Kerry Connor - A Stranger's Baby

“I knew you looked familiar. You got hurt last year.”

“Yeah.”

“I saw that game. Man, that injury looked brutal.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “It was.”

“You know, the local high school team’s going to start practice up again pretty soon. I’m sure they’d love it if you could talk to them.”

“Sorry. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be around, with the season starting up and all.”

The detective’s eyebrows shot sky-high. “You looking to get back in the game?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I heard your career was over.”

“We’ll see.”

Based on his curt, mostly monosyllabic answers, Sara thought it was obvious Jake didn’t want to talk about it. The detective still leaned forward expectantly, as though he expected Jake to elaborate.

Jake stared back. He didn’t say a word.

When the silence went on too long, Sara cleared her throat.

Baxter glanced at her, annoyance flickering across his face before his expression regained its condescending coolness.

“Ms. Carson, I’ll take down your report, but I’m not sure what else I can do. There’s still no sign anybody was in your house. All you’ve given me is some footprints that could have been left there anytime and a car that could have been there for any reason.”

Sara tried to swallow her rising anger in the face of the man’s condescension. Evidently that particular trait was a common one in the local police department. “A car that took off as soon as its driver realized it was spotted.”

“No offense, but a lot of people might be intimidated seeing this guy coming at them in the dark, even if they’re not doing anything wrong.” He grinned at Jake.

Jake stared back, unimpressed.

Baxter’s grin quickly died. He straightened in his seat. “We also had a car drive by a couple of times as promised and they didn’t see anything suspicious.”

“Because whoever was out there had already been scared off. Maybe for a second time, if it was the same people who broke in to my house in the first place.”

The detective sighed. “Look, I’ll run the plate and see if anything suspicious comes up. If something else happens, let us know. Other than that, there’s not much I can do.”

Recognizing the finality in both his words and his tone, and figuring she’d wasted enough of her time with this man, Sara forced herself to offer a cordial “Thank you for your time.” She would have loved to say something more cutting, but there was still the chance she might need this man’s help, if she ever managed to convince him there was something he could help her with.

More than ready to get out of there, she started the arduous process of getting to her feet. She’d barely moved before Jake was standing before her, offering his hand. With a grateful smile, she accepted the hand and let him help her up, doing her best to ignore the jolt that shot up her arm when his large, warm fingers closed around hers and threatened to swallow them whole.

When they finally stepped outside the police station, she heaved a sigh, pleased to be out of there, if not about anything else. “Well, that was a waste of time. I’m sorry you came all the way down here for nothing.”

“We had to try, at any rate.”

“Too bad all we accomplished was giving Baxter a thrill for the day.” She glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised. “I didn’t know you were a celebrity.”

His expression hardened. “I’m not.”

Moving slowly, they started toward his truck, which was parked at the curb just down the block. “People know who you are. I’m pretty sure that makes you a celebrity.”

“Depends who the people are. You didn’t know who I was.”

She grimaced apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow sports.”

“A lot of people don’t. Even a lot of people who do wouldn’t be able to pick me out of a lineup. Not much of a celebrity. I’m fine with that.”

And he was, she thought, remembering how uncomfortable he’d been when the detective recognized him. That would teach her to stereotype. She would have assumed a professional athlete would be flashier, more of a glory hound. Or maybe he’d simply grown beyond that since it appeared his glory days were behind him.

“Is it true what he said?” she asked carefully. “You were injured?”

“Yeah.”

“How bad was it?”

“Blew out my knee. Had surgery to put it together again, but I’m still trying to get back to where I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is,” he said, clear dismissal in his tone. They’d reached the truck. Jake pulled the passenger door open for her.

After helping her get in, he closed the door and moved around to his side. “What do you want to do now?” he asked.

“Do you remember that license plate number?”

“Sure.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll run it myself. Give it to me.”

Jake was so surprised that he could only obey, watching as she quickly typed a text message and hit Send.

She shoved the phone back into her purse. “She’ll get back to me ASAP.”

“You have somebody who can run license plates for you?”

She grinned. “Yep. Who needs the cops, anyway?”

For a moment he was struck dumb and could only stare into that big, beautiful smile, so different from anything he’d ever seen or expected to see on her face. He’d thought she was pretty before. The smile only confirmed it. Her whole face seemed to light up with it.

And then the smile was fading, her eyes flickering uncertainly, her self-consciousness clear. “What?”

He cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone dry, and pushed his key into the ignition. “Nothing. Why didn’t you contact her earlier?”

“It didn’t seem worth the trouble if we were coming to see the police, anyway. I guess I was hoping they would do their jobs and I wouldn’t have to bother.”

Starting the engine, he smoothly pulled away from the curb. “So who is this person? Somebody with the state?”

“No, someone who does research for me with resources she says I’m probably better off not knowing about. I have a feeling she’s right about that. All that matters is she can find out just about anything I need.”

“Research?” he echoed. “Maybe I should be asking what you do.”

She hesitated and lowered her eyes, her sudden tension clear. “I’m a writer.”

“What do you write?”

Another hesitation. “Books.”

“Anything I’d have heard of?”

“It’s kind of private.”

“More private than what you told me last night?”

She sighed and said nothing. For a moment he wasn’t sure she was going to respond. “You heard of Brock Marshall?”

It took him a few seconds to make the connection. Brock Marshall was the main character in a series of action thrillers, a globe-trotting mercenary whose sex-filled, überviolent escapades had slowly developed a loyal audience. The fourth one had come out a couple months ago and quickly become the biggest one yet, making a bunch of bestseller lists. There was even talk of a movie being developed, except none of the current stock of Hollywood pretty boys could live up to the embodiment of raw masculinity that Marshall represented. Jake had read a couple of the books himself and knew plenty of guys who loved them, even among men who didn’t do much reading beyond the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. The books were written by—

His train of thought came to a screeching halt. He whipped his head toward her in disbelief. “You’re S.J. Carson?”

Her eyes were downcast and there was a tightness in her expression, as if she was bracing herself for his reaction. “I see you have heard of him.”