Dani Sinclair - My Baby, My Love

www.millsandboon.co.uk

An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one once when she came for a visit. Dani has been hooked on the genre ever since, but she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. With the premiere of Mystery Baby for Harlequin Intrigue in 1996, Dani has kept her computer busy ever since. She’s a two-time RITA ®Award finalist, for Better Watch Out in 1998 and Midnight Prince in 2008. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source for both intrigue and humor!

You can write to her in care of the Harlequin Reader Service.

For Rhonda Harding Pollero (goddess extraordinaire) for unstinting help, unwavering friendship and incredible talent. Best five-dollar investment I ever made.

And always, for Roger, Chip, Dan and Barb, who never fail to be there for me.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Her heart thudded in her chest. Despite the early-morning hour, Jerome’s red sports car was already in the parking lot behind the bank. Fear of another confrontation with her husband nearly made Sydney get back in her car and drive away.

Then she spotted Mrs. Argossy. The bank manager was struggling to hang on to a dozen balloons while lifting a case of soda from the trunk of her car. Jerome wouldn’t start a scene in front of his boss. Not when he was up for promotion again. All Sydney had to do was stay near Mrs. Argossy and she could start the morning without a battle. And maybe if she saw him early and got it over with, he wouldn’t disrupt the jewelry store where she worked by coming over at lunch.

“Need some help?” she called out.

“Sydney! Good morning! Some help would be wonderful.”

“Someone’s birthday?” she asked.

“Janet’s. We’re going to have a party after work this afternoon. I thought I’d get a jump on things by bringing my contribution early, but I see Jerome is already here. You two certainly do get up early for a pair of newlyweds.”

Sydney tried to slow the nervous hammering of her pulse by taking the case of soda and reaching for a gallon of ice cream. Gratefully, Mrs. Argossy lifted a gaily decorated cake and shut the trunk.

“We’re hardly newlyweds,” Sydney said quietly. She didn’t add that they were about to become divorce statistics as soon as she met with her lawyer.

Mrs. Argossy had to set down the cake to unlock the bank doors. She repeated the process once more before they were inside. Empty, the place looked eerie to Sydney. She trailed after Mrs. Argossy past the counters to the rear of the building. There she had to wait again while Mrs. Argossy unlocked yet another set of doors.

Sydney had never been back in this area and she stepped inside curiously. A curse rent the air.

“You said we’d be alone,” a male voice accused harshly.

Sydney came to a startled halt. A man twisted away from her, ducking to hide his features. He pulled a ski mask into place before Sydney could register the wrongness of his presence here inside the closed bank.

A second man, stuffing currency inside a large gym bag, also wore a mask over his face. The vault gaped wide open. Jerome stood beside the heavy steel door, several bundles of money in his hands.

Fear stole her vocal cords, leaving her motionless with shock.

“For heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Argossy chided behind Sydney, unaware of the danger. “Keep moving or I’ll drop this cake.”

The ski-masked stranger swore viciously. “What are you doing in here?”

Sydney managed the fleeting thought that it was a rather stupid question under the circumstances. Then Jerome started in her direction, his expression almost tortured. For a second, their eyes locked. She felt his anguish as clearly as if he’d cried out.

The door closed behind Mrs. Argossy. In slow motion, her lips formed a wide “oh” of alarm. “What on earth?”

Sydney dropped the heavy case of soda and cans spilled across the floor. Two split open, splashing their sticky contents everywhere.

Mrs. Argossy pushed past her. Feeling helplessly detached, Sydney watched the first man produce a gun in one gloved hand. Smoke and flame spit from the barrel. The bark of noise was deafening. Mrs. Argossy crumpled bonelessly to the floor at Sydney’s feet in a pool of spreading red blood. The balloons she’d been holding drifted toward the ceiling.

“No! Stop!” Jerome yelled. “You said no one would be hurt!”

Sydney came out of her panicked stupor. She heaved the gallon of ice cream at the weapon now aimed at her. The container struck, deflecting the next shot.

The room seemed to swell with noise and an acrid odor. There was no place to run. Pain seared Sydney’s hand.

The gunman took aim again. Jerome stumbled, shoving her backward. Flame spurted from the weapon.

His body jerked, once—then twice. His mouth opened for another protest that never came.

She lurched as Jerome’s full weight collapsed against her. His body jerked again as more bullets thudded into his back.

They fell amid the rain of currency fluttering from his limp hands. Her world dissolved with a blinding crack of pain and a stab of brilliant light.

Sydney woke to the scent of something elusive, something intriguing, something that wafted past the smell of flowers and antiseptic. In an effort to find the source, she forced open her eyes and tried to focus on the face that hovered above her.

“Sydney? That’s it, open your eyes. Can you hear me?”

The rumbly voice was comforting. She’d heard that voice in her dreams. A voice that promised safety and security from the nightmares.

Memory flooded her with violent images.

Sydney opened her mouth, a scream building from her soul. The man shook his head. His fingers pressed gently against her raw, chapped lips.

“Don’t,” he ordered. “You’re safe now. You don’t have to scream anymore.”

The tone, rather than the words, released the scream as a long shuddering sigh. Sydney trembled. Pain raced up her arm. Other pain quickly followed. She tried to lift her hand. It wouldn’t move. Something white covered it completely. Sydney fought against the incipient panic rising in her chest.

She couldn’t move!

Large hands rested against her shoulders, gently but effectively holding her in place.

“Look at me, Sydney.”

She had no choice but to do as he commanded. Still, she couldn’t stop the quaking that gripped her body.

He nodded. “That’s better. If you scream, the cop outside your door will throw me out of here.”

What was he talking about? The hands moved away from her shoulders. Ironically, she wanted that reassuring contact back.

“Don’t fade out on me, Sydney. Take a couple of deep breaths.”

She licked at her chapped lips as she stared into his ruggedly handsome face. He wore a military dress uniform, she realized. Puzzling out why this should be significant was too hard for her muzzy brain to contemplate. It was enough that he was here. She relaxed, staring up at him, drawn to him in some indefinable way.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked.

Sydney nodded, bewildered, and suddenly, terribly tired. The last thing she remembered—

“No! Don’t try to remember. Look at me, okay?”

Looking at him was the easiest thing she’d ever been asked to do. Just his presence made her feel safe and protected. He lifted a cup with a straw poking from the top. Carefully, he brought it to her lips in silent offering.