From Megan Maitland’s Diary

Dear Diary,

I always knew Michael’s bride would be special, but the offer to Jenny of a green card marriage so that Michael could help her protect the future Earl of Epingdale leaves me amazed, as well as delighted.

Not even I could have dreamed of a little English baby as a way to reach my beloved godson’s heart. Now if only Jenny could make Michael see that his own mother may have given her babies up for more than selfish reasons, it would be a miracle. God bless my beloved godchildren, and may their continuing search for their birth mother be as heartwarming as Michael and Jenny’s own splendid love story.

There’s never a dull moment at

MAITLAND MATERNITY

Michael Lord: Michael doesn’t know why he feels compelled to protect Jenny and her unborn son. All he knows is that Jenny is refusing to give up her child…unlike his mother all those years ago.

Jenny Morrow: Jenny is grateful that Michael came to her rescue, but she needs to know—is he motivated by his past…or the possibility of a future with her and her unborn baby?

Gloria Hepworth-Morrow, Duchess of Epingdale: Her controlling behavior drove her son to put an ocean between them. To what lengths will she go to get her hands on the heir to his title?

LeeAnn Larrimore: Like ripples in a pond, her decision to give up her children has affected countless lives. Will her attempt to reach out bring joy…or more sorrow?

Adopt-a-Dad
Marion Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories! Marion has written almost fifty novels for Harlequin, some published under the name Trisha David.

In her nonwriting life, Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, teenagers, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive.

As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories and her stories allow her to travel—so if ever there was an advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it!

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

MARRIED! The first of her babies was now a married woman.

LeeAnn stared at the pages of the Maitland Maternity Clinic newsletter, and the laughing face of her firstborn daughter glowed at her. It was Lana, LeeAnn’s precious child.

Lana was one of her four children, but she was standing now not as a sister, but as part of a couple. What did the caption say? With This Ring, I Thee Wed. The insert photo was of a truly breathtaking diamond.

Lana Lord, married to Dylan Van Zandt.

Who was this Dylan? LeeAnn ached to know. His face was proud yet gentle—tender yet firm. He looked as if he’d be a loving husband to her daughter, but how could she tell from a picture?

She stirred in bed, wincing from the pain. Why didn’t she have the courage to face them? she asked herself bleakly. Why couldn’t she take this last step and meet her children in person?

There was another shot next to the wedding picture—one of the guests. Almost every person there had some connection to the clinic. And right in front of her on the page was the rest of her brood.

The caption stated they were Megan Maitland’s godchildren and identified Megan as the founder of Maitland Maternity, but LeeAnn knew that already. She’d found out so much in these past few weeks. She’d managed to get herself onto the mailing list for the clinic’s newsletter, and she’d hoarded every piece of information she could find from the last twenty-five years.

So now she almost knew them. Here was her lovely Garrett, looking strong and stern and proud. Garrett was her firstborn. He’d been the one to take charge even from infancy. Shelby was next to him, her auburn hair just what her mother’s had been so many years ago, and that lovely smile… And Michael, standing slightly apart.

LeeAnn’s heart stilled. There was trouble with Michael.

She looked at the picture for a long, long time, searching these faces she really didn’t know at all and yet knew so well. They were part of her. Michael was her son. Even though she’d abandoned her children as babies, she knew his face like she knew her own.

There was trouble in Michael’s face, she thought. His expression was shuttered, and with a pang of distress she saw a suffering there that she recognized as her own all those years ago when she’d left her four small children to be cared for by strangers.

“Michael,” she whispered. “My little one. What’s wrong?”

There was no answer. How could there be? LeeAnn was in a hospice in the final stages of incurable cancer, and her children didn’t even know her name. They were no longer her little ones. They were adults, and unaware of her existence.

Or maybe not. Had Megan Maitland given them her gifts? Given them her message? She’d sent the three little sweaters she’d made herself all those years ago, each embroidered with a triplet’s name, and she’d tucked in Garrett’s teddy, the one she’d used as her only comfort over the years.

It didn’t matter, she told herself bleakly. She’d sent them. That was enough. They were tokens to tell them that they were loved—nothing more. These lovely young adults, smiling at her from the newsprint, were no longer part of her life. She’d forfeited her right to know them when she’d abandoned them as babies all those years ago.

But she couldn’t stop gazing at the pictures, question after question forming in her heart. Did they know she’d had no choice? Did they realize that once Gary had died, there’d been so many debts, so little money—no support at all—that to keep them would have been cruel? Did they judge her harshly?

Or could they sense that the cruelest cut had been to her—to walk away from their lives and leave the loving to strangers?

She loved them still. How could she not? But she was their mother by birth only. They had no need of her.

But… Dear Lord, she needed them.

And Michael. What was wrong with Michael?

CHAPTER ONE

GRAY SUITS were Gray Suits, no matter which side of the world they were on. Jenny saw them coming from a mile off and panicked in style.

As secretary to Michael Lord, head of security at Austin’s Maitland Maternity Clinic, she was used to people arriving at her desk. Staff, patients, cops and media—she knew them all and welcomed them with cheerful efficiency.

But not Gray Suits. Not when they were coming for her.

They hadn’t seen her yet. They’d stopped at reception and were asking directions. Peggy was smiling and pointing toward her door, and they were turning to look. The security offices had one-way windows, however, so staff could see the reception area without patients and visitors knowing they were being observed.

Which gave Jenny time. She had a whole ten seconds to consider her choices. Fainting? Falling to the floor in hysterics? On second thought—six seconds of second thought—maybe those choices weren’t all that useful.

There was only one option left, she figured. Escape through her boss’s office.

Michael would hate it! Bolting through his office was hardly something a professional secretary was supposed to do.

But she had no choice. She stood up, staggering a little with the weight of advanced pregnancy, and took a leap like a scared and very pregnant rabbit right through Michael’s door.

“GARRETT, this is a waste of time.” Michael Lord swiveled in his leather chair and sighed into the phone. What Garrett was arguing was water under the bridge—twenty-five years of water, in fact, since they’d been abandoned on the hospital steps as babies.

Those years hadn’t been bad, Michael decided. He, his triplet siblings and their big brother, Garrett, had been granted great adoptive parents. They had good lives in their chosen professions, with friends and family all around. The woman who’d deserted her babies so long ago obviously hadn’t wanted anything more to do with them, so why wouldn’t Garrett leave it alone?

She didn’t want them, and they didn’t want her. Simple as that.

“It wouldn’t hurt to search,” Garrett said.

“We’ve had great parents,” Michael said stubbornly. “We don’t need any more family.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you need the family you have,” Garrett snapped. “You sit there in your cold-as-ice apartment without even a dog to—”

“Are we talking about finding our birth mother or are we talking of my private life?” Michael’s voice was as harsh as his brother’s, and it was Garrett’s turn to sigh.

“So you won’t help?”

“I’ve already told you I’m not interested. And anyway, I don’t see how I can.”

“With your resources… Mike, you’ve been a cop. You have Maitland Maternity’s network behind you, and you know Megan will support us. You have contacts everywhere, and money’s hardly a problem. Look, come to dinner on Saturday night and we’ll talk about it.”

“There’s already Camille and Jake’s wedding celebration on Sunday. I don’t need any more family events this weekend.”

“Yeah, and I’ll bet you intend to stick around for the party after the wedding. Just like you did after Lana’s. Look, Mike, this is just us. Shelby’s cooking, and Lana and Dylan will bring the baby.”

Domesticity was closing in. Michael’s resolve firmed. “No way!”

“If you’re not there, you’ll be the only one of the Lord kids who’s not.”

“Tell Dylan to take my place, then. The family’s changing. Now Lana’s married—well, things aren’t the same. We don’t need each other as much.”

Funny how his gut kicked at the thought of it, Michael reflected wryly. There’d always been the four of them— Michael and Lana and Shelby, the triplets, with Garrett watching over them like a hawk. Michael hadn’t thought he minded that Lana was married. Who could, when she was so happy? But…

His gut definitely kicked.

“We’re still family,” Garrett said stubbornly. “We need to talk through our plans to find our birth mother.”

“Your plans. I told you. I’m not doing any—”

Michael stopped in astonishment.

His secretary—calm, unflappable and cheerful Jenny—crashed through the door as if the hounds of hell were after her. She shoved the door closed behind her and leaned against it, as wide-eyed and pale as Michael had ever seen her. She looked terrified.

He wasn’t head of security for nothing. Their birth mother could wait.

“Emergency,” he snapped, and dropped the phone into its cradle before Garrett had time to say another word.

ONLY IT WASN’T an emergency, or not one he could see.

Michael crossed swiftly to the window and stared out. As in Jenny’s office, his interior windows were only transparent one way. He could see Jenny’s reception area, which was empty, and the main foyer beyond.

There were a few visitors milling around reception. Nothing noteworthy there. The receptionists looked calm and unconcerned. Two innocuous men in gray suits were walking toward Jenny’s door.

The way she was acting, you’d think the men were carrying machine guns. Which was crazy.

But Michael was trained to act first and ask questions later. What he saw on Jenny’s face was terror. He’d be a fool to ignore terror, and Michael Lord was no fool.

In one fast motion he tugged Jenny away from the door, pulling her easily against his chest. Then he flicked the switch she’d been leaning against. Smoothly, the security panels slid into place, locking the doors and windows and making the smoky glass an impervious, bulletproof screen.

They’d needed these precautions just once since the hospital was built, and he’d hoped he would never have to use them again, but by the look on Jenny’s face, he needed them now.

“Okay, Jenny.”

“Out the back.” She pulled away, tugging out of his arms. She was breathing way too fast for someone as pregnant as she was. “Michael, I need to go. I must. They’re after me. The back door.”

Yeah, he had a back door, a handy little escape route that led into the rear parking lot, but you didn’t bolt from the enemy before you knew who your enemy was. They were secure enough here.

“If they’re searching for you, then maybe they’ll have someone waiting out the back. Jenny, who are they?”

She shook her head, her face bloodless with shock. Michael’s hold on her tightened, his big hands gripping her shoulders. Heck, she was thin. He’d never really noticed that before. In a detached sort of way—the way he saw most people—he’d noticed her pregnancy but not the frailness of her body beneath it.

With her green eyes huge in her pale face, and her mass of dark brown curls shoved from her face in terror…

She was really quite beautiful, he thought suddenly, holding her against him. Funny how he’d never noticed that until now.

Her terror wasn’t subsiding, though. Once again, Michael turned to stare at the gray-suited visitors. They’d entered Jenny’s office and were inspecting her desk. One reached over and opened her drawer, rifling through her belongings.

Michael’s jaw set in anger. They had no right to be searching the place. He was half inclined to throw open the door and demand to know what they thought they were doing, but Jenny’s terror stopped him. He hit the one-way intercom on his desk so he could hear what they were saying, then turned to Jenny.

“The door’s locked,” he said quietly, trying to allay her shuddering fear. “They can’t hear us, they can’t see us and they can’t get in. There’s no way someone can get in here short of using dynamite.”

“They’ll wait. Gloria must have put them onto me. Now they know. I have to leave—now!”

What on earth was going on? Who the heck was Gloria?

Michael didn’t have a clue. He could only wait until she was calm enough to tell him. He put his arms around her shoulders and drew her against him, restraining her urge to dash for the back door. She was so darned small, five four or so compared with his six foot. He’d hardly noticed her in the past few months, apart from being grateful he’d finally found someone efficient to run his office. How could he not have noticed how pregnant—and how lovely—she was?

There was a thumping on his door as the men turned their attention from Jenny’s desk to his inner sanctum. From outside the room, the walls looked like mirrored glass. They’d see nothing and they’d hear nothing.

“Is anyone in there? Mr. Lord, could you come out please? We need to speak to you.” The voice of the older of the men seemed accustomed to command. The two of them looked annoyed, but nothing more. This wasn’t a pair of menacing thugs. There wasn’t a gun in sight.

More knocking, exasperated this time. They were bureaucrats, Michael thought. So what on earth was Jenny scared of?

And then there was a female voice, and Michael sighed with relief as he saw Ellie enter Jenny’s office. Ellie Maitland was the hospital administrator and the only person who’d know the security screens and bolts had come down in his office. A small red light would have flashed on her desk as the screens dropped. She’d figure that for some unknown reason Michael was in trouble or else there’d been a mistake, but Ellie wasn’t the sort to assume he’d made a mistake without checking.

She should have telephoned, Michael thought grimly, instead of coming, but the gray-suited visitors didn’t look physically threatening. Ellie certainly didn’t think they did.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

She cast a flickering glance at Jenny’s desk, and Michael knew she’d noticed the opened drawer and the shifted jumble of papers on the desktop. She’d be puzzled, trying to figure out what was going on, but nothing of that was sounding in her voice.

“We’re here to see Mrs. Morrow,” the older suit said.

“Mrs….” There was a trace of uncertainty in Ellie’s voice, as if she was trying to place the name—which she wouldn’t be. Ellie knew the names of every one of her staff members and every detail of their lives, right down to what they’d had for breakfast that morning. Her uncertainty was assumed, buying time. Finally her voice cleared. “Oh, you mean Mr. Lord’s secretary, Jenny.”

“That’s right.” The voice was in no mood for hesitation. “Where is she?”

Silence. Michael couldn’t suppress a grin as Ellie gazed around the outer office with helpful and entirely assumed stupidity.

“She doesn’t seem to be here.”

“Can you open the inner office, please?”

“It’s the office of our security chief,” she apologized. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I don’t have authorization. Isn’t Mr. Lord inside?”

“He’s not answering, and we need to check. We’re from the Department of Immigration.” There was a pause as two ID cards were produced. In Michael’s arms, Jenny quivered once and was still. “Open, please.”

“I still can’t do that,” Ellie said apologetically. “Unless you people have a warrant.”

“We don’t have a warrant.”

“Has Mr. Lord done something illegal?”

“No. It’s Mrs. Morrow we’re interested in.”

“But she’s not here.” Once more, her tone conveyed helpful stupidity.

“She may be in with Mr. Lord.”

“If Michael was in his office then he’d answer the door.”

“Not if he was hiding someone.”

“Why on earth would he be hiding someone?” Ellie asked, exasperated. “Hiding Jenny, do you mean? Why would he be doing that? She’s been sitting out here for all the world to see for the past few months. She’s probably just gone to the ladies’ room. If you people would care to wait, there’s a coffee shop down the hall.”

“Contact Lord,” the older suit ordered.

Ellie visibly stiffened. “I beg your pardon.”

“If he’s your security chief, then you can contact him,” the man said brusquely. “Surely.”

“Of course I can contact him.”

“Do it.”

Ellie practically bristled, and once more Michael had to suppress a grin. Jenny was still struggling in an attempt to reach the back door, as if the men could burst in any minute, but there was no chance of that. Ellie might have a key to his office on the bunch at her waist, but by their rudeness, Jenny had just gained herself a powerful ally. Once annoyed, Ellie was one mean opponent.

But Ellie didn’t refuse to contact him. She gazed at the two men for a long, considering moment, then raised the cell phone at her belt. She dialed, and the phone on Michael’s hip vibrated.

“Shh. It’s okay. They can’t hear us. But stay right here! That’s an order.” He put a hand on Jenny’s hair in reassurance and gently moved her away from him, then pressed her into the chair by his desk. He fixed her with a look, waited until he was sure she wouldn’t argue, and then he pushed the response button on his phone.

“Yes?”

“Michael?”

“I’m right here, Ellie.” There was nothing in his voice to suggest he could see her, and there was nothing in hers to suggest she knew he probably could. “What can I do for you?”

“There are two gentlemen in your office from…” She paused, and Michael saw her lift one of the men’s cards from his hand, then the other. “From the Department of Immigration. A Mr. Harness and his associate, Mr. Gibbs. They’re looking for Mrs. Morrow.”

“For Jenny?” He deliberately spoke loudly, so they’d hear what he said through Ellie’s handpiece. It was lucky he’d checked these screens for soundproofing, he thought. “What do they want with Jenny?”

“I have no idea. Will you tell me where she is?”

Will you tell me where she is… Great, Michael thought wryly. He had no idea what was going on, and until he found out, he had no intention of handing Jenny over, but he still didn’t like lying. If Jenny was involved in something illegal, he didn’t want to get any more involved than he already was. Will you tell me where she is let him off the hook nicely.

He deflected things. “I’ve given Jenny the rest of the day off,” he said. “I’ll be out of the office myself this afternoon.”

“The officers want to interview her.”

“What for?” he asked mildly, and watched through the glass as Ellie turned and put her question to the officers.

“Why do you need to speak to Jenny?”

He half expected no reply, but they answered, maybe seeing no risk in letting Ellie know their business, and with the intercom on he could hear every word. “Her entry visa expires on Monday,” the older man said. “She’s due to leave the country.”

“But it’s only Thursday.” Ellie frowned. “If I remember correctly, she’s due to finish up here on Friday—tomorrow. She’s British, isn’t she? I assumed she’d be flying home then.”

“According to our information she’s eight months pregnant,” the officer snapped. “The airlines won’t carry women on international flights when pregnancy is so advanced.”

“That’s hardly my business,” Ellie said mildly. “But I don’t employ illegal immigrants. Nor does Jenny expect me to. I remember Jenny made it very clear when she applied for the job that she’d only be working here for a few months.”

“So she’ll be back tomorrow?”

“I imagine so.” Ellie glanced at her watch, signifying her time was short and not to be wasted. “I believe the secretarial staff is having farewell drinks for her in the cafeteria tomorrow afternoon. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Do you have her home address?”

“I do.” Ellie sighed. “It’ll be in personnel records.”

“We need to see it.”

“Then come this way,” Ellie said dourly. “But it may take me some time to find it. My computer has just crashed. I’ll have to send someone to the basement for a hard copy.”

Bless her heart, Michael thought. She was giving him time, and letting him know it.

“Did you get that, Michael?” she said into the phone. “If you see Jenny, let her know Immigration wishes to speak with her.” She clicked the phone dead. “Come with me, gentlemen,” she said, and ushered them firmly out of the office.

But as she closed the door behind them, she faced Michael’s office through the one-way glass.

And raised her eyebrows in a very odd look.

THE DOOR was barely closed behind them when Jenny was out of her chair, heading for the back door. Michael caught her as she passed and held her wrist as one might a fugitive.

“Jenny.”

“I must go.”

“Not until I know what’s going on.”

“I…” She took a ragged breath and tried for control. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. She looked about sixteen, Michael thought, though he was sure her personnel records said mid-twenties. “I guess… I mean, they’re right,” she stammered. “I’m an illegal immigrant.”

“According to them, not until Monday.” He frowned. “It’s unlike our Immigration Department to check on people before they’ve overstayed.”

“I told you, Gloria will have sent them.”

“Who’s Gloria?”

“My…my mother-in-law.”

“Your mother-in-law.” He considered that a moment, but no, he couldn’t figure this one out at all. Jenny was British, he knew, but he’d never heard any talk of a husband. Come to think of it, he’d never heard any talk at all. Jenny was bright and bubbly and talkative—about everyone but herself. But she did wear a wedding ring.

“Jenny, you’re not going anywhere unless you tell me what’s going on,” Michael said mildly. “Ellie and I have just perjured ourselves—or almost perjured ourselves—to protect you. We have the right—”

“I’m not a criminal,” she said, and a flash of anger behind her eyes showed Michael that she was recovering. The woman had spirit. Her spirit was the one thing he’d noticed right from the start. It was why she still had a job.

Michael had gone through about six secretaries before Jenny arrived. He was professionally demanding and he expected his staff to work as hard as he did. One by one, secretaries had left, and mostly they’d left with a litany of complaints.

Mr. Lord didn’t appreciate them, they said. Mr. Lord expected them to work overtime without complaining and he didn’t care about their social lives.

But Jenny had arrived, set herself efficiently to work and hadn’t looked back. She’d come on a temporary basis when his need had been urgent—the last of his line of secretaries had left without warning in the middle of a work crisis—and she’d stayed for as long as he could keep her. Sure, Michael had snapped at her, and usually she took it without a murmur. Occasionally, though, she’d stood up to him, and when she had, she’d done it with spunk.

“No, Mr. Lord, I can’t stay tonight. I have an appointment after work.”

“I don’t care about your appointment. I have work that needs doing now.”

She’d smiled and gone on with her typing. “So what did your last slave die of? Sorry, Mr. Lord, I can’t do it. I do have the civility to care about your work, even if you don’t care about my appointment, but it doesn’t make one bit of difference. I can’t change my appointment. If you don’t like it, then phone the agency and hope they’ll send you someone more amenable. Or, alternatively, I’ll come in early and see what I can do then.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“That’s the best I can do, Mr. Lord. Like it or lump it.” And she’d smile sweetly and take herself off to her appointment, with him staring after her, baffled.

Then he’d come in the next morning to find his work done, as promised, and Jenny acting just as if she hadn’t refused him at all, but he knew she would again. Finally he’d learned to ask rather than demand, and the last few months had been tension free.

But she was leaving tomorrow, he thought. He frowned. Jenny’s baby had to come sometime, and secretaries came and went. They weren’t something he bothered about.

He was bothering about Jenny now.

“So tell me,” he growled, and the spark of challenge flared in Jenny’s eyes. She really was recovering.

“Or you’ll sack me? Nice try, but I’m leaving tomorrow, anyway. In fact…” She sighed. “I guess now I’m leaving tonight. I’m sorry, Mr. Lord, but I’m being forced to quit early. Can you say goodbye to everyone for me?”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t think you want to know that,” she said gently, looking longingly at the door. “You’ve helped me enough. I don’t want you to lie on my behalf.”

“I can act stupid,” he assured her. “I don’t need to lie.”

“You, act stupid? Ha! And you don’t need to know.”

Silence. There was no answer to that.

This was the end, then, he thought. She was asking no more. Michael could open his door, let her leave and never see her again. That should suit him fine. He didn’t get involved with anyone, much less a hugely pregnant, mal-nourished illegal immigrant of a secretary with the worries of the world on her shoulders.

So he could say goodbye and leave it at that—but for the life of him he couldn’t.

“Are you going back to England?” he asked, and watched as the color washed from her face again.

“No, but…”

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Mexico,” she said softly, only a tiny tremor in her voice spoiling the bravado of her words.

“You have friends in Mexico?”

“No, but…”

He sighed. “You know, you can’t go back to your apartment. They’ll expect you there.”

“I know that.”

“So you’re heading for Mexico without baggage, without friends. And how do you expect to get over the border? They’ll have immigration checks there, as well.”

“I’ll manage.” Her words were an angry, defensive snap, but there was fear behind them. “The border’s hardly heavily policed. I can do it.”

“What, by hiking through the desert in the dead of night? Very clever.”

Silence.

He shouldn’t get involved. No way! But how could he not? Michael sighed, took a deep breath and jumped right in. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and opened the door.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“But…”

“But what?”

“You don’t need to come.” She glared. “I’m on my own.”

“I can see you’re on your own. That’s what I don’t like.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You know, if you said it was my business, then I’d fight you every inch of the way,” he said sourly. “But damn it, woman, I have enough moral fiber to think I can’t allow you to sneak over the border with nothing except the clothes you’re wearing. And no friends to meet you.”

She glowered again, trapped. She didn’t want his help. She didn’t want anyone’s help. “I don’t need your morals.”

“Neither do I,” he said dryly. “I don’t need ’em at all. Unfortunately I have ’em, and so does Ellie. She’ll want to know what the heck I’ve done with you, and if I tell her what you intend doing and that I’ve allowed it, she’ll be after me with a horsewhip. So you can say I’m doing this because the Maitlands are head of this place and I work for the Maitlands. Good enough for you?”

She glowered again. “No.”

“It’d better be.” He took her arm. “Because that’s the way it is. Like it or lump it, lady. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWO

HE TOOK HER to her apartment first.

“We have maybe twenty minutes,” he told her. “Ellie will hold them that long. So we move fast.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Just shut up,” he told her kindly. “Like it or not, I’m embroiled in this mess, so I might as well be embroiled all the way.”

Which wasn’t exactly true, he decided as he drove fast through Austin’s afternoon traffic. He wasn’t really embroiled in this mess—yet. At this stage he could put her out of the car and walk away.

But there was no way he could do that, and it wasn’t the thought of Ellie’s anger that was keeping him in here. It was the set look on Jenny’s face, the look of despair combined with that stubborn look of pride. She’d go to the wall alone, he thought as he watched her. She had sheer, raw courage. Whatever mess she was in…

She wasn’t facing it alone, he decided. Not while Michael Lord was around to help her. But why he felt that way, he didn’t have a clue. He didn’t get involved with women. Not ever.

A very pregnant secretary didn’t really count as a woman, he told himself. Did she?

He couldn’t answer that question. Instead, he concentrated on driving fast and outmaneuvering the Suits.

Some questions were just too hard to answer.

THE PLACE she lived in was the pits. Michael stopped in front of a run-down apartment block in the poorest part of town and grimaced, then steered his Corvette around the corner and out of sight. The neighborhood was no better around the corner. It wasn’t the sort of place to leave a Corvette, much less a pregnant woman.

“You’ve been living here all the time you’ve worked for me?” he demanded.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Jenny’s voice was defensive. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a dump.”

“Can we spare the thoughts on my taste in housing for some other time?” she asked with asperity, worry replaced by indignation. “Anyway, I like it. It’s friendly. You try being a poverty-stricken single mom in a rich neighborhood and see how many friends you make. So if you really are going to help me…”

“Yeah, right.” He sighed. The place he’d put the car was deserted and well out of sight. Jenny would have to stay in the car. He didn’t like leaving her, but there was hardly a choice. He had to move fast, and if there was one thing Jenny’s bulk didn’t let her do, it was that. “Tell me which is your apartment and give me the keys.”

“I’m coming.” She was still crabby.

“No, Jenny, you’re not.” He put his hands on her shoulders and propelled her onto her seat. “I’m going in fast. I’m staying out of sight, which is something I’ve been trained to be good at. I’m getting out of there even faster, and if there’s a knock on the door while I’m in there, then I’ll be out the back window like a rat down the drainpipe. Assuming there’s a back window.”

“There’s a back window, but—”

“No buts. Can you shinny down a drainpipe?”

That brought a grin. She glanced at her pregnant bulge, and her eyes twinkled with sudden laughter. She looked better that way, Michael thought. “Maybe not, but—”

“Then leave the shinnying to me.” He hesitated. “I can’t bring everything. I’ll just grab what I can. I may only have a few minutes.”

“I don’t have much. There’s a bag under the bed. You’ll hardly fill it.”

Funny—why had he known she’d say something like that?

THE LADY WAS RIGHT. There sure wasn’t much. Michael stared around her dreary apartment in stunned silence.

He had two sisters, and Lana and Shelby nested. In fact, when they’d lived together, his sisters had nested all over the house. He was used to masses of clothes, bathrooms cluttered with toiletries, bedrooms with bright fabrics and huge cushions—the sort of place where a girl could come home and relax with style.

There was no way Jenny could come home and relax in any comfort at all, he thought, much less with style. The one-room apartment had a narrow iron bed in one corner, which was made up with essential bedclothes. There was a shabby wardrobe. A card table had one chair beside it, another chair acted as a bedside table, and there was nothing more.

He had no time for investigation, though. A leather suitcase was under her bed. He grabbed it and discovered it was already half packed. With little furniture, she was obviously using it for storage. That made things easy. There were a couple of dresses in the wardrobe—shapeless things like the one she was wearing now. It took him two minutes to collect her meager toiletries from the bathroom. There was nothing else except for a small clock and a picture frame on her bedside chair.

They all went quickly into the case, though he paused a moment to glance at the photo. A young man stared at him, fair and good-looking, laughing at the camera as if he was laughing at life in general. He looked as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

Was this the son of the fearful mother-in-law who was haunting her? Michael wondered briefly. He didn’t look as if he’d haunt anyone.

There was no time to think of that now. He shoved the lid closed, noticing with a mind trained to notice that the suitcase was good quality leather, with the initial M burned into it. At some time in the past, Jenny hadn’t been as broke as she was at the present.

She shouldn’t be broke now, he thought, frowning. He paid her good money. Nothing made sense, but now wasn’t the time to sort it out. He grabbed the case and crossed to the door.

There were footsteps on the landing. Uh-oh. Ellie hadn’t delayed them as long as he’d hoped.

“She’s not here.” It was a garrulous female voice, and the speaker sounded annoyed. The landlady? “So why do you want her? What’s so urgent?”

“We’re from Immigration.” Silence followed, and Michael imagined them flashing their ID cards. “We need to ask her a few questions.”

“No, you don’t.” Yep, the landlady was definitely annoyed. Authority wouldn’t be all that welcome around here. “You leave her alone, poor kid. She’s done nothing to no one, and she’s the nicest kid.”

“We just need to ask her—”

“She’s not here.” The voice rose belligerently, and Michael blessed the woman. “I see everyone as they go in and out. She went to work this morning and she hasn’t been back since. No one has.”

That was because Michael had taken great care not to be seen, he thought, moving fast. If they knew he was inside packing her baggage…

He crossed to the window. The apartment was three floors up, but an outside ledge led to a fire escape. It was a piece of cake—as long as they didn’t suspect anything.

He was out of there with lightning speed, and even if he wasn’t forced to shinny down the drainpipe, he would have done it if he’d needed to.

HE THOUGHT he’d left trouble behind him, but Jenny had company—and trouble of her own.

When he’d left her she was sitting alone in his gorgeous car. Now she was surrounded by five or six youths, and one look told him they meant no good. Michael rounded the corner and froze, melting swiftly against the brickwork. As a cop, he was trained to stop and assess before moving, and he didn’t like the scene before him one bit.

It had been stupid to bring the Corvette here. If he’d known…

“Get out of the car, lady.” The youths had been drinking, he figured. They were loud and aggressive, egging each other on. Could he handle five of them if they turned nasty?

There wasn’t much choice, he decided, thinking longing thoughts of his gun, which was safely and uselessly locked in his office at the hospital. He’d hardly been planning to turn it on immigration officials, so he’d left it behind.

He couldn’t leave Jenny on her own while he went for backup. He had to move. But as he made to emerge from the shadows, Jenny’s voice stopped him short.

“Why on earth would I want to get out of the car, Jason Hemming?”

“What?” It was the tallest of the youths—a kid of about nineteen—and his bravado sounded a bit shaky. “How do you know who I am?”

“We want your car, lady,” another youth butted in, his voice threatening. “Get out or we’ll take you—”

“Me?” There was laughter in Jenny’s voice. She didn’t sound one inch afraid. “Come on, Tommy. That’s not your speed. Driving with pregnant women.”

“I’m not—”

She didn’t let him finish. “Tommy, I’ve seen you with ten different ladies since I moved in here, and every one is a heap more attractive than me. I don’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“You live here?” It was the same voice, raised in incredulity.

“I sure do. I know your mom, Jason—and yours, too, Tommy. In fact, I helped your kid sister with her homework last night. Adele’s your sister, isn’t she, Tommy? She’s a real cutie. I live up in number thirty-seven.”

“Hey, I think I’ve seen her around,” one of the boys said, his voice nervous. “She’s not lying.”

“So why are you driving this?” Tommy was disbelieving.

“Me? Driving this? You have to be kidding! It belongs to my boss,” Jenny said cheerfully. “He’s loaded. Isn’t it the best?”

“We want it.”

“You and me both, but you want to get me sacked?” Her voice grew reproachful. “Or me to have my baby right here?” A tremor entered her voice, and Michael started forward. Maybe she was afraid. He stopped again as he heard what she was saying. “I’m off to the hospital.” She sounded almost proud. “I’ve got labor pains. My boss offered to drive me. He’s just gone up to get my toothbrush.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope.” Michael peered around the corner and saw Jenny open the car door, get out and stand so they could see just how huge she was. She staggered a little and put her hand to her back. “You want to know what a baby on the way feels like? He’s kicking so hard. Heck, it hurts, though.”

“You—you’re having the kid?” It was the first voice— Jason—and all the aggression was gone. “It’s Jenny, isn’t it? I recognize you now. Heck. You want me to get my mom?”

“Thanks, Jason, but I think I need a hospital more than your mom.” Jenny was allowing the tremor in her voice to grow. “If Mr. Lord would only get back…”

That was a cue if ever he heard one. Michael emerged from the shadows, carrying her suitcase.

“Mr. Lord.” Jenny practically fell on his neck. “You took so long.”

“Is it getting worse?” Following her lead, he appeared not to notice the youths.

“Two minutes apart,” she said, clutching her back and grimacing. “I’m having a bad one now. Please…let’s go.”

Michael threw the case in the back and climbed into the car. His face was grim. “Yeah, right.”

“Good luck,” one of the boys said, and Michael looked up as if he’d only just noticed him.

“Thanks.”

“I meant the lady,” the boy said, and as the car started, he added, “hey, don’t spit the kid out onto his leather seats, Jenny. You’ll be sacked for that, no sweat!”

There was good-humored laughter as they headed out of sight.

“THAT,” MICHAEL SAID carefully as they nosed onto the street, “was amazing.” He moved the car forward, not fast enough to draw attention—the Corvette got enough of that as it was—but fast enough to be out of there if anyone had followed him down the fire escape. “I thought there was going to be trouble. That was great acting.”

“Who said I was acting?”

He almost crashed. The car veered toward the wrong side of the road, and Jenny grabbed the wheel and chuckled. “Hey, okay, I was joking. Watch the road.”

His blood pressure lurched and settled, and he glared at the woman by his side. “Thanks for the advice.”

She dimpled. “My pleasure. Honest, though, there was no problem. They’re not bad kids.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They steal cars, but maybe I would, too, if I was as bored as they are. And they won’t hurt anyone. Besides, it’s stupid to drive a car like this.”

“Yeah, right.” He grimaced. “You sound like a schoolmarm.”

“Well…” She managed another smile. Smiles seemed her specialty, and he realized suddenly why he’d liked having her around the office the past few months. Her smile lit up all sorts of dark places, and some of those dark places were right inside him.

But she hadn’t noticed his reaction. “I guess if you’re rich enough to afford it then you can drive it,” she said, “but you should have an ordinary one so you can pretend to be an ordinary person sometimes.”

“Pretend?”

“I’d never presume to call you an ordinary person,” she said, eyes twinkling. “After all, you’re my boss.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I know which side my bread’s buttered on.” She dimpled nicely, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and then hesitated, her laughter fading. “But I guess you’re not my boss now. If you could take me to the bus station…”

“The bus station?”

“It’s where you go to catch a bus when you don’t have a car like this to drive. Or any car to drive.” Her smile suddenly didn’t reach her eyes. “Michael—Mr. Lord—I’m really grateful—”

“You’re not working for me anymore, so it’s Michael,” he said curtly. “And you’re not going to any bus station. The immigration guys were arriving at your apartment as I left. Your landlady will let them in, they’ll discover your gear is gone, and they’ll think, ‘She knows we’re looking for her. She’s on the run.’ So where do you think they’ll look?”

“The airport?” she asked doubtfully, but he shook his head.

“No. They’ll never let you on board a plane looking this pregnant, and immigration knows that. So where?”

She was silent, sitting in the plush leather seat and trying to make her jumbled mind think. “I guess the bus station’s not such a hot idea, then.”

“No.”

More silence. Michael turned off the main road and headed to the river.

“Where are we going?” she asked. She chewed her lip, stubbornness returning. “I guess if you could drop me at a hotel, somewhere cheap—”

“They’ll think of that, too. It’ll take them twenty minutes to phone every hotel in town, and you’re not exactly easily disguised.”

She closed her eyes.

“Do you have any money?” Michael asked her curiously, and he saw her anger flash again.

“Of course I have money. Why do you think I’ve been living so cheaply for the past six months? I’ve saved everything.”

“So you’re intending to live on what you’ve saved from six months’ salary while you have the baby?” Michael asked incredulously. “No wonder the immigration people want you out. You’re hardly independent.”

“I’m independent.”

“You’re not.” He sighed and steered his car to where the oaks lined the cliff tops overlooking the river. There was a place there he knew. Quiet. Private. It was hardly the sort of place detectives would look for a fugitive.

He pulled to a stop and turned to face the woman beside him, and discovered she had the look of someone who expected to be slapped. Hard. It was a dreadful look. He gazed at her for a long moment and discovered feelings shifting inside him that had never shifted in his life. Feelings he didn’t understand one bit.

It put him off balance. Michael Lord was unemotional, detached, cool as ice, and now he suddenly found himself emotional, attached and hot as fire. Damn, who had done this to her? he thought savagely. He had to know.

“Tell me about this person you’re so afraid of, this Gloria,” he said, and waited.

For a while he didn’t think she’d tell him. She sat staring straight ahead at the deep-running river below. The weather was perfect, Michael thought inconsequentially, autumn perfect. He’d put the top down on the Corvette, and the sun was warm on their faces.

She looked as if she needed its comfort, he thought, and suddenly had to resist the urge to put an arm around those frail shoulders. She was making him feel too proprietary for words.

But he still had to know about Gloria. “Tell me,” he said softly. “You can trust me, Jenny.” He teased her gently. “Have I not shinnied down drainpipes on your behalf?”

That brought an answering smile. “There was a perfectly good fire escape. If you chose the drainpipe…”

“Heroes always choose drainpipes,” he told her, smiling. “It’s far more heroic.”

“But much bumpier.” She managed a chuckle. “Not to say risky—especially if you’re thinking about the future production of little superheroes. Think of what all those sharp edges on the way down could have done to your manhood.”

That took him aback. He stared at her in shock. His quiet, demure secretary making remarks about his manhood! And then slowly, his deep green eyes creased into laughter.

HE CHUCKLED, a low, lazy rumble that Jenny hadn’t heard before. Very few people had. Michael Lord wasn’t much given to laughter.

It transformed him, she thought. Michael was big and solid, with a blaze of burnt-red hair, deep green eyes and strongly boned features that made him classically good-looking. His aloofness had repelled her, though, during the time she’d worked for him. She hadn’t noticed what she was noticing now, that the laughter behind his eyes made him seem not just classically good-looking. Impossibly good-looking!

She had other things on her mind, though, apart from Michael’s good looks. She tore herself away from the laughter in his eyes and forced herself to answer his question. After all, she did owe him the truth.

At least talking bought her time. She didn’t have to get out of this lovely car quite yet and face whatever was before her alone.

“I told you. Gloria is my mother-in-law,” she said in a low, husky voice that Michael had to lean forward to hear. “Or she was my mother-in-law.”

“You’re divorced?”

“No.” She gave a half smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. “My husband…Peter is dead.”

“Oh.” It was hopelessly inadequate. “I’m sorry.”

“He died seven months ago,” Jenny said tonelessly. “I’m used to it now.”

“Seven months isn’t long.” Michael thought back to the death of his partner on the police force. Was it two years already since Dan had died?

Grief and shock stayed with you forever, he thought, and the emotional damage lasted a lifetime. No, seven months wasn’t long at all.

Jenny was studying him curiously. “You look like you understand.”

“I don’t know how it feels to lose the person you love,” Michael said. “But I’d guess it must be just about as bad as it can get.”

“It is,” she said forcibly, staring at the river. “One minute I was telling him I was pregnant and watching his face, and he…” She shook her head as if shaking off a nightmare. “No matter. The next thing, the hotel phone’s ringing and they’re telling me Peter’s plane crashed and I’d best get to the hospital because he’s dying.” She flinched, and her eyes looked inward. “Peter died four days later, but in the hospital we talked about the baby… And his mother came from England and he told her…told Gloria…”

“Told Gloria what?”

“That I was pregnant.”

He frowned, still not understanding. “So there’s a problem with that? I’d imagine it might have been the only piece of good news in the whole tragedy.”

“But you don’t know Peter’s mother. She’s Gloria Hepworth-Morrow, eighth Duchess of Epingdale,” Jenny said bitterly. “The title makes a difference.”

“I imagine it might.” Then he shook his head. Maybe he couldn’t imagine. “No. I can’t. Why does it make a difference?”

“Because Gloria wants my baby.”

SHE LOOKED DESOLATE.

It took sheer, Herculean effort for Michael not to lean forward and take her in his arms.

Which was stupid. He didn’t get involved. Not ever.

Did he?

“Why does she want your baby?” he asked, and if his voice ended up sounding half-strangled, she didn’t seem to notice.

“You have no idea what she’s like,” Jenny said bitterly. “She’s so…regal. She swans around chairing her charities and opening fairs and making pronouncements on the state of the world, and people think she’s wonderful. What a matriarch, they say. But she controls everyone. She must. Her husband had no will of his own, and Peter…”

“Peter, your husband?”

“Yes. Peter, my husband, her son. She never let go, even though he could never live up to what was expected of him. She tried to control him every way she knew how, and I saw what it did to him. She used every means in her power to impose her will, and when he married me…”

“She didn’t like the match?”

“My father was a coal miner from Wales,” Jenny said bitterly. “What do you think?”

“I think Peter made a very good choice of wife,” Michael said, and Jenny flushed.

“Do you? It’s nice of you to say so, but I’m not so sure Peter did. In fact, I know he didn’t. After a while…after a while I figured that he’d just married me as one more act of rebellion. He didn’t stop, you see. It wasn’t enough that he’d married someone she hated and was ashamed of. He kept taking risks, doing things she disapproved of—making headlines in his own right.

“He brought us to Texas because there were so many extreme sports over here that he hadn’t tried before, and he was killed doing aerobatics in an aerolite that was sold to him by people only a fool would be crazy enough to trust. We fought about it all the time. I was so frightened. We’d…we’d been thinking of separating, and then I found I was pregnant.”

“Which was a disaster?”

That brought her chin up and the spark into her eyes. “No! There’s no way I regret my baby. He wasn’t planned, but I want him so much.”

“And so does Gloria?”

“Of course. And I have no money to fight her. My parents died a long time ago, I have no family, and Gloria’s moving in for the kill. As far as she’s concerned I’m only the breeder—a very poor-class breeder at that—and I deserve no say whatsoever in the way he’s raised. My baby is the next Earl of Epingdale, and that’s all she’s interested in.”

He thought this over and found a flaw. “Your baby might be a girl.”

“No such luck. I checked.” She grimaced. “It was a strange reason for gender testing, but there it is. I was desperate. So yes, I’m carrying the ninth earl. Gloria doesn’t know it yet, but the minute he’s born she will. She’ll pay to find out, and her spies are everywhere. That’s why the immigration officers arrived today. She’ll have been watching, waiting, and she’ll see her chance to move.

“I was lucky in a way that we were here when Peter was killed, but if she gets me back to England, there’s no way I can immigrate here—or anywhere else—with a tiny baby. She’ll have bribed whoever she had to bribe, or blackmailed them if they can’t be bought.”

“But, Jenny, you’re this baby’s mother,” Michael said gently, still puzzled. “No court in the land will take your baby.”

“No, but…” She shook her head. “You don’t understand. If I stay in England it’ll be easy for Gloria to take control. I saw what she did to Peter. She ruined any chance he had for happiness, and she’s not doing the same for my little one. She’s already told the British press I’m pregnant, so there’ll be no privacy. The minute my baby’s born she’ll be showering him with expensive gifts, pushing me into the lifestyle she dictates.”

“Maybe it’s not such a bad lifestyle. Other people have learned to live with money.” He tried a smile, but she didn’t smile back.

“You don’t know Gloria. She just takes. She’s so strong. Peter tried to fight her, but she destroyed him. She’ll destroy my baby with her corrupt values. The only things that matter to her are publicity, money and power. I won’t let her give my son those values.”

“You don’t have to accept.”

“Ha!” She laughed mirthlessly. “Can you see a child refusing what she offers? Being given a trip to Disneyland with his wonderful grandmother, and his dragon of a mother refusing? Or me refusing to let him go to the most expensive schools? Gloria will make sure the press knows, and the press would have a field day. ‘Mother makes ninth earl live in poverty.’ I can’t afford to do anything but send him to a government school and live in an apartment. Do you think Gloria will let her heir do that?

“She can be charming and she’s absolutely ruthless. She wants this child, and if she has her way he’ll be brought up in a goldfish bowl of publicity with the eyes of the world press on him. But there’s no way. He’s mine!”

And she put her arms around her swollen body and hugged it, as though she was protecting her baby while it was still in the womb.

Michael sat back, stunned.

Things were starting to be clear, but the clearer they became, the less he liked them. If so much money and power were involved…

What would he have done, he thought, if he’d been Gloria and he wanted this child home in England?

Exactly what Gloria had done, he decided. Keep tabs on Jenny while she was pregnant. Watch from afar because there was little he could do to pressure her before the baby was born. Then, as the birth neared and Jenny wasn’t in England, he’d make sure she returned. Warn the immigration officials that she was planning to make a run for it. Even offer…

“How much money does Gloria have?” he asked, and Jenny shuddered.

“Millions. I don’t know, exactly. I’ve never asked, but Peter said it was ridiculous for one person to control so much wealth.”

“So if she wanted you back in England, she could offer immigration a private jet with a doctor on board?”

“I’d imagine so. Yes. Of course.”

“They’d go for that, too,” Michael guessed. “It’d get the problem out of their hair, and you could hardly plead the case that you needed refugee status. Fleeing from money doesn’t meet any refugee criteria I’ve ever seen.” He sighed. “Jenny, why didn’t you leave the U.S. before this and go someplace where there was a chance of you staying permanently? Pregnant, with no family support, you meet no immigration criteria at all.”

“No, but…” She sighed. “Have you any idea how hard it is to get immigrant status anywhere when you’re pregnant? Unless you’re rich. The U.S. isn’t the only country with tight immigration laws.” She flashed him a smile that contained a hint of her usual spunk. “Anywhere’s impossible, really. I wanted to stay away from England—as far as I could. That was all I could think of to start with. I was shocked, bereaved, confused—and Gloria scared me to death with her assumption that the baby would be hers. I’d be paid off and I’d have no say at all. She has so much power… It scared me to death. So I stayed here.”

“And hoped.”

“And hoped. Stupid, really, but desperation makes for stupidity. I guess I hoped I’d be inconspicuous and Gloria would lose track of me. I found the job with you, you were happy with me, I was enjoying working for you, and the Maitlands were great. Then, when I tried to apply for permanent residency, I discovered it was impossible. As my pregnancy advanced, everywhere else seemed to close their doors, too. So I had a choice—stay here illegally or go home to Gloria. There are so many illegal immigrants, and I was desperate. The choice seemed obvious, given what was at stake, but now… I might have known Gloria wouldn’t give up.”

She shrugged. “But hey, I guess there’s still Mexico and a whole bunch of immigration officials who mightn’t be as efficient. And I’m a great secretary. As soon as the baby’s born I’ll be able to work.” She was smiling, reassuring him that she’d be okay, but he was grim. She was trying to make light of it, but…

“Even if you make it into Mexico, she’ll find you,” he said.

“No.”

“Yes. Or you’ll starve. For heaven’s sake, Jenny, you’ll have no health insurance, and as an illegal immigrant you’ll have no status. What if something goes wrong during the birth?”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Then I’ll cope,” she said flatly. “Stop scaring me, Michael Lord. I can manage.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“Watch me. Or rather, don’t watch me.”

“I’m not letting you go to Mexico on your own,” he told her. His mind was racing, and it didn’t like a single thing it was coming up with.

“There’s no alternative.” She tilted her chin, and a trace of fear shadowed the courage in her eyes. “Unless you’re planning to put me on Gloria’s plane. Hand me over to the authorities.”

She wasn’t quite sure that he wouldn’t, he realized. She didn’t quite trust him.

She must. There was no other way out of this mess.

“I won’t hand you over to the authorities.” He gave a self-mocking smile. “After all, you’re not illegal until Monday.”

“Yeah, heaps of time.”

“Not enough—but there is an alternative,” he said softly, his voice steady. An idea had flashed into his head. It was a crazy, lunatic idea, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the only way out of this mess. “It’s the only one.”

“Which is?”

“You’re sure you won’t go home?”

She swallowed, but the look in her eye was one of iron determination. “No way. I’ll lose my baby.”

“For this to work, you’d have to trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” she said flatly. “Not where my baby’s concerned.”

“You need help, Jenny.”

“You’re proposing to hide me in the basement until Gloria goes away? She won’t. Now she knows where I am, she’ll be around forever.”

He smiled. “I don’t think hiding in a basement is a sensible solution.”

“No, but…” She shook her head. “Believe me, there’s nothing you can do. There’s no possibility I can stay here legally, and now the immigration officials are aware of me, I have to move on.”

“There is one thing you can do.”

“Which is?”

“You can marry me.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.