by Lola White
The door burst inward with a loud crack.
The bottom hinge popped off. The door swung open on the top fastening, with no dramatic shower of wood to underscore the sudden terror rocketing up Weslyn’s throat on a burning tide of acid. She flinched and staggered back, her hands firmly planted on her belly.
Then she spun around and tried to run. Reflex only, as there was nowhere she could hide in the motel room. A huge, hot hand caught her elbow and yanked her to a stop. She pulled and tugged, mindless and blind in her panic, kicking out and wriggling to make it harder to hold on to her.
“Stop it!”
The command only galvanized her. She twisted, but the man’s fingers tightened, and he shook her. Realizing she’d closed them, Weslyn opened her eyes. And nearly threw up.
Donor A-00176. He was as big as she’d thought, all those months ago when she’d picked his picture from a book. She would know him anywhere, no matter that she’d never met him before. How could she not know? She’d chosen him based on his looks, and had dreamed of having a baby that, perhaps, would look just like him. She’d been haunted by his eyes, his silver-green eyes that held a wealth of kindness and laughter, though just then they were hard, cold and unforgiving.
Until his gaze dropped to her stomach. Then his eyes softened to silver and the expression within them warmed a hundred degrees. The panic racing through her morphed into some tingling thing Weslyn couldn’t identify.
“Are you pregnant?”
“What?” Weslyn literally felt every drop of blood drain from her face.
The man flashed a badge. Weslyn’s rioting innards bottomed out, then apparently bounced, choking her with new fear. She struggled to breathe, even as she desperately wished the man would let her go.
Didn’t she? Of course, she wanted him to stop touching her. She didn’t like to be touched, and the stranger’s—the donor’s—hand on her skin was making all the anxiety Weslyn fought against ten times worse.
Her elbow was too hot, with those strange tingles echoing out from the point of contact and swirling down to numb her fingers. Her heart slammed against her breastbone and spots were dancing in front of her eyes. Her lower belly felt too heavy.
“Weslyn Moon.” He hauled her closer to his body, finally stilling her struggles with sheer intimidation. And the scent of his subtle cologne. His eyes hardened to emeralds. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Y-you have?” She was surprised she could speak through the iron lock on her lungs.
“Four fucking months,” he snarled. “There isn’t a goddamned thing I don’t know about you, except one. Are you pregnant with my child?”
Somehow, someway, she managed to lift her chin, in spite of the agony moving through her. “No.”
His lip lifted. “Then why the fuck do you have a box of baby clothes and diapers under your bed?”
“I’d hoped…” she stammered. “But…no.”
His eyes narrowed, but before she could decode the emotion in his glare, he spun her around. Again she struggled, and was quickly subdued in a textbook hold that pinned her arms behind her back. He leaned against her spine, his chin digging into her shoulder as he looked down her body. She heard him growl in her ear.
Weslyn bit off a strangled scream and wriggled hopelessly as his hand swept down her torso. He burrowed under her shirt and stroked back up, gentle against the smooth skin of her flat belly.
A hot hand, sensation streaking over the pathways of her long-deprived nerves. Weslyn held her breath as the warmth traveled up her body in a wave that pulled at her sensitive nipples. They pulsed, but she ignored them, choosing to pretend it was fear that had gotten them so hard—poking out and throbbing painfully.
She had a harder time dismissing the way the wave of sensation traveled lower, centering between her legs until she squirmed. Her ass rubbed over the bulge pressing between her cheeks and Weslyn fought to stand still.
“You’re so goddamned skinny you’d probably be nine fucking months along before you started showing,” the man rumbled harshly. “There’s no telling. But I’m going to find out the truth, one way or another.”
Weslyn closed her eyes, and prayed to a god she no longer believed in.
The pseudo-doctors at the Express Emergency Clinic jumped into action at the first sight of the donor’s badge. They scurried like ants in every direction, rushing Weslyn and her unwanted escort into an empty room, then wheeling in a cart with all sorts of gadgets and gizmos on it.
When a woman in a white coat came in, the man produced his badge again. “I’m Agent Nolan Findley with the FBI.”
“Oh, God,” Weslyn groaned. It was the first she’d heard his name, or his place of employment, as she hadn’t stopped to examine his credentials before. She started to lean forward, but her hands were cuffed behind her and shifting them caused some pain in her shoulders. She sat uncomfortably hunched—keeping as straight as possible while trying to hide her face in her collar.
“She needs an ultrasound to determine if she’s pregnant,” he continued. “This is connected to a case.”
The P.A.’s mouth worked for a minute, then she nodded. “Well, your, um… suspect… should be able to lie down. So… the handcuffs have to come off.”
Weslyn held her breath, but Agent Findley was not an easy dupe. He scanned their surroundings, paying close attention to the exam table. Weslyn felt a vicious spurt of amusement at the frustrated defeat that crossed his face—the table had nothing to handcuff her to. But then Findley’s lips tilted up in a smile that sent a nervous flutter through Weslyn’s stomach and he pulled the cuff key from his pocket.
He was too close as he released her. Once she was free, he only got closer—his hands smoothing over her wrists and pulling them above her head, even as he pushed her back on the table. He was practically lying on top of her, his body’s heat radiating out to cover her like a blanket. Her nipples rose again, tightening under his warmth in a way that seemed impossible considering the room’s air conditioning.
Weslyn couldn’t breathe. Every nerve and muscle in her body went taut and seemed to rise up toward the heat. Seeking contact. She stared up into silver-green eyes and struggled to pull in oxygen through her parted lips. His nostrils flared and the emotion in his stare sharpened, then his gaze dropped to her mouth.
“Why me, Moon?” he whispered.
She rolled her lips between her teeth and closed her eyes. A few heartbeats passed before his fingers shifted, her arms were tugged a little straighter, and the soft click of the handcuffs echoed in her ears. She opened her eyes and tilted her head back—partly in relief as he moved away and partly in curiosity—to see that he’d secured her to a piece of medical equipment that was fastened to the wall.
Findley took up a position at her head that told Weslyn he wasn’t entirely certain the equipment would hold her, but she wasn’t stupid. There was nowhere for her to run just then, no way to get out before the physician’s assistant or Findley could grab her. No, it was best to bide her time, and see what she could accomplish later, when his guard was down.
The physician’s assistant started fiddling with the box on the cart. “Have you had an ultrasound before?”
Weslyn didn’t answer. There was no need to make things easier for her captor.
“I need you to unbutton your pants and pull up your shirt,” the woman said.
“How should I do that?” Weslyn asked sweetly.
Findley grunted. In a similarly honeyed tone of voice, he answered, “Here, let me help.”
Weslyn’s eyes flew wide. “Shouldn’t she—”
“No.” He smiled. “I’ll do it.”
Weslyn held very, very still as Findley reached for her waistband. Hot fingers scalded her stomach as he grabbed the material, his knuckles trailed over her skin as he wrestled the button free. Her throat closed at the sound of her zipper rasping down, the flow of cool air brushing over her as Findley separated the denim flaps and adjusted her underwear accordingly. Wesl
yn was certain he tugged her jeans a little lower just for spite.
Then he turned his attention to her shirt. He could have grasped the fabric and simply pulled it up, but instead he’d done as he had in her motel room. His palms flattened on her lower belly with just a hint of pressure, and yet, when he stroked upward, his touch was extremely gentle. And disconcerting.
The tension between them thickened.
Heat surged and her breath broke, but Weslyn managed not to arch her spine any more than it already was. Findley’s eyes were silver, his lips taut. Weslyn looked past him to focus all her attention on the P.A., but the woman was studiously bent over the ultrasound machine. Though her cheeks blazed red, the physician’s assistant made no move to stop Nolan from caressing his prisoner.
Finally the woman cleared her throat and turned around. “All ready? Great. This might be a little cold.”
The slick, thick fluid plopped onto Weslyn’s belly, making her wince. Then the woman pressed the probe to her stomach and the sound of her baby’s heartbeat filled the room. So did Nolan’s gasp. Weslyn closed her eyes.
5
Nolan groped for the edge of the exam table and slid onto it without looking down. He shook too badly to remain standing and he refused to tear his eyes from the computer screen attached to the ultrasound probe. His lungs felt as if they were turning inside out, and yet his heart felt lighter than air.
The computer screen showed nothing but some arching greenish lines, ever-changing as the woman swept the wand over Moon’s stomach in slow passes. But the rapid heartbeat of the baby filled Nolan’s ears, his mind, his gut… He gritted his teeth and held on to his composure by his fingernails.
The woman found the fetus quickly—a blob had never looked so miraculous to Nolan. He shuddered and dragged in enough oxygen to keep from passing out, but he didn’t dare blink in case he missed something. In the next moment, the physician’s assistant moved her hand, and Nolan distinctly made out the head, the body of his child. Another shift showed him the baby’s spine and leg bones.
“What—” He cleared his throat. “What is that dark, fluttery thing?”
“The heart.”
“The heart,” he repeated quietly. He covered his own as it picked up its pace. “Oh, hell.”
Another moment went by in relative silence. The only sound was the magnified heartbeat of the fetus, but Nolan drank it into his senses and held it close.
“Can you…” Moon moved, making the handcuffs clink softly. “Um, can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”
Nolan tensed, but the woman shook her head. “It’s not in the right position to see the sex,” she told them.
A splash of disappointment quickly faded, as Nolan caught sight of the outline of a foot. The little heart fluttered, the physician’s assistant indicated all the measurements were normal, and also validated the timeline of conception, with a due date perfectly in line with what Nolan had already estimated. All in all, everything seemed as it should, and Nolan’s relief vastly outweighed his desire to know if Moon carried his son or his daughter.
The woman moved the probe again. “I think you should schedule an appointment for a transvaginal ultrasound to make sure everything’s as it should be. We don’t have the equipment here, we’re mostly looking at people’s runny noses, you know? But you should call your GP or, um, the prison doctors and—”
“I’ve already had one,” Moon mumbled. “I went to the South Shore Women’s Health Center when I was eight weeks along. They told me we could schedule another ultrasound for later in my pregnancy.”
“Women’s Health Center… That’s how I found you.” Nolan finally tore his gaze away from the computer screen and looked down at the criminal who had changed his entire life. She was still staring at the image of their child, her unremarkable face softened into a madonna’s rapture.
Beyond beautiful, and it made him furious. “It took all this time to track you down after you stole my baby. And it is mine, isn’t it, Moon?”
The physician’s assistant looked up, her gaze bouncing between Nolan and Weslyn. Her eyebrows lifted and her mouth worked. It seemed the woman had as much trouble breathing as he did, then she tossed the exam equipment aside and jumped off her stool. “I’ll just go get your…um…some paperwork.”
Nolan ignored the woman as she fled, didn’t even flinch at the slamming of the door. He simply leaned closer to Moon and glared into her eyes.
When he’d found her in her dingy motel room, he’d been prepared for the quiet, cautious mouse. He’d even been prepared for her to run or fight or lie. All survival skills he was sure she’d learned at some point during her tragic childhood. It was no wonder that she’d done her best to fade into the background—no makeup, few rash movements, even fewer words. Her silence was carefully crafted to make him forget about her.
She was unforgettable. Even barring her theft of his semen sample, Nolan knew he would never have been able to look past Moon, in any circumstance. He was compelled to stand close, where her hidden energy seared his skin. She was more than he ever expected. Quiet, yes. Cautious, certainly. Plain—only to a blind man. Sweet, wholesome and standard for all-American prettiness, of course…but her eyes glowed like an angel’s, all-knowing and all-watching.
He’d felt sucker-punched the moment she’d turned those neon blue orbs up to him. Terror shone from their depths. He hadn’t been able to see them clearly in any of the video footage, and the photos didn’t come close to doing them justice. But, no matter the emotion uppermost in them—and that had ranged from fear to wonder, in the short time he’d been in her company—her eyes still held a watchful quality, as if she’d seen it all, hoped for better, but steeled herself against further disappointment.
Long-seeing, long-suffering eyes. Eyes Nolan felt certain no woman should ever have. They stared down into his soul and twisted him up inside, making him want things he refused to contemplate during the frustrating months he’d searched for her and researched her. As a man, as a law enforcement agent, the secrets that made Moon’s eyes glow formed a knife that slashed at his gut and his conscience.
Just then, her glare rivaled robin’s eggs, under the overhead lights. She was trapped, at his mercy, though Nolan wondered what would happen if she gave a good tug against the equipment he’d secured her to. Her breathing, rather than speeding up, remained slow and steady, her lips were pressed together tightly. But her eyes were wide and expectant.
“Did my wife hire you?”
The air exploded from her mouth. “Wife?”
“Ex.” Nolan could see from her expression that she’d had no thoughts of him being married. She didn’t know his ex, wasn’t hired by her to be a surrogate for the child they hadn’t been able to conceive together. Just as his ex-wife had maintained for four, long months.
“Shit.” As suddenly as it rose, Nolan’s anger fled. He dragged a hand over his face and sat on the edge of the exam table again, lower this time, next to Moon’s hip. He placed his hand to the side of her belly-button and breathed deep. “Why me?”
Her throat worked, she answered in a thin, little voice that shook the slightest amount. “I liked the way you looked.”
“The way I…” He shook his head. “Why?”
“You had kindness in your eyes. I’d like for my child to be kind.” Her lower lip trembled, but she continued on gamely. “There’s enough ugly in the world.”
His heart clenched. “Yeah, and you’ve seen it all, haven’t you? I’ve read your file, Moon. Hell, I made your file.”
She closed her eyes. “Mmm.”
“You were lonely, weren’t you?” He couldn’t help but prod her. “And now you’re just another woman looking for her last chance at being loved. You think a child will love you unconditionally, filling all the holes your father created so long ago, right?”
She didn’t answer, not that he expected her to.
“But why knock over a sperm bank, Moon? Why? Why not just pick some guy up at a bar
for a one-night stand? The odds of conception would have been higher.”
“Nineteen percent was enough,” she muttered. “Besides, I didn’t want to touch anyone.”
“Yeah, and now look at you.” Nolan glanced down at her exposed stomach, and the blue-tinged goop smeared across it. He reached out to snag a handful of paper towels from the dispenser hung over the trash can across from the table. As gently as he could, he cleaned her up, hoping to buy himself some time while he thought of what he would do.
He had to take her in. She was wanted, a fugitive. He couldn’t let her go. Besides, she’d have access to better prenatal care locked up than she would as a free woman, and the health of his miracle baby was very important to Nolan. But what to do later, after she had it, stymied him. DNA tests to prove paternity, a round of interviews with Child Protective Services to gain custody…
She’d gone through an awful lot of trouble to conceive, but no way in hell would Nolan give up his child. He traced a pale scar that edged around her side toward her back as he tried to plot his next step.
Moon’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You want this baby… Don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can’t have it!” Her sweet, ordinary face became marred by a harsh expression of such ferocity Nolan blinked. He hadn’t thought his little mouse could be so fierce.
Acting on impulse, he bent over Moon and placed his ear against her belly. He couldn’t hear the child within, but he imagined he could. Joy swept through him and he struggled to tamp it down, blinking to clear the sudden moisture from his eyes. On the heels of that, some new emotion gripped him—he didn’t know what, but it was sharper than anger and harder than the protective instincts already kicking in.
“You’re mine, and I will never let you go,” he breathed over her belly. But, in that moment, as he raised his head to look up into the neon glare of his prisoner, he wasn’t sure if he was talking to his baby, or to Weslyn Moon.