The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  No.

  No.

  No.

  But she took a deep breath and reached a trembling hand out and picked one up.

  Which one? The blue one? The pink one? The cheap one?

  Ella just grabbed one and then reached back and grabbed another. And then two others.

  She didn’t remember finishing her shopping or how exactly she got home. Thank God she didn’t have to teach any other classes tonight.

  She was late.

  She couldn’t be late. She was never late. You couldn’t technically be late if your hormones were so screwed up that you weren’t even regular on the damned pill.

  Oh God.

  Somehow she made it into the house. She left the groceries on the counter and dug out the bag with the tests.

  Taking a deep breath, she simply stared at them.

  Her phone rang. She started to let it go to voice mail but then noticed it was her elderly landlords across the street.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, dear, it’s Carmine. Herb and I wanted to see if you’d eaten, and if not, we have plenty. Come on over.”

  Ella smiled. “I’d love to, Mrs. Richardson, but I’m really wiped tonight. I think I’m just going to take a bath and then hit the bed. I have a sunup class out at the Nursery tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, I forget you got that other job too. Honey, you need a man, not another job.”

  “Mrs. Richardson, in my experience, men are basically three other jobs.” And the root of much stress.

  They hung up laughing.

  Reality crashed back down.

  “Can’t hide from the truth.” She took the boxes and went back to her bathroom.

  Now what that truth would be . . . well, she was about to find out.

  Chapter 14

  Taos, May

  Pregnant. She was pregnant.

  Two pink lines. Actually eight, as there were two little sticks in each box and she took them all, stretched out over one weekend. Sure that the one before had to be wrong. Positive that there must be a mistake and the next morning or evening the new one would give her a different answer.

  Nope. No such luck.

  Dr. Radcliffe had confirmed it. They were currently waiting on blood work to make sure that everything was fine. She had been terrified that her taking her pills would have an adverse effect on the baby.

  The doctor assured her that her low dose of estrogen would not harm the baby.

  Maybe he just told her that.

  Almost three months along.

  She’d heard her baby’s heartbeat.

  Oh God. That fast little swish-wish sound echoed in her soul. She’d been terrified, shocked and . . . and . . . thrilled. Utterly thrilled.

  “You had no idea?” Dr. Radcliffe had asked with raised bushy gray brows and a grin.

  She’d shaken her head, looking again at the monitor to the little blob on there. “No. None. I’m not the most regular person. I spotted and thought it was just a short period. The new pills I started late and with everything, the move and what all not, I just . . . No.” Wow.

  “Well, from measurements and your best guess, I’d say you’re about three months along.” His eyes leveled at her. “You need to eat more and we’ll get you started on prenatal vitamins.”

  She could only shake her head and reach for Lisa’s hand. Lisa squeezed it. “Congratulations, Mom.”

  Then Ella frowned at the screen and said softly, “I had a miscarriage before. Years ago.”

  The doctor put the little sonogram wand away and wiped the clear gel off her lower abdomen. “How many years ago and how far along were you?”

  She thought back. “Oh, back when I was in college, about seven years ago, and I wasn’t this far along.”

  He lifted one big shoulder. “These things happen. There’s nothing I can see that you should be worried about.”

  They’d talked more, he’d answered the questions she’d had that day, Lisa had answered others, and Dr. Merchant had answered yet more when he’d told her congratulations a few days later.

  A few days ago, when yet another issue arose in her life before she’d figured out what the hell to do about her current mess.

  So here she sat in the courtyard of this coffee shop. Waiting.

  Ella sat back, hoping she appeared more relaxed than she felt. Her legs were crossed and she couldn’t stop her right foot from swinging. A habit her mother had tried to break her of, telling her ladies sat still.

  Whatever.

  Like she could sit still. A local FBI agent had contacted her and wanted to meet with her.

  Ella waited and thought, As if I don’t have enough problems right now?

  The FBI? Why did they want to talk to her? What had she done? Sure she’d downloaded a couple of songs from that one website and then her freaking computer died. She figured that was karma for her. Her mother taught her not to steal, and the one time she had, though everyone probably did it at least once, her computer died. No more after that. A song cost less than a dollar—a new laptop, considerably more. Hell, even trying to get the thing fixed cost more than the stupid songs would have.

  So what did the feds want with her?

  She hadn’t done anything, at least nothing that she knew of.

  The smells of coffee wafted from inside the coffee shop out into the little courtyard.

  The man who’d spoken to her yesterday knew she liked to come here and wanted to meet her here to discuss something.

  Considering it was a public place, and the fact he was a federal agent, she supposed she should.

  Her hands trembled. Did everyone always feel this nervous around cops? Were FBI agents technically cops? Law enforcement, so yeah, they probably were cops. Super cops! God, her mind could not stay on track these days.

  She put her hands over her thickening stomach. How could she not know she was pregnant? Granted, she’d heard of women going into labor and claiming not to have known they were pregnant. She’d always known they were nut jobs. But for her?

  She thought she knew her body pretty damned well.

  Apparently not.

  So here she sat. In a new place, with her new job, about to talk to the feds about God only knew what, and she was pregnant.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Time to focus on what was around her before she stressed herself out to the point she puked.

  Taos was slushy today. Cars splashed by on the street. There had been a late snow. Who would have thought? Wrapped in her jacket and scarf she was fine. The locals—one of which she was not yet, or didn’t consider herself—sat in shorts, hiking shoes, and a fleece jacket. She’d be frozen. Her body was still used to New Orleans weather and mild winters. This was cold by any of her standards. The day was still overcast and it had been drizzly this morning.

  Checking her watch, she bounced her foot. When was he going to get here? Agent Jareaux. Like off that crime show she’d seen a couple of times until she had nightmares. Bad things in the brain left bad nights for her. So she tended to steer clear of things that would bother her.

  Like commitment? Marriage? Calling the father of her baby and letting him know?

  A foot scuffed along the flagstone and she turned.

  There he stood, had to be. He was serious, and his eyes scanned the entire place.

  Dark hair, not too tall, not too short. Just normal. Well, normal with the exception that even though he had on jeans he still had a button-down on with a jacket. But she supposed he couldn’t just walk around with a gun strapped on. This was New Mexico, but it wasn’t the old west. She took a sip of her chai. Then again, she knew ranchers around here had rifles in their trucks and plenty of people had their concealed licenses. Hell, they ran ads for the latter in the paper. She shook her head.

  Very persistent man. He’d come by the studio twice and left his name and number. He’d called her phone three times and she’d finally agreed to meet with him after he’d told her who he was and that it was imperativ
e that they speak.

  So, what the hell did he want with her?

  Or rather, what did the feds want that it was imperative that they speak with her?

  He walked to her, his own cup steaming, and stood for a moment. Then he held out his hand. “Hello, again, Ms. Ferguson.”

  She sighed and decided to come clean. “I go by another name.”

  “Really?” He motioned to the chair. “May I?”

  She shrugged. “Well, as you are the one who wanted to speak with me, I suppose you should, unless you want to just stand there.”

  He chuckled and sat across from her. He was handsome in a classic popular-guy jock type way. Strong jaw, straight nose. Though there was a bit of a hump to it. He’d probably broken it at some point, and with his job she figured that was likely. The color of his eyes was a piercing gray, which might be pretty if not for the fact they were . . . flat. Like he’d seen too much or something. Reminded her of the cops she knew from New Orleans, or worse, the guys on the street. Not the ones too high or drunk to worry about life, but those that were beaten down by life, by what they’d seen, or been part of. Guys with eyes like that, in the shelter, were often struggling to get back to where there was level ground.

  And this guy? What all had he seen and been a part of to have that absence in his eyes?

  He looked at her and smiled. All happy charm, except for his eyes. She didn’t trust that fake charm.

  “You look like you’re wondering what you’re doing here and what I could possibly want with you.” He took a drink of his coffee and winced. “I told you before we are not trying to scare you. We need your help.”

  Well, it was steaming. What did he expect?

  He tilted his head and studied her. “So how far along are you?”

  She jerked. “H-how did you know?”

  One side of his mouth kicked up, but it wasn’t a smile. “We know quite a bit about you, Ms. Ferguson. And we’d like your help.”

  She just looked at him.

  “Look, here’s my card.”

  “Yes, I have several others that you left for me.” She’d even called the local FBI office to verify he was who he claimed to be before meeting with the man. He was a special agent with the FBI. She still had no idea why he’d contacted her, what exactly he wanted.

  He shrugged. “You are a smart woman, a strong one from what we know of you. You’re a straight shooter who likes to help people. The elderly that you teach yoga to three times a week. The shelters where you help teen mothers and expectant mothers. You are a person who doesn’t like to see the less advantaged taken advantage of.”

  She held his flat stare. “Okay, and . . . ?”

  “And as such a person, we’d like to talk to you about helping us.”

  She shook her head. “Help you? You’ve mentioned that. I’m just me, how in the world would I help you? And with what—exactly?”

  He took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you everything, yet. Only once you agree.”

  Uh-huh. “And I’m supposed to agree now because?” She waved her hand for him to continue.

  He smiled at her. “You are a wary woman. I can deal with wariness. Look.” He leaned up on his elbows. The wind blew from behind him and she caught a whiff of his cologne. A little more light and flirty than she would have imagined a serious guy like him wearing. Made her think of Quin and his cologne. Woodsy, spring rains, and just Quin . . .

  She sighed and leaned back as Jareaux continued.

  “We’ve been waiting for a while to find someone. And then you just sort of happened along. You are pregnant, which is what we were really waiting for.” He frowned. “You are, aren’t you?”

  She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Whether or not I am will wait.” Ella shook her head. “That’s your criteria for me helping you? Are you nuts? You have any idea how many pregnant women there are out there?”

  He didn’t smile. “Lots, and few are in a position such as you.”

  “And I still don’t know what that position is.” Until she did, she wouldn’t be helping him—them.

  He sighed and looked around. “Are you working for the Nursery?”

  “You mean the Nursery of Dreams? Well, not really. I mean maybe.”

  “Maybe? Aren’t you a yoga instructor out at their retreat place?”

  Now it was her turn to frown, and she rubbed her arms from the chills that danced along her skin. “How do you know all of that? Are you people watching me?” She put her hands on her stomach again so he wouldn’t see them tremble.

  Ella Ferguson was skittish. Great.

  Jareaux held up his hands, hoping to put her at ease. He would put her at ease. She was going to help him crack this case and it would be big. He knew it. He’d been waiting for someone like her to come along and help him out. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you or your baby.” He had to put her at ease. He sighed and raked a hand though his hair. “I—We’d like someone to sort of keep an eye on things there. Let us know if there is anything odd going on out there.”

  “Odd, how? Place seems great to me. Pregnancy abounds and the atmosphere’s just happy. The women take classes, on all sorts of things,” she said.

  “Yes, we know. The ages of those at the Nursery’s retreat are all over the place. The ages range from young teens to the mid-twenties for the most part. There are also a couple of thirty-something surrogate mothers.”

  She just looked at him with those big blue eyes.

  Woman was pretty in a weird way. He’d use weirdness, hell, he’d use Satan’s girlfriend if it helped him get out of this damned place. Why they were all out at the Retreat, as those out there called the place, he wasn’t exactly sure. But they were and everyone seemed to love it. Yoga, diet classes, meditation, even some business classes for those who wanted it. No cell phones. No laptops or iPads. Technology was pretty much left at the door.

  “Don’t you find it odd the lack of technology or whatever they allow?” he asked her. “Who doesn’t have a cell phone or access to one in this day and age? I would think it would be dangerous for a pregnant woman not to have one.”

  She shrugged. “Many believe our electronics are in direct correlation to the increase in cancer. But whatever. I don’t really care what their rules are. I was hired to teach a couple of yoga classes up there. By a twist of fate actually. A woman in my class who’s a nurse told me they were looking for someone to teach yoga to a bunch of pregnant women. I took it. Good thing too. I’m pregnant,” she said, as if she still didn’t believe it.

  He could use that.

  “Kind of a drive though, isn’t it?” he asked, knowing the drive up to the Retreat was over half an hour away. “Guess you love your work.”

  She just looked at him. “I don’t know that I’d call it working exactly. I teach yoga a couple of times a week up there. Though another one of the doctors asked me if I’d consider more classes.”

  More classes up there would be great, would give her great access, might get this rolling a lot quicker.

  “And you’re pregnant.”

  She took a deep breath. “Honestly, I haven’t told many people yet. It’s still . . . so damned new. And so freaking scary,” she muttered to herself.

  “Why? I thought . . . well, most women . . .”

  She just raised a brow. “I’m not exactly scared about the pregnancy or being a mom. I’m kind of worried about a phone call I need to make.”

  “To?”

  “Quinlan.”

  “Ah.” Probably the father. Woman with the strange hair and perky disposition bothered him for some reason. He just wanted someone he could use to break this case, make his name and get the hell out of this backwoods position.

  But to do that, he’d have to gain her trust.

  “What’s ‘ah’ about it?”

  “Nothing.” He shifted and studied her. Confident woman. She didn’t cower, didn’t hunker in her chair, met all his stares dead-on. “So you interested in helping us?”

&nbs
p; “Because I’m pregnant?”

  “And you’re single.”

  She jerked. “No, I’m not actually.”

  She said it as if she wasn’t exactly sure. “You sound like you might doubt that statement.”

  Her eyebrows lowered. “I, well, I don’t think I’m single.”

  He quirked a brow. “You’re not? So the father . . .”

  “Doesn’t know yet. But he will and then he’ll be hounding me for everything again.”

  “Everything?”

  She waved her hand. “Oh, yeah, everything. Once he finds out about the baby, he’ll fight me on the marriage with a vengeance. Granted, if I go to him now, then he’ll think the only reason I want him back is because of the baby, and I knew when I left New Orleans and . . .”

  He tuned her out. Woman was flightier than he’d thought originally, but he could still work with her. Then what she said clicked.

  “Wait, you’re married?”

  She grinned. “You mean the FBI doesn’t know everything? Really? And here I thought so highly of the sainted bureau. I mean, the stories you hear . . .”

  He held up his hand. “Please explain.”

  Where to begin. “I’m married, actually. Or I think I am.”

  “You think? Isn’t being married sort of like being pregnant? Either you are or you’re not?” Lines furrowed across his forehead.

  “You’d think, huh? Enter Vegas, Elvis—I think—and a man who claimed he wanted to stay married even though he hadn’t told anyone about our marriage, other than a lawyer. I decided I didn’t want to be married then.”

  “And you do now?”

  She thought about that and shrugged. “I realized I probably did before I ran. I mean moved. But things were said, or not, as the case was, and well . . . here I am.”

  “Ahh.” He sipped his coffee again. “One of those.”

  She quirked a brow at him. “One of those?”

  “Commitment-phobes. Had one myself. I chased her down, turned out to be a waste of time on my part.”

  She only shrugged and looked out over the courtyard.

  He cleared his throat. “So, Vegas . . . sounds . . . rushed, so I guess that makes sense. Mistake and all. So why haven’t you annulled it?”