forty-something go-getter, J.J. had stepped on more than a few toes during his first year at the Orange Coast Outlook. Hired from a newspaper in the San Francisco Bay area, he’d revamped the sports and entertainment sections, turning them into showpieces that the publisher trumpeted in TV ads. The result had been an increase in subscriptions and newsstand sales.

Alli hated to bother him with an intramural quarrel. But how could anyone tolerate having stories stolen? Besides, this act of plagiarism threw the newspaper’s ethical stance into question.

After unfolding her five-foot-nine-inch frame from behind the desk, she marched across the linoleum. Reporters nudged one another and turned to watch, probably expecting a showdown. She’d made no secret of her allegations about Payne.

The sight of her reflection in the glass made Alli pause. Where she’d stuck a pen in her shirt pocket, a telltale spot of ink revealed that she’d forgotten to cap it. The way her skirt had swiveled around her hips didn’t improve her appearance, either.

What a mess, and at only nine o’clock in the morning. She lacked the patience to repair to the ladies’ room, however, especially since she could do nothing about the inkblot.

After hiking her skirt into place, Alli realized she’d done so in full view of the managing editor. With a sigh, she resumed her approach. She couldn’t back down now.