Kerry Connor: A Stranger's Baby

The words came out on their own. Even as he said them, it seemed as if someone else was doing so. Sara looked just as surprised to hear them.

“Just for tonight. Until you figure out something else.” Part of him wondered who he was saying it for, her or himself.

“Okay, thank you. Let me get a few things.” Jake knew letting her stay with him was the right thing to do. She shouldn’t be alone, not in her condition. That didn’t stop him from wanting to call her back and revoke the offer. The uneasiness had returned with a vengeance, clawing at his insides with greater ferocity, for entirely different reasons than before.

Because he’d seen something else, too, shimmering faintly in her big brown eyes.

Gratitude.

And he knew more than ever that he’d finally made a mistake he’d been avoiding from the first time he’d seen the pregnant woman next door.

He’d invited her into his life. And now there was no turning back.

This book was particularly challenging to write,

and is dedicated with my deepest thanks to the editors

without whom it wouldn’t exist: Sean Mackiewicz,

for making my dream of writing for Intrigue a reality and

for guiding me through the process with my first

two books; Denise Zaza, for the opportunity and

for believing in my work; and Allison Lyons, for

her kindness and patience, and for the words of

encouragement when I needed them the most. Thank you.

A lifelong mystery reader, Kerry Connor first discovered romantic suspense by reading Harlequin Intrigue books and is thrilled to be writing for the line. Kerry lives and writes in Southern California.

Sara Carson—One reckless night left her pregnant with a stranger’s baby.

Jake Armstrong—A man who believes he knows nothing about family is the only one who can help the pregnant woman next door.

Mark—The mystery man who fathered Sara’s child.

Roger Halloran—He was searching for answers and more than willing to use Sara to get them.

Kendra Rogan—She said that helping young people was her top priority, but did her noble claims mask darker intentions?

Noah Brooks—The friendly young man proved a ready source of information, but did he know more than he revealed?

Adam Quinn—A man who knew when it was time to move on, but whose true motives remained in question.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Someone was in the house.

Sara stared into the bedroom’s darkness, wide awake when she’d been asleep seconds earlier. She wasn’t sure what had woken her from the first good sleep she’d had in weeks, any more than she knew why she was suddenly certain she was no longer alone in her home.

She simply knew.

One hand instantly moved to her belly. The other reached into the bedside table. Her fingers closed around the gun she’d put there for this very reason. Protection. A single woman living alone needed some way to defend herself.

Careful not to make a sound, Sara pulled the weapon to her and strained to hear any signs of an intruder. The pounding of her heart in her ears drowned out everything else. Even so, she didn’t think she detected anything. There was only the steady drone of the air conditioner, cranked up high because she was always hot these days. Eyes wide, she tried to spot what didn’t belong there in the darkness. Nothing moved, nothing seemed out of place.

Still, the certainty remained.

She slowly uncurled herself from the body pillow that was the only thing that had let her get any sleep the past several months and rolled onto her back. The lamp switch was just out of arm’s reach. She’d have to push herself up to get to it. Or should she even turn it on? Would the light scare off whoever might be out there or simply alert them to her presence and wakefulness, especially if she made too much noise shifting on the bed?

She should have gotten a dog, a big, scary one trained to ward off intruders. A dog would know if someone was in the house, confirming or dismissing her fears instead of leaving her searching for something that might not even be there. But she hadn’t known what she’d do with the dog when she went to the hospital. There was no one she could ask, and if she went into labor suddenly, the dog would be left behind alone in the house for days—

Her frenzied thoughts must have distracted her from her silent vigil. One moment the doorway yawned with emptiness. The next, so suddenly it seemed to have appeared in the time it took her to blink, a dark figure stood there.

He made no sound as he moved into the room, seeming to float through the passageway. Two others followed close behind.

She took no joy in the knowledge she wasn’t imagining things. Terror gripped her so suddenly she couldn’t restrain a gasp.

The sharply indrawn breath didn’t go unnoticed. The figures came to an abrupt stop, hovering there in the darkness.

“You’re awake,” she heard a low voice murmur in surprise.

“That’s right,” she said calmly, somehow managing to keep the fear out of her voice when every instinct wanted to scream. “And you’re trespassing.”

They began to drift closer again, undeterred by her words or her awareness. Suddenly she realized the one in the lead was raising his hand. The pale threads of moonlight peeking through the slats of her window blinds glinted off something he was holding.

Her heart jumped as recognition slammed into her.

A needle.

She instinctively spread her fingers wider on her abdomen, as though the small gesture could provide greater cover, more protection, to the child inside her.

“Don’t worry, Sara.” The voice came again, closer now, softened in a parody of a soothing tone. “This won’t hurt at all.”

Her response was to cock the weapon in her hand, the sound loud in the silence.

The figures froze.

She aimed right at the head of the one with the needle. “This will.”

And fired.

JAKE ARMSTRONG EASED HIMSELF out of the truck, first his good left leg, then the right that seemed to have failed him yet again. He tried to keep the weight off his right foot, gingerly setting it on the pavement and leaning on the left.

It didn’t help. A sharp pain shot down the limb starting at the knee. Gripping the door, he sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. He’d taken two pills as soon as he’d exited the all-night drugstore, downing them without water, needing them too much, hating that he did. For all the good they’d done him. The pills must not have kicked in yet.

Or maybe he’d waited too long and now would have to wait that much longer for them to start working. He hadn’t bothered refilling the prescription after he’d run out weeks ago, thinking he didn’t need the medicine anymore.

So much for that.

Damn. He’d thought he was doing well, too, enough so that he’d felt confident ignoring the initial twinges that had probably indicated something was wrong. He was used to fighting through pain. He was running farther and harder every day. He felt stronger. His old doctors would say he was pushing himself too hard, and for no reason. That he was lucky to be walking at all after they’d put his knee back together.