Another Woman's Baby

Bart Cromwell. Her job. John. Dealing with the HMO. Thoughts of her mother. Memories of her grandmother. The baby that grew inside her and belonged to no one, certainly not to her.

So why did she feel such an overwhelming bond to the baby growing inside her? Why did the thought of giving her up for adoption seem to equate with having someone reach inside her chest and rip out her heart?

She climbed into the car, lay her head on the steering wheel and cried.

THE MINUTE SHE WALKED through the door at Pelican’s Roost, Megan knew that someone had been there while she was gone. She sensed it the way a woman knows when someone else has cooked in her kitchen or borrowed her makeup. It was the little things, the ones she never thought of when everything was in place but that became conspicuous when they were moved.

The rug by the back door was twisted and scrunched up in the middle instead of lying flat and straight. She always pushed the chair back beneath the table when she got up, but one of the chairs in the breakfast nook was pushed back and sitting at an angle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and fear crawled the corners of her mind and skittered along her nerve endings.

But the anxiety she’d been feeling the past two days didn’t mesh with the kind of security she’d always felt in the rambling old house. She took a deep breath and forced her mind to consider the possibilities. The housekeeper had a key. Most likely she’d come by and dropped something off or finished a cleaning task she hadn’t gotten to before Megan arrived. That had to be it. She was certain the door had been locked when she left and it was locked when she returned. So, whoever had come in had used a key.

Breathing easier, she walked to the phone and punched in Fenelda Shelby’s number. While it rang, she pulled a butcher knife from the block on the counter. She ran her thumb and index finger along the edge, wondering if she’d have the nerve or the presence of mine to use it if a stranger appeared. If he were there even now, watching and waiting. A man like Bart Cromwell.

Only she couldn’t blame this on him. He had still been inside the restaurant when she’d driven home. Unless he’d come out while she was crying, and she hadn’t noticed. No, she was being macabre. The house had basically been empty for two years and no one had so much as broken a window.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Fenelda, this is Megan.”

“You sound upset. Is something wrong?”

“No.” She struggled to steady her voice. She didn’t want the whole town thinking she was going nuts, though she was beginning to consider the possibility herself. “I was out for a while and I got the impression someone was in the house while I was gone. I was just wandering if it was you.”

“It wasn’t me. Is anything missing?”

“No, nothing like that. Do you know if anyone else has a key to this place?”

“Oh, honey, knowing your grandmother, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the town has a key. She was always lending the place out to vacationing relatives of the locals when she took off on one of her trips. That woman was salt of the earth, bless her heart, one of the most generous souls in the world. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Has anyone stayed here since Grandmother died?”

“Not that I know of. No one but you. I’ve kept watch over the place like I told you I would, but I don’t go by there every day. I know I haven’t told anyone they could use it. I wouldn’t do that without your okay.”

“I didn’t think so. I was just concerned when I realized someone had been here.”

“I don’t know nothing about it, hon. It’s probably just one of your grandma’s friends going by to check on the place. But if you’re worried, why don’t I send my son over? Leroy will check everything out for you.”

“Are you sure he wouldn’t mind?”

“I’m positive. He’s not doing anything but hanging out in his room with music blaring on the stereo anyway. Was everything okay when you got there? I spent a whole day cleaning. I would have stocked a few groceries, but I had no idea what you’d like.”

“Everything was fine, spotless, in fact. And I stopped at the store on the way in and picked up a few essential grocery items.”

“Okay, you take it easy, honey. Leroy will be there in a few minutes.”

Megan felt better about the situation when she hung up the phone, but the knife was still in her hand. She glanced around the kitchen, then walked into the hall and looked up the imposing staircase. Two levels of living space, and on top of it all a cupola used mostly for storage and to gain access to the widow’s walk and the marvelous view it provided. The west side provided a magnificent expanse of the Gulf of Mexico for as far as the eye could see.

A huge house with a million places to hide if someone had reason to. In the dusky aura of sunset, Pelican’s Roost took on the appearance of a haunted castle. Shadows climbed the walls of the narrow halls, and the screaming of the wind and creaking and groaning of the floorboards sounded as if the place were inhabited by a family of ghosts.

But it was the bright sunlight of midafternoon now. And she was in Orange Beach, not New Orleans. Still, someone had been inside the house, and she wouldn’t truly rest until someone had walked through every room and made sure there were no surprise guests. Her pulse slowed to near normal, but, knife in hand, she decided to go outside and wait for Leroy’s arrival.

That’s when she noticed a basket of muffins on the table in the breakfast nook. Fenelda must have been right, one of her grandmother’s friends had stopped in to welcome her home. Still, she’d feel better if Leroy took a look around.

MEGAN WAITED on the second-floor balcony while Leroy roamed the house. She would have gone with him, but she’d have only slowed him down. He climbed a full flight in the time it took her to maneuver a half-dozen steps. He’d promised to check every closet and under every bed, even to climb to the cupola and make sure no one was hiding among the stacks of storage boxes and old metal trunks.

He had his work cut out for him. Besides the family room and kitchen, there was a dining room, a library, a sewing room, a small office, two bathrooms and a couple of sunny alcoves on the second floor. The third floor consisted of six large bedrooms and four more baths. The house rambled and curved and twisted, giving a beach view and access to a balcony to as many rooms as possible.

In fact, Leroy was gone so long, she would have become worried had it not been for the fact that he sang along constantly to the music from the radio headset that seemed glued to his ears. He’d been polite and didn’t seem to mind going through the house, but he obviously didn’t think she had a thing to worry about. In fact, he’d laughed when he saw the knife she was holding and assured her he didn’t need a weapon.

She dropped to one of the lounge chairs on the balcony, leaned back and closed her eyes as the sun beat down on her and warmed her through and through. The baby shifted and gave a few reassuring kicks. “I know you’re still there, sweetie. I couldn’t forget you if I wanted to. What do you think of the beach house? When you’re older, you can play in the water and build sand castles with moats and crocodiles, and we can buy plastic knights to do battle with the enemies.”

Damn. What was she thinking? This baby would never come to Pelican’s Roost. Never play with her in the surf or on the sand. Never be a part of her life at all. She closed her eyes and wished that it was January and that everything was over and done with.

Taking deep breaths, she forced herself to clear her mind of thoughts of the baby and think only of the water, constant, eternal, forever moving with the tides.

“All safe and sound.”

She jumped at the voice, her head jerking from the back of the lounge chair.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Leroy said, stepping between her and the edge of the balcony.

“I must have fallen asleep.”

“No problem. I just wanted to let you know that I checked the house from top to bottom. You got a leak in one of the faucets upstairs. I’ll come back and fix it for you one day next week if you like. It won’t take much.”

“I’d appreciate that, as long as you let me pay you.”

“I’m not opposed to taking cash.” He leaned against the balcony, his shaggy blond hair blowing into his face. “Mama says you’re having another woman’s baby for her. That’s pretty weird, isn’t it? I mean, not a lot of people do that, do they?”

“More than you’d think.”

He nodded. “Still seems strange. I guess I’ll be going, unless you need something else while I’m here.”

“I’d like to pay you for your time and trouble,” she said, expecting him to say no.

“Whatever.”

She walked to the kitchen and retrieved her wallet. “Is ten dollars enough?”

“Whatever.”

She handed him a five and a ten and walked him to the door. He had Fenelda’s coloring, but the deep-set eyes and sunken cheeks must have come from his dad. She barely remembered the man, but she was sure she’d met him a time or two over the years. She’d met Leroy, too, but he was much thinner than she’d remembered, with a kind of raunchy look about him that she hadn’t expected in Fenelda’s son. She wasn’t sure how old he was, near thirty, she’d guess.

Still, he’d done what she asked and she’d rest better for it tonight. She felt a little foolish, but at this point in time, damaged pride was much better than lost sleep.

But she was going to have to get a grip on herself and not let a tall, dark and sexy stranger destroy the level of safety she’d always enjoyed at Pelican’s Roost. It was the hormones, she told herself again. What else could it be? She was probably in the safest place in the world.

December 8

MEGAN HUGGED her jacket around her as she strolled along the beach. The day had been warm, but the air had turned cold as the sun set, and now the wind had picked up. It whipped her hair around her face and sent the waves crashing against the sand. But the sky was clear, and the stars seemed so near she felt she could reach up and grab a few to save for a time when she knew what to wish for.

Fortunately there had been no sign of the man she’d come to think of as her dark stranger since he’d joined her for lunch three days ago, though she found herself looking for him everywhere she went. At times, she even felt as if someone was watching her and she always imagined it was him.

One night she’d even dreamed about him, a nightmare that had turned erotic. That was what happened to a woman who hadn’t had sex in so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Desire had returned full force in the dream, and after she’d wakened, she’d lain awake for over an hour, imagining what it would be like to make love with the rugged stranger, her body reacting as if his hands were actually on her, caressing and touching her most intimate parts.

There was no accounting for dreams, but in reality, her life in Orange Beach settled into a comfortable routine. A walk in the morning, lunch in some out-of-the-way restaurant, an afternoon spent relaxing and reading, and sunset on the beach.

“The wind’s picking up, little one. We’ll have howling and whining to entertain us tonight while we sleep. Old fishermen crying about the ones that got away. That’s what Grandma used to tell me when I’d complain of the noise.”

Standing at the edge of the water, she took a few steps out, stepping into a low wave. She slipped her hand under her loose blouse and stroked her stomach. She was growing larger every day.

Her first appointment with Dr. Brown would be tomorrow, but he already had her records from her doctor in New Orleans. “I guess we better start back, little one. I’m getting hungry.”

A bowl of hot soup would taste good tonight. She looked out at the Gulf one last time. The steady cresting and falling was almost hypnotic.

It rocked her into a state where she let herself imagine holding a baby girl in her arms and letting it nurse from her breasts, singing her a lullaby and then tucking her into a white crib.

She was so lost in the thoughts that at first she didn’t hear the footfalls on the sand behind her. When she did, she spun around just as someone grabbed her wrists and started dragging her farther into the water. She tried to see who it was, but the man’s body was black and his face was covered by a ski mask.

All she knew was that he was strong and she couldn’t resist his pull. The cold water rose to her waist and stung her skin, made her breath burn in her lungs. She tried to scream, but he shoved her face into the water.

The salt burned her eyes and throat. She had to get to the surface, had to get air, but he pushed her deeper and deeper. She could hear him cursing now, screaming obscenities. Finally the pressure on her neck and head gave way and she floated to the top. She opened her eyes.

The mask was gone. She could see the man’s face in the moonlight. It was him. The dark stranger. She’d been right all along. He’d come to kill her and the baby.

Chapter Four

“Megan. Hold on. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

The brute was dragging her again. She managed one kick. Her feet scraped against the sand. They were going back to shore, but he was holding her head out of the water. She choked and spit out a stream of water.

“That’s the way. Clear your lungs. Here. Let me help.” He supported her forehead with his hands while she coughed and sputtered and spit up water. Air rushed into her lungs in a sweeping, caustic sensation, and she grew so dizzy that the man’s face blurred and became two.

“Why are you following me? Why are you doing this to me?” The words came out chopped and hoarse. She tried to pull away, but he held her against him.

“Listen, Megan. It wasn’t me who tried to kill you, and you better be glad I’ve been following you. If I hadn’t been, you’d be sleeping with the fishes tonight.”

“Get away from me. Now.” She tried to scream. He stifled her with a broad hand over her mouth.

“Would you just pipe down and listen. I’m an FBI agent and I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to keep someone else from doing it. I almost slipped up, big-time.”

He was crazy. No one wanted to kill her except this lunatic. She was weak and her head was pounding, but she had to get away from this man.

“I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth, but don’t scream.”

She begin to cough again, the taste of seawater making her sick. When she finally stopped coughing, she pushed at him again, only she was trembling and so weak the effort was useless. “Get away from me. Please. Leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She tried to scream, but again he cut off her cries with his hand over her mouth. “Megan, you have got to listen. I’m not lying. I’m with the FBI. You have to trust me.”

He pulled her against his chest and kept her wrapped in his arms. His mouth was at her ear. “You’re Megan Lancaster. You work at Lannier. Your supervisor is John Hardison. The baby you’re carrying belongs to Jackie Sellers Brewster.”

“How do you know these things.” She was stunned.

“Because I’m who I say I am.”

“Why would you be investigating me?”

“I’m not. I’m investigating the explosion that caused Ben and Jackie Brewster’s deaths.”

“Please, just let me go back to my house.”

“I’ll take you back.”

Her head was spinning. Nothing he said made sense. She couldn’t trust him. He’d tried to kill her. Yet everything he said was true, everything except the part about Jackie and Ben. The explosion had been an accident.

“Just try to relax. I’m going to carry you back to the house and put you to bed. If you need a doctor, we’ll call one. But you can’t tell anyone that I’m from the FBI or why I’m with you.”

“You can’t carry me. I’m huge.”

“I’ll worry about that.” He scooped her up in his arms without groaning once. “Now, just relax. You’ll be home before you know it.”

Relax? Fat chance. She was having a nightmare. She’d wake up in a minute and the dark, strong stranger who knew everything about her would evaporate like the steam from her teakettle.

But, for now, she was so tired and still dizzy and a little nauseous. She rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled of seawater and musk. Her hair was dripping wet. So was his. Drops of water rolled down his neck and chest. The wind whipped though her wet clothes, but she was too numb to feel the cold. Or maybe a person didn’t feel the effects of weather in a nightmare.

He stopped at the front door of Pelican’s Roost. “I’m going to put you on your feet. Hold on to me if you feel weak or dizzy, and give me your key so that I can unlock the door.”

She dug deep in her pockets. The key was missing. “I must have lost it in the water.”

“Do you have another one hidden somewhere?”

“No.”

“I can break a window.”

“Don’t you dare. Get my cell phone from my car. I’ll call the housekeeper and have her come over and unlock the door.”

“And then we’ll have to come up with a story to explain our being soaking wet.”

“You can get out of sight while she’s here. I’ll tell her I was wading in the surf and fell. As awkward as I am with this body, she’ll believe it.”

“Let’s see if you get her before we work out the details. Breaking the window is no problem, and I can fix it tomorrow.”

Only she didn’t want him around tomorrow. She leaned against the door as he bounded down the steps and retrieved the phone. A minute later she had Fenelda on the phone.

She said hello but interrupted Fenelda’s usual string of small talk. “I lost my key while I was on the beach. I thought maybe you or Leroy would run one over to me.”

“No use to do that. There’s a key taped under the third step. Your grandmother put it there after she locked herself out a time or two. Check there, and if you don’t find one, I’ll get Leroy to bring you mine.”

She held her hand over the speaker end of the phone and repeated the instructions to Bart. She was shivering now, the cold finally seeping through the shock. Bart showed no signs of the recent ordeal. He bounded down the steps, bent and ran his hand beneath the third step. When he stood up, the key was in his hand, and he gave her the thumbs-up sign.

All her worry about who had a key and there had been one beneath the step all the time. If half the town had a key to this house, the other half probably knew where to find the spare. She’d have the locks changed first thing in the morning.

Bart turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. When he tried to help her inside, she pulled away from him. “I’m okay.”

“I think you should call your doctor, tell him you fell in the surf. See if he thinks you need to go to a hospital and get checked.”

“He’ll think I need to have my head checked for walking in the surf at eight months pregnant.”

“I agree with him, but I’ve seen you out there, wading almost knee deep.”

The man had been watching her every move, following her, just as she’d thought. She’d have to learn to trust her instincts more. At least it was nice to know she wasn’t losing it, falling into a state of stress-induced paranoia.

He held on to her as he walked her to a chair. “How do you feel? Are you having any kind of pains in your stomach?”

“I feel as if I was run over by a truck.” She touched her hand to her stomach. “But I’m not having any contractions or unusual stomach pains. And I felt a couple of good strong kicks when you were carrying me back to the house.”

“The water probably acted as a support for your body.”

“Lucky me.”

“You are lucky. You’re alive.”

Which is more than she could say for Jackie and Ben. The impact of Bart’s words finally sank in. She dropped to the wooden rocker in front of the fireplace, the horror and pain she’d felt at hearing of Jackie’s death overtaking her as if it had happened all over again. “Why do you think someone murdered my friends?”

“First you need to get out of those wet clothes.”

She looked at the stairs and moaned. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to climb them.

“Are your clothes upstairs?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you stay in the chair and let me get you a robe?”

And then she’d be forced to entertain the dark stranger in just a robe. Only the wet clothes she had on now were no better. They clung to her, outlining the baby paunch and the tips of her nipples.

“It’s in the bathroom—the third door on the right,” she said, choosing the lesser of two evils. “It’s blue. You can’t miss it.”

He climbed the steps two at a time, probably afraid to be gone long, worried that she’d call the police. Part of her wanted to, but the man’s words were taking root in her mind and were starting to make sense. If it had been him who was trying to kill her on the beach a few minutes ago, he’d have had no reason to back off. And if he wasn’t with the FBI, how did he know that she was carrying Jackie’s baby?

Still, she had lots of questions. And she wanted answers.

“BART.”

He looked up from the fireplace and the logs he was lighting as Megan came back into the huge family room. She’d tied a towel around her hair, turban style, and exchanged her wet clothes for the fuzzy blue robe. It stretched over her stomach and fell into loose folds around her ankles.

“I thought I’d build a fire, if that’s all right,” he said.

“It’s perfect. You should change out of your wet clothes, too.”

“I’m six feet two inches. I doubt you’d have anything to fit me. Besides, these shorts will dry fast.” And he’d already shed his T-shirt to reveal a magnificent chest.

“At least you were dressed for the occasion.”

“I’m just glad I had my binoculars on you at the exact moment he attacked.”

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Standing in a cluster of sea oats just past your gazebo.”

“Do you watch me every time I leave the house?”

“I try,” he admitted.

“That’s all you do—just watch me?”

“I’ve had worse jobs, and in a lot worse places. Besides, you’ve made it fairly easy lately, going to lunch at the same time every day, walking at the same times.”

“I’m a creature of habit.”

“Most folks are,” he added. “The decent ones and the criminals. That’s how we trap a lot of them.”

“So you followed me here to Orange Beach because you expected someone would try to kill me?”

“We thought it was possible.”

“We meaning the FBI?”

“Right.” He raked the windblown hair away from his face.

Megan took the towel from her head and began to rub it over the ends of her hair. It looked darker when it was wet, black and shiny. It struck him again how pretty she was and how vulnerable she looked. He’d never guarded a pregnant woman before, never realized that it would affect him the way it had.

A few minutes ago, when he’d seen her fighting for her life, the usual surge of adrenaline had been fueled by a fury he seldom felt anymore. What kind of monster would attack a pregnant woman? A foolish question. He knew this monster and nothing was beyond him.

But pregnant or not, Megan Lancaster was no pushover. She’d fought like a wild woman in that water, and he had the feeling he was going to have a hard time getting her to let him call the shots from here on out. But nobody loved a challenge more than he did.

The sputtering logs caught in a burst of flame, sending fingers of fire up the chimney. He closed the screen and backed away. “That should chase away the chill.”

She was standing behind him with a beach blanket. “This might help, too, especially until your clothes dry.”

“Great idea.” He wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Did you get a good look at the man who tried to kill me?”

“I couldn’t be sure. It was dark, and it happened so fast. Once I pulled him off you, he took off before I had a chance to yank that stupid mask from his face.”