Soldier's Pregnancy Protocol

He sank his fingers into her hair, holding her close and covering her face with achingly tender kisses. Desperate kisses. Kisses full of affection and emotion and words left unsaid. Words that hovered near the surface. Words she saw reflected in his azure eyes.

She felt the tremor that shook him, and her body answered with a quaking need and clamoring hunger. She held him tighter, angling her hips and shifting her legs, wishing she could climb inside him. Fill him. Give him all the love he’d been denied and had denied himself for too many years.

About the Author

BETH CORNELISON started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.

Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including a coveted Golden Heart Award in romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanuts’ Snoopy and spending downtime with her family.

She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171, USA or visit her website at www.bethcornelison.com.

Soldier’s

Pregnancy

Protocol

Beth Cornelison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Keyren Gerlach, who gave Alec and Erin new life!

I appreciate all you do.

Prologue

Without a sound, Alec Kincaid inched on his belly through the sticky black mud of the South American jungle until he had a clearer view of the Cessna awaiting takeoff from the small clearing. The acrid scent of jet fuel and jeep exhaust tinged the smell of rotting vegetation and the fragrance of the orchids blooming around his hiding place. His body ached from lying motionless for the past twelve hours, but his gut told him his efforts would soon pay off. In spades.

After ten years, working black ops for a counterterrorist team so secret the group didn’t even have a name, Alec had learned to rely on his instincts and not much else. Except training. Except Daniel LeCroix, aka Lafitte.

He trusted his partner with his life. And had many times. Just this week.

In the past five years, Alec had lost count how many times he and Lafitte had relied on each other for survival in the murky world of espionage and counterterrorism.

Because of the risks they took, their rogue lifestyle, the pirate code names they’d adopted seemed apropos. Blackbeard and Lafitte.

He clicked his tongue three times into his lip mic. Three tangos.

In his earpiece, he heard Daniel’s reply, a short puff of air. Affirmative.

Alec sighted his AK-47 on the rebel fighters as they loaded boxes of weapons into the aircraft. But these drones were not his ultimate target. Intel indicated General Ramirez, the murderous leader of the rebel fighters, would be leaving on this flight.

If they netted Ramirez today, he and Daniel could be swilling rum with a couple senoritas on a beach in Acapulco by nightfall—Lafitte and Blackbeard savoring the spoils of a completed mission. Three years of mucking through mosquito-infested rain forests and living weeks at a time off grubs and stubborn determination had led to this moment.

Anticipation thrummed through Alec. His nerves jangled, but he didn’t so much as draw a deep breath. Any movement, any noise could give away his position. He held his post without flinching, even when one of the deadliest spiders in Colombia dropped from an overhanging branch and crept up his arm. To his neck. Inside his mud-caked camo T-shirt …

His gut pitched. Mother of Joe, he hated spiders!

Through his headset, Daniel could probably hear the rapid fire of Alec’s pulse as the arachnid skulked down his back.

The rumble of a motor cued him to an approaching jeep. Spider or not, Alec forced his focus to the new arrival, years of training kicking into high gear.

Daniel grunted. See that?

Alec puffed on the mike. Affirmative.

Daniel clicked twice. Two more men.

General Ramirez and a guard. Five tangos against the two of them. A cakewalk.

But foreboding rolled through Alec like a thundercloud. It didn’t add up. Why wasn’t the general better guarded? Alec held his breath as General Ramirez climbed from the jeep, shouting directions in Spanish to his men. With a low whine, the Cessna engine turned over, and the nose propeller spun.

Every muscle in Alec’s body tensed. Ready.

All of his senses honed in on the scene before him. Waiting for the right moment …

Ramirez stepped away from the jeep, turned his back. Alec had a clear shot, but Uncle Sam wanted Ramirez taken alive. The general’s guards were fair game, though. Alec curled his finger around the trigger of his assault rifle. Took aim. Prepared to charge the aircraft and kick some rebel ass.

But across the clearing, a blast of gunfire ripped from the jungle. Peppered the jeep, the Cessna. The aircraft exploded in a ball of flame and black smoke. The concussion shook the ground and reverberated in Alec’s chest.

What the hell?

In his earpiece, he heard Daniel mutter the same expletive that popped in his mind.

Chaos erupted. Ramirez clutched his chest. Fell.

The rebels returned fire. Shooting blindly. Spraying the area with a hail of bullets.

Uniformed men, a rival militia force, surged from the line of trees.

Mud splattered, and the foliage hiding Alec shredded under the barrage of gunfire.

“Pull back! Abort!” he grated into his mic.

Daniel didn’t respond.

“Copy, pirate? Abort!” Alec repeated as he shimmied backward through the black ooze, scrambled to his feet, and shook the nasty spider out of his shirt. Still crouched low, he wove through the maze of trees while three years of tedious undercover work went to hell in the clearing.

Where was Daniel, damn it? Why didn’t he answer?

A helicopter buzzed low over the clearing. Suddenly the jungle teemed with enemy fighters.

Don’t jeopardize the mission. If things go south, it’s every man for himself. He and Daniel had sworn to abide by the agreement as they broke camp yesterday morning. But yesterday, Alec had arrogantly believed nothing could stop him and his partner from bringing the general in.

Sweat and mud stung Alec’s eyes as he plowed through the dense rain forest. A bright green bird shrieked and took flight as Alec charged through the mist-shrouded jungle. He pressed on, despite stiff muscles and the encumbering weight of the black sludge he’d smeared on his skin for camouflage.

Daniel was as highly trained as Alec. His partner would be fine.

Alec glided through the rain forest like a jaguar, already mentally regrouping. Ramirez had been shot. If the general died, the sources he and Daniel had cultivated would hear the news and report to them at the rat-nest motel in Medellin. If Daniel made it out, he’d know to meet Alec there.

If Daniel made it out? Alec clenched his teeth and shoved the negativity aside. His partner would make it out of this hellhole and meet him in Medellin. Or, regardless of what they’d agreed, Alec would find his partner. No matter what it took.

Chapter 1

Cherry Creek, Colorado—Nine months later

Alec stood in the motel bathroom, ready to chuck his cell phone into the toilet. The water would render the phone and all the data on it useless, erasing the last traces of his trail before he went underground. He’d been followed for a couple of days. The time had come for Alec Kincaid to disappear.

When he’d called the black ops team leader and told him he was going dark and extending his leave of absence indefinitely, he’d received an earful. Time for Alec to get his ass back on assignment, Briggs had bellowed. The team needed him.

Maybe so. But first Alec needed to lose his tail.

Though their orders came from unnamed officials within the U.S. government, the elite twelve-man team operated off the grid, an independent entity funded through offshore investments and hidden behind dummy corporations. Long before the Office of Homeland Security was formed, the team had been working for Uncle Sam in foreign hot spots or doing jobs the U.S. military couldn’t legally tackle. The work was covert, dangerous … and lucrative.

At thirty-five, Alec could easily retire and live off his investments, so extending his personal leave time was not a hardship.

But, as Briggs had reminded him, the team was already short one man due to Daniel’s disappearance. The team had changed Daniel’s status from MIA to presumed dead after five months and given up their search.

Daniel. The only person he’d allowed himself to trust or give a damn about since his mother taught him his first hard lesson in misplaced loyalty, the pain of betrayal. Then Alec had abandoned his only friend. Maybe he was more like his mom than he wanted to believe. Didn’t matter that he’d personally looked for Daniel for nine months. He’d gotten nowhere. He had no more information now about his partner’s disappearance than he’d had that hellish afternoon in the Colombian jungle.

Alec swallowed the bile and sour guilt that swelled in his throat. As he held the phone out over the toilet, the screen lit up like the Christmas trees currently lining the streets of Denver. He paused, considered ignoring the ring. But Alec pulled the phone back and flipped it over. Just in case the call was Daniel, finally surfacing.

Checking the caller I.D., Alec recognized the name of the woman who’d bought his house in Cherry Creek last week. He frowned. Why the hell was she calling?

He conjured a mental image of the woman, and a kick of libido replaced his suspicion. Alec never forgot a face, especially one as stunning as Erin Bauer’s. He’d ogled more than her face last week as he’d toted cardboard boxes out, and she’d carried wicker baskets and flowery pillows into his old house.

He started to toss the phone without answering, but a prick of unease stopped him. Not answering felt too much like leaving a loose end unresolved. Better to see what she wanted. “H’lo?”

“Um … Mr. Kincaid?” her sweet female voice chirped. “This is Erin Bauer. I bought your house on Hurley Street.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you have some mail here, and I was hoping you’d give me your forwarding address.”

“Don’t have one.”

“Oh. Then … maybe you could stop by and pick it up? Although a lot of it’s probably junk, there’s a bill from the power company and a personal letter that looks impor—”

“Toss it all,” he interrupted. He also remembered the woman’s tendency to chatter nonstop.

“But—”

“I don’t need it.”

“Even the letter?” She sounded appalled. “It was hand-delivered by messenger this afternoon. It looks important.”

“Hand-delivered?” Suspicion reared its head again. “Who’s it from?”

In his line of work letters could be deadly. A piece of Deta-sheet fit easily inside an envelope to make a letter bomb. He preferred to deal by phone. By encrypted email.

“There’s no return address,” Erin said. “I could open it and read it to you if—”

“No!” A cold sweat popped out on his lip thinking of Erin’s lush little body, blown to bits by an incendiary device intended for him.

She snorted indignantly. “Ooo-kay. Just an idea.”

He’d have to go to the house and pick up the damn letter, if only to be sure she didn’t snoop and get toasted in the process.

“There’s a name or something in a corner on the back,” she said.

His old house was almost certainly being watched. He couldn’t just waltz up to the door without being seen. Alec rubbed the back of his neck and stewed over this hitch in his plans. Delays didn’t sit well with him.

“It’s hard to read the writing, but it looks like La-something.” Erin paused. “Lafire, maybe?”

Alec jolted. “What?”

“The word in the corner of the envelope. It’s written in chicken scratch, but it looks like Lafire or—”

A chill skittered down his neck. “Lafitte?”

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.”

Alec’s stomach somersaulted. His mind leapfrogged as he strode toward the motel door. “Listen carefully, Erin. Put the letter down.” He kept his voice under tight control, even as adrenaline and hope surged through him. “Don’t touch it again. Got it?”

He prayed she hadn’t already obliterated any fingerprints on the envelope, destroyed evidence that could help him find Daniel.

“Uh, yeah. I got it.” Her tone was rife with unspoken questions.

He expelled a harsh breath. “Look, I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime—”

He jammed on his shades and scanned the parking lot before stepping out into the December sunshine. Alec jerked open the driver’s door of his rental car and dropped onto the front seat. Was the letter really from Daniel? And if it was, why hadn’t Daniel come in person? Or sent an encrypted email? A letter was not protocol. Yet this letter could answer all his questions about what had happened to Daniel that fateful day months ago.

Or it could be a trap.

“In the meantime, what?” Erin asked.

Alec squeezed the phone. “Just sit tight. I’m on my way.”

As he sped out of the parking lot, Alec pitched the cell phone in the motel swimming pool.

Lifting her face to the sun, Erin Bauer savored the unseasonably warm day before she stooped to collect her newspaper from the end of her driveway. By tomorrow, the weatherman said, conditions more typical of the Christmas season in Colorado would blast into town.

As she unfolded the newspaper, Erin scanned Hurley Street for signs of Alec Kincaid. More than two hours had passed since he’d said he was on his way. Not that she was watching the clock.

She skimmed the front page and gave the headlines a cursory glance. The top story remained the U.S. senator’s daughter who’d disappeared from the charity medical delegation in Colombia. The senator was pleading for information about his only child’s disappearance. Erin rubbed a hand over her abdomen. Her loose peasant shirt hid the fact that she could no longer button even her “fat jeans,” though she was still a long way from needing maternity clothes. Tucking the newspaper under her arm, she sighed her sympathy for the senator whose daughter was missing. Erin understood loss.

Shoving down a twinge of loneliness, she swiped an errant curl of light brown hair from her eyes. Turning to go inside, she cast another expectant glance down the street. Okay, maybe she was looking forward to seeing Alec a little bit. After all, God didn’t give many men the drool-worthy physique He’d gifted Alec with. Or eyes blue enough to send quivers to her core. So who could blame her for wanting another chance to goggle at the man?

Considering Alec had ignored her attempts to make friendly conversation, she’d had little else to do but admire his good looks as they moved their belongings last week.

If he weren’t so … well, unapproachable … she’d consider inviting him to dinner or asking if he’d meet her for lunch one day. If she was truly making a fresh start in her life, she should think about dating again. It had been two years …

But the timing is all wrong now. Maybe next year …

A sharp pang twisted through her chest, and she sighed. She had to stop dwelling on Bradley’s death, on the Finley child. She needed to push the horrid memories aside and move forward.

Pivoting on her toe, she headed inside to unpack another box in her study. One thing was certain—the next man she let into her life had to be the safe, reliable, homebody sort. No more following her man off the edge of mountains, jumping from planes or diving in treacherous waters. She had other people to think about, other lives to consider, responsibilities. She had guilt.

Erin puffed stray hair out of her face and pushed the gloomy thoughts aside. She set out the few Christmas decorations she owned—a jolly Santa, her mother’s nativity set and a pine garland, which gave her new mantel a touch of holiday cheer. For the next half hour, she immersed herself in unpacking her collection of books. Beloved original copies of Faulkner, Caldwell and Steinbeck, passed down from her father, graced the shelves next to signed copies of her favorite romance novels and mysteries. Textbooks on topics as varied as meteorology and art history testified to her thirst for knowledge, inherited from her mother and the reason she’d become a teacher. Again pain filtered through her chest. She would teach again. But she’d be more careful this time. Much more careful.

She heard a car in her driveway and moved to the window to peer outside, hoping Alec had finally arrived. Instead she found a delivery van from a local florist pulling to a stop by her sidewalk.

Erin hurried to the front door in time to see a man dressed in a Santa suit slide out of the van. Not Alec. Disappointment spiraled through her, followed closely by curiosity. Who could be sending her flowers? He had to have the wrong address.

She grinned, remembering the silly ads she’d seen for the innovative florist, touting their army of Santas on staff to make special deliveries more festive. The Santas would even sing for an extra fee. The Santa in her driveway unloaded a large poinsettia, tugged his fur-trimmed hat lower over his ears and marched up the walk to her porch.

She stepped out on her porch and called a greeting to the elderly gentleman. He gave her a small nod of acknowledgment. Erin couldn’t hide the note of amusement in her voice when she asked, “Hello, Santa. Are you sure those are for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He lumbered awkwardly in his overstuffed costume up her porch stairs and raised his head. The piercing blue eyes that greeted Erin and her answering bone-deep tremor sent a crackling jolt of awareness through her.

“And you have a letter of mine,” Alec said.

She gasped her surprise. Even at close range, the white beard and chubby cheeks looked real. “Mr. Kincaid?”

Alec held a hand up and shook his head slightly. “Inside.”

“After you.” She stepped back and waved him inside. “So, moonlighting as an elf?”

His expression was hard and unamused. Erin’s grin faltered. She had known Alec was remote, but his lack of humor was unsettling. Once inside, Alec placed the poinsettia on her end table and fiddled a bit with the bow before turning.

Erin waved a hand toward her unpacked boxes. “Sorry it’s such a mess. I haven’t finished in here. I thought the kitchen was—”

Alec turned his back to her and walked down the hall, opening closet doors and casting a sweeping gaze into each room. She followed him, bristling at his rudeness. He may have lived here once, but this was her home now.

“Looking for something, Santa?” She didn’t bother to hide the irritation in her voice. “I have your letter out here—” she hitched a thumb over her shoulder “—if that’s what—”

He closed the blinds in her bedroom before he faced her. “Have you noticed anyone hanging around the area? Any weird phone calls or strangers come by here?”

This from a man wearing red velvet pants and a fake white beard?

Erin couldn’t resist. “You mean stranger than you?”

He scowled and moved toward her. “Just answer the question. Have you seen anyone watching the house?”

A tingle of alarm skipped down her back. “No. Should I have?”

“Not necessarily.” He peeled off the faux beard, which he’d apparently applied with some sticky gluelike substance, and rubbed the black stubble on his square jaw. “Can I see the letter now?”

Erin stared at him, puzzling over his peculiar demeanor before backing toward the hall. “Sure. In here.”

She led him to the living room and collected his letter from the coffee table. When she thrust it toward him, he hissed and winced.

“I asked you not to touch it again,” he grated through his teeth. He took the letter from her carefully, holding it by the edges.

She gave her head a little shake and drew a slow breath. “Sorry.”

He grunted and bent his head to study the envelope.

Just humor him a little longer. Erin shifted her weight and rubbed her palms on the seat of her jeans. “So … you recognize the handwriting or anything?”

He didn’t answer at first, but when he raised his gaze, she’d swear she saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Her pulse stumbled.

“Never mind that,” he said huskily. “Don’t tell anyone I was here or say anything about having seen the letter. Understand?” A muscle in his rugged jaw twitched.

“Well … yeah. But why?”

His stern demeanor had returned so quickly, she wondered if she’d really seen the flash of pain and vulnerability she’d imagined.

“Just keep quiet about it. Do you have a zip-seal bag I can put this in?”

“A bag?”

“To preserve it.”

“In the kitchen. I’ll be right back.” Erin hustled past Alec, bemused by his dictate of silence.

When she returned with a zip-sealing sandwich bag, Alec gently slid the letter into it and tucked it inside the fuzzy lapel of the Santa suit. Immediately he headed for the door with a long-legged stride. “Remember, you never saw this letter. Keep your doors locked, and if you think you’re being followed, don’t take any chances. Go to the cops. Got it?”

Erin’s pulse did a little two-step in her chest. “Alec, is there a reason you think I might be followed or in danger? If so, I think I have a right to know what—”

“No.” Alec grimaced and sighed heavily. “I … just think women like you, who live alone, should … be careful.” He quirked his mouth up in a lopsided grin that looked more like a wince. “Merry Christmas.” Quickly he replaced the fake beard and shouldered through the front door, changing his gait as he stepped out on the porch to an old man’s shuffle.

“Thanks for the poinsettia, Al—uh, Santa.” Rolling her eyes, Erin closed the front door. “Weird.”

Maybe she was better off not dating if Alec was the sort of fruitcake that the bachelor world had to offer.

Her stomach rumbled. Mmm, fruitcake.

She glanced at her watch and decided to have a snack before doing any more unpacking. On her way into the kitchen, Erin stuck her finger in the soil around the poinsettia. Bone dry. Carrying the plant to the kitchen sink, she gave it a drink from the spray nozzle. While that water soaked in, she opened a cabinet and took down a glass.

A floorboard behind her creaked, her only warning before a powerful hand was clapped over her mouth. She loosed a muffled scream, and the glass fell to the floor, shattering.

“Shut up, and do what I say!” a low voice hissed. The hand over her mouth was removed, and a cool knife blade pressed against her throat. In the tinted glass of the microwave, Erin caught a reflection of the paunchy man behind her.