The Baby's Bodyguard

SHE’S UNARMED—AND DANGEROUS!

Security expert Jack Arnett comes running when he hears his estranged wife, Casey, is being threatened by a stalker—and is stunned to discover he’s a father-to-be.

He’s never wanted children—still doesn’t.

But one question keeps running through his mind. With all his experience dodging bullets and bad guys, how come Casey and their unborn child are the ones who’ve brought him to his knees?

Originally published in 2004.

The Baby’s Bodyguard

Jacqueline Diamond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

TITLE PAGE

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

CHAPTER TWENTY

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

One stuffed bear in the crib atop the yellow-and-white comforter. Check.

One set of freshly painted walls stenciled with birds in flight. Check.

One changing table with drawers, one diaper stacker and one set of white shelves—the latest addition—screwed neatly into the wall. Check.

Something was missing.

How about a husband? Casey asked herself ruefully as she replaced the screwdriver in her tool kit.

Actually, she had a husband, although not for much longer. She’d expected him to sign their divorce papers weeks ago so they could finalize the split, but so far her lawyer reported no success.

Probably Jack was off to some exotic locale providing security services for a client. You could always count on him to be there when people needed him.

Except for his wife. And the daughter he hadn’t wanted.

Tears pricked Casey’s eyes as her hand cupped the bulge. It rippled in response. Less than a month to go until she could hold the little girl in her arms, count the fingers and gaze into her loving eyes.

Casey had already picked out a name: Diane. She’d always loved the sound and flow of it, like running water in the moonlight.

She hadn’t hesitated when Dr. Smithson asked if she wanted to know the gender. There’d been enough surprises already, including this pregnancy.

Jack would be furious if he found out. He’d adamantly opposed having children. The issue had hardened into the wedge that drove them apart, although they’d had other, less obvious problems. But she believed they might have worked those out.

Toolbox in hand, Casey took one more fond look around the room before turning off the light, and that’s when she realized what was missing. Books. She wanted her daughter to grow up smelling leather-bound volumes even before she could read.

That, at least, Jack would approve of.

She went into the living room to select a couple of classics from her collection. When the phone rang, she scooped the handset absentmindedly off an end table while trying to choose among such favorites as Black Beauty, The Wind in the Willows and Little Women.

“Arnett residence.”

“Casey, it’s Gail.” Tension underscored the gravelly voice. “Remember the prowler? He’s back.”

Casey stiffened. Instinctively, she glanced through the living-room window into the darkness. But if someone lurked outside, she couldn’t tell.

Ten months ago, when she’d moved back to Richfield Crossing, Tennessee, to manage the rustic property she’d inherited from her parents, she’d loved the rental cabins and the slightly larger main house. She’d considered the property charmingly rural, not isolated. These last few weeks had given her second thoughts.

A sixtyish nurse who worked for Dr. Smithson, Gail Fordham wasn’t easily intimidated, but the prowler she and other tenants had spotted during the past month had rattled her as well as Casey.

“Did you call the police?” Unfortunately, the local constabulary consisted of one aging chief, a part-time rookie, a dispatcher shared with several other towns and a few clerks.

“Sure. They said they’d have someone swing by, but you know how much good that will do.” Quickly, Gail added, “I’m not afraid for myself, Casey. I figure if it’s Dean, he’ll get bored after a while and go away or drink so heavily we’ll find him snoozing in somebody’s hayloft.” Dean was Gail’s alcoholic ex-husband who lived in Michigan. “I just wanted to warn you so you won’t go outside and run into whoever it is.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“If you’re worried, I could come over and sleep on your couch. It’s not good for you to be alone this close to delivery,” the nurse said.

“You shouldn’t go outside while he’s around,” she warned.

“I’ve got a baseball bat. If I run into that jerk, it’ll be the worse for him.” The image of the middle-aged nurse clopping an intruder dispelled some of Casey’s tension. “And I’ll make sure you get the sleep you need.”

For a flicker of an instant, Casey allowed herself to imagine how comforting it would feel to have someone watching over her. It wasn’t Gail who came to mind, however, but Jack.

Why isn’t my own husband here when I need him?

Resolutely, she yanked herself out of incipient self-pity. She owned the property. If anyone ought to take responsibility for the tenants’ safety, it was Casey. Her parents had taught her never to pass the buck, and she didn’t intend to start now.

“I’ve got my own baseball bat,” she said. “I’ll handle him, Gail.”

“Now wait a minute! What if he’s armed?”

She would have to mention that. “I’m just going to take a look around. At least we could settle once and for all whether it’s Dean.” Although she’d never met the man, she had Gail’s description of him as balding and in his sixties.

“Think about the baby. You can’t take any risks with her!”

“She’d be proud of her mom. Don’t worry, Gail. I’ll be careful.”

Despite the fact that she’d taken self-defense classes while living in Los Angeles, Casey had no illusions about her own invincibility. But the situation brought home the fact that she was going to be raising a daughter by herself. Suppose this creep lived around here and got the idea that he could make Casey and her tenants—who included several retired people—cower in fear.

Not on her watch.

Okay, so she had sometimes acted on impulse. Like marrying Jack two months after she’d met him. And sleeping with him eight months ago when she went back to L.A. to hammer out the details of their divorce, resulting in a pregnancy that she hadn’t told her husband about and hoped she wouldn’t have to.

Sometimes her lack of foresight got her into hot water, Casey conceded. But this trespasser made her mad. And the last time she’d called the police, it had taken them forty-five minutes to show up.

The only problem, she realized, was that some gardening tools that might serve as weapons lay tucked in the storage shed behind the carport. They could only be accessed by going outside.

Why not take her camera? In the darkness, its flash might ferret out a suspect she couldn’t see and it would certainly provide a means of identifying him. She wouldn’t need to attack anyone or even get close.

Jack would hate the idea. If he were here, he’d warn her, as Gail had, that the man might be armed. But this wasn’t L.A.; it was Richfield Crossing, a town of around five thousand people where crime consisted mostly of fistfights outside the Whiskey Flats pool hall. Most likely the prowler would turn out to be a mixed-up teenager or a transient looking for food.

Casey threw on a sweater against the April coolness and retrieved her digital camera along with a flashlight. She also took a key and locked the door, although normally she left it open.

On the porch, as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she breathed in the perfume of blooms mingled with the scent of newly plowed fields a short distance away. A cool, moist breeze reminded her of last night’s fast-moving rainstorm.

Casey’s heart swelled with love for this place. Six years ago, she and her best friend, Sandra Rawlins, had moved west, full of dreams and fantasies. It had taken many changes and the breakup of her marriage to make Casey realize that Tennessee was where she belonged. More than ever, she appreciated the fact that her parents had bought this property, the Pine Woods Court, for their retirement. She just wished they’d had more time to enjoy it.

Still, if only Jack had agreed to have a family together, she’d have stayed in L.A. with him. The more she’d pleaded, however, the more he’d withdrawn, until nothing remained between them but a strained civility. That, and the white-hot passion that had flamed at their last meeting.

Casey didn’t regret what she’d done, because she loved her daughter even before birth. And she felt glad that at least she had a beautiful place to come home to, where Diane could grow up surrounded by old friends and lots of open space.

Unfortunately, right now that space had been compromised by someone who was obviously no friend. Someone about to be captured for posterity in all his digital ugliness.

As her vision adjusted, nearby dogwood trees came into focus, their pink blossoms appearing white in the dimness. Eager to catch the culprit before he escaped, Casey descended the steps in her rubber-soled shoes.

The four cabins, former motel units that her parents had remodeled into rentals, lay scattered about the wooded property behind the main house. To reach Gail’s place, she followed a footpath along rising ground, leaving her flashlight off to avoid attracting attention.

As she walked, the muscles of her abdomen, perpetually sore these days, tugged from the weight of the baby. Ignoring them, Casey listened for the crack of a twig or the brush of leaves.

She was nearing Gail’s place when she heard a creaking ahead, like that of a wheelbarrow or perhaps the hose storage reel. The trespasser might have bumped into something, or perhaps a raccoon was poking around with its dexterous little hands. The creatures abounded in the woods, along with possums, squirrels and deer.

“Gail?” Casey risked calling out, since she didn’t want the tenant to attack her by mistake. “Is that you?”

No answer.

When she emerged from the tree-lined path, the illumination seeping through the cabin windows intensified the surrounding darkness. Now Casey remembered what else she should have brought—her cell phone—although the darn thing didn’t always work up here, anyway.

She heard another squeak behind the cabin. Treading lightly, she angled closer.

In the shadows, a dark figure moved. Holding her breath, Casey lifted her camera and pushed the button.

As the flash ignited, a blast of icy water caught her full in the face. She staggered backward, dropping the camera and fighting a losing battle for balance. Her arms flailed as she tumbled, out of control.

Fear for the baby’s safety stabbed through Casey, followed by the jolt of her rear end hitting the ground. Ahead, scurrying noises marked the prowler’s flight into the woods.

He’d escaped. This time, he’d physically assaulted her and put her pregnancy at risk.

Although she’d avoided any real harm, hot fury dispelled Casey’s shivers. She was going to catch this creep, no matter what it took. And no matter who she had to call on for assistance.

* * *

AS JACK SQUEEZED ALONG the aisle, a travel bag slung over his shoulder and his laptop tucked beneath one arm, the flight attendant favored him with a warm smile and her umpteenth once-over. Marianne had the healthy tan of a surfer, a bubbly personality and an obvious interest in getting better acquainted.

They’d found several occasions for idle conversation during the flight from Hawaii, where he’d changed planes after arriving from Malaysia. Marianne had made a discreet inquiry regarding the absence of a wedding ring and responded to his explanation about his pending divorce by slipping her phone number onto his tray.

As he returned her cheerful farewell, Jack felt the card inside his pocket. He ought to call her before she headed out of L.A. again on the Honolulu run.

His partner in the Men At Arms Security Agency had insisted he take a day or two off to recuperate from a month of fourteen-hour days spent setting up a security system for a textile company. He wouldn’t mind spending his break with a willing companion.

Jack didn’t want to bring her to his Palms-area home, though. During the past eight months, he’d discovered that having a guest around only made the place seem emptier. Besides, it struck him as disloyal to Casey to take a woman to the house they’d once shared, even though she was the one who’d chosen to leave.

As he headed for the baggage claim, his cell phone rang. Seven-fifteen on a Friday evening and somebody couldn’t wait, Jack reflected wryly. Moving out of the stream of foot traffic, he flipped it open. “Arnett.”

“Jack! It’s me.” The hint of a Tennessee accent carried him out of his surroundings and into a warm zone he’d discovered the day he met Casey.

“How’re you doing?” Somehow, he managed a casual manner that gave no hint of the hot summer storm she aroused.

“I’m standing here dripping wet and my butt’s sore.”

The tantalizing image speeded his heart rate. He imagined his shapely wife with a T-shirt plastered against her lovely breasts, writhing eagerly against him as his hands cupped her bottom.

Put a lid on it, Arnett. She left you. Besides, she probably wants to know why you haven’t signed those divorce papers yet. “I take it you didn’t call to turn me on, right?”

“Jack!”

“So what’s up?” He dodged a luggage cart that threatened to take a piece of his ankle with it.

“We’ve got a stalker,” Casey said.

The word snapped him out of his sensuous frame of mind. “What do you mean? Are you all right?” Suddenly her description of her physical state took on ominous overtones.

“Some tenants have seen a prowler a few times, possibly one of the women’s ex-husband. He showed up again tonight.”

“He attacked you?” Jack’s gut response was to go after the guy. Having grown up in foster homes, he’d seen his share of men bullying women and it enraged him. During his years at the LAPD, he’d had to work hard to rein in his anger when dealing with domestic abuse.

And this was Casey. Maddening, alluring, a little bossy and sexy enough to melt him with one flash of her blue eyes. He’d kill anyone who hurt her.

“He squirted me with the hose and knocked me down. I didn’t even get a picture of him,” she grumbled.

“A picture?”

“I had my camera aimed right at him,” she said.

“But you can describe him to the police, can’t you?” Jack pressed.

“Well, no,” she admitted. “It’s dark.”

He knew Casey liked to handle situations her own way but he was having trouble putting the pieces together. “Walk me through this. Did you see the prowler or not?”

“I heard him poking around behind Gail’s place,” she replied impatiently. “So I tried to take his picture.”

“You went out alone at night, unarmed, to confront a stalker?” He barely suppressed a groan. “Did he say anything?”

“What would he say? ‘Hey, that’s not my good side, wait till I turn around’?” she demanded.

Jack gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to argue, he wanted to get the facts straight. “You heard someone or something rummaging but you didn’t actually see it. So for all you know it could have been a bear.”

“A bear shot me with a hose?”

She had a point. Nevertheless, he realized, he should take nothing for granted. “You aren’t standing out there soaking wet hoping he’ll show up again, are you?”

“I’m not stupid!” Casey flared. “Gail heard the commotion and came out. She checked me over…I mean, she’s a nurse…you know, to make sure I wasn’t hurt.”

“I assume you’d know if you were hurt.” Judging by her outspokenness, Casey’s physical condition sounded just fine. “Where are you?”

“At home. Gail left a few minutes ago. Now listen. The cops still haven’t arrived. I’ll be lucky if they get here by midnight.” Given the time difference, that was three hours away, he noted. “I wondered if you could refer me to a security agency in Nashville. I’m not sure who to call.”

He supposed he or his partner, Mike, could dig up a name, but he knew how much companies charged. “It won’t be cheap. I’ll help with the cost, of course.”

“No, you won’t.” Casey had refused to accept alimony, a fact that made it even harder to explain why Jack hadn’t signed the papers yet. Fortunately, she wasn’t asking about those right now. “I’m the one who owns this property. I’ll see to it.”

Once his wife made up her mind, you either caved in or took matters into your own hands. “I’ll need to do some research.”

“When can you get back to me?”

“Is tomorrow soon enough?”

“That would be great.” She hesitated, and for a moment Jack hoped she had something to tell him.

Maybe she regretted their split the way he did. Maybe she’d decided she loved him enough that she didn’t need children to make their family complete. Maybe the separation and loneliness had given her time to think.

Jack would have done almost anything to win his wife back. But every time he looked at a child, the misery of the past nearly overwhelmed him. At eleven, with his father in prison for robbery and his mother dead of cancer, he’d gone from a home in turmoil to a series of foster placements where he’d been at best an outsider and at worst a nuisance.

The memories remained raw and the wounds barely scabbed over. The one thing he couldn’t do, even for Casey, was relive them by having a child.

She broke the silence at last. “The sooner we catch this slob, the better. Several of my tenants are elderly and I don’t want them to have to worry about this.”

Jack tried not to register disappointment that she had nothing further to say. It almost made him angry, though, that Casey cared more about her tenants than her husband.

Well, she’d just handed him a golden opportunity to give their marriage one more try. To nab the prowler, he planned to dispatch the best-qualified security agent at his disposal. Himself.

“I’ll take care of it.” To forestall any protests, he added, “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

“I really appreciate it. Thanks, Jack.”

“No problem.” After a brisk goodbye, he clicked off.

Although he’d have preferred to get right back on a plane, Jack knew he needed to swing by his house, catch up on the mail and repack. Guiltily, he remembered the African violet he’d bought to make the place seem homier. It must have perished weeks ago, completely forgotten.

Nobody in her right mind would consider a guy like him a suitable father. Surely a little in-person persuasion would make Casey see reason. And if not, well, at least Jack would have tried. In the process, he’d take care of that prowler, too.

Readjusting the bag on his shoulder, he dropped the flight attendant’s card into a trash bin with a silent apology. Then, rejoining the stream of pedestrians, he made his way toward the ticket counter.

CHAPTER TWO

When Casey strolled into Ledbetter’s Garage on Saturday, she found that Royce had dived inside the truck he was repairing. All she could see of her former high-school boyfriend was his jean-clad rear end, somewhat expanded since his football days, sticking into the air in all its glory.

“Nice view,” she commented.

The clanking noises he’d been making halted abruptly. A moment later, an oil-smeared face emerged.

“Well, hi.” Royce grinned flirtatiously, not at all daunted by his greasy condition. “Your car’s ready to go. Tuned up, oil changed, brakes checked.”

“Great.” Although it galled Casey to have someone else work on her car, she couldn’t perform the maintenance due to her expanded waistline. “What do I owe you?”

“Let’s call it even.” He shook his head, which set his light-brown ponytail waggling.

“Let’s not.” Casey might be short on funds, but she didn’t want to owe Royce any favors. She hadn’t fallen in love with him in high school and it certainly wasn’t going to happen now. “I prefer to pay my debts up front.”

Since her condition had become obvious, Royce had mentioned several times how much he loved kids. Too bad she couldn’t picture waking up beside him every morning. Or, to be honest, any morning.

“Whatever.” The mechanic ambled into his office, where an oil-smudged computer blinked below a bikini pinup calendar. Posters of football heroes covered the other walls. “A hundred and twenty-three eighty-eight, if you insist. How’s your camera?”

She’d told him earlier that she planned to stop by Lanihan’s Department Store to find out whether the gush of water had damaged it. “It’s fine. Apparently the case protected it.”

“You mean you got the guy? You know who it is?”

“Uh, no,” Casey admitted. “There’s this big blur where his face ought to be.”

“Too bad. At least you have your camera back for the party tonight, though.” Accepting her credit card, Royce swiped it through a machine.

“You bet.”

Two of her tenants, Enid Purdue and Rita Rogers, were throwing her a shower. Half a dozen friends and neighbors planned to attend the event, which, due to the small size of the cabins, would take place at Casey’s house.

She hadn’t realized she’d mentioned it to Royce earlier when she dropped off the car, but she must have. Or else word had spread. Nothing stayed private for long in Richfield Crossing.

“So this stalker or whatever he is, you think you scared him off ?” Royce asked as he waited for the computer to finish processing her bill.

“I doubt it. Seeing a pregnant lady take a tumble isn’t likely to intimidate him.”

“I heard the police came out.” He certainly had been paying attention.

“Larry Malloy wouldn’t scare a cockroach. And he isn’t likely to find one, either, even if it’s six feet tall.” Although the town’s young, part-time police officer had arrived half an hour after she’d called Jack, he’d taken only a cursory glance around the property. She doubted she’d ever see an arrest unless her attacker marched into the police station and confessed to the chief.

Royce handed her the charge slip. She tried not to wince as she signed it, knowing what a hole the amount would make in her bank account.

The tenants’ rents had sounded like sufficient income when she decided to move here, but she hadn’t realized how big a bite maintenance and taxes took out of that. Once the baby got old enough to leave with a sitter, she’d have to look for a part-time waitress job.

Royce tore off her copy and handed it over. “Casey, everybody admires your guts, but you don’t have to go through this alone.”

She flashed him a smile. “I’m not. I have friends.”

He might have said more had a lean man in his late forties not strolled into view through the open door. “Got my truck done yet?” asked Al Rawlins, who owned the town’s movie theater and video store. “Oh, hello, Casey.” He clamped his mouth shut, obviously not thrilled to see her.