Confiscated Conception

by Delores Fossen

  Rachel expected to see some sort of battle going on in his golden-brown eyes. But there was no battle. No hesitation. And that sent a wild rush through her.

  He moved his hand away.

  She needed to do something, to say something to make this situation better. But nothing good came to mind. Unfortunately, something bad did.

  She didn't move her hand.

  "Rachel," he warned.

  "You put it there." She'd meant to make it sound arrogant, but there was nothing arrogant about her tone, her touch. Or especially her mood.

  And Jared reacted.

  He leaned in, slowly, and touched his mouth to hers. She'd braced herself for a full assault like the one in the car, but this was an assault of a different kind. Just as potent. Just as arousing. Just as lethal. Her body suddenly felt as if it were about to burn from the inside out.

  "We used to be good at this," he reminded her, his mouth moving like silk over hers.

  It took her a moment to find her breath. "We apparently still are."

  With that affirmation, he went back for seconds. His mouth was warm. Possessive. Thorough. And welcome. He went lower, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth. He went lower still and used that clever mouth on her throat. On her pulse. On that much-too-sensitive spot just below her ear.

  Without stopping the kiss, he released his grip and slid his fingers along her arm. To her breast. He eased down the makeshift toga. A fraction.

  But it was just enough.

  She whimpered when his lips pressed against the swell of her right breast. She cried out when he circled her nipple with his tongue. By the time he had taken her into his mouth, Rachel had all but collapsed against him.

  She begged for mercy.

  She begged for more.

  He gave her both.

  Jared gave her other breast the same attention. The same tongue kiss. The same fire bath. Then, he repositioned the sheet to cover her and eased away. Not easily. And only after a couple of hard breaths and a throat clearing. But he eventually eased away from her.

  "Nice toga," he managed to say. Again, not easily. But he finally got out the words. "Now, wasn't that more relaxing than pacing the floor or straightening a stack of magazines?"

  She couldn't answer right away. "I'd say so."

  "Liar."

  The corner of his mouth eased up ever so slightly, but he didn't put that lethal, sexy grin to work—something that would have caused her to push things just to see how far they would go. Instead, he helped her into bed and tucked her in.

  "Sleep tight, Rachel."

  Not a chance. Not with her worries about the baby, Esterman and Livingston. Not with this renewed attraction she felt for Jared.

  No, a restful night's sleep probably wasn't in the cards for her tonight. Still, Rachel snuggled deep into the covers and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  All they had to do was literally walk in the place. No one was home because Donald Livingston had already left for work. Tanner's people had deactivated the security system, unlocked the doors, and had even done an infrared scan to make sure the house was empty.

  It was.

  So why didn't all those precautions make Jared feel even marginally better?

  He stood behind a row of stately white pillars on the back porch, his hand on the door and Rachel by his side. He contemplated the uneasy feeling that had settled in his stomach. Maybe it was from lack of sleep, even though both Rachel and he had managed to get a couple of hours of much-needed rest. Maybe the uneasiness was simply because they were at the residence of the man who might have the child. Or maybe it was nothing at all.

  "Is something wrong?" Rachel whispered.

  Highly probable, but that wasn't what he said to her. "Everything's fine." And while Jared was doling out assurances, he tried to convince himself—again—that they were doing the right thing.

  He wished that Rachel weren't with him for this one, but the alternative was leaving her in the hotel room with Tanner. That might help lessen the uneasy feeling, but it'd rile the hell out of her. With reason. She had as much right to do this as he did.

  Even if it went against his gut feeling.

  His instincts were to protect her, especially now, to shield her from the things that might hurt her. But Jared was quickly learning that Rachel no longer wanted that from him. It was possible she never had. Maybe it was something he'd assumed she wanted—and needed.

  He was quickly learning that he'd been wrong about a lot of things when it came to her.

  "Is this a good time to remind you to focus on what we're supposed to be doing?" Rachel grumbled, obviously impatient that they were still lurking around outside Livingston's house. "The sun's starting to rise, and I'd rather not wait out here much longer."

  Jared pushed her impatience aside and listened one last time for something he didn't hear. No footsteps. No whispered sounds. No indication whatsoever that there was anyone else on the property.

  Hoping the uneasy feeling was just a fluke, but not totally dismissing it, either, Jared opened the door and got them inside.

  "I need to find Livingston's computer," Rachel reminded him.

  He certainly hadn't forgotten that. It was the main reason they were here. If the warden had left any incriminating evidence, the computer was their best bet. But now, to find it. The house was sprawling, and it would take hours just to search the place.

  Making their way through the kitchen, they meandered through a series of rooms before they located an office. Rachel didn't waste any time. She sat at the desk and got to work while Jared had a look around.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The room was utilitarian with coffee-colored paneling and lots of filled bookshelves. There were plaques and framed awards neatly arranged on the mantel above a stone fireplace. One award from the mayor. Another, from the chief of police. From all appearances, Livingston was a model citizen.

  But something about it didn't ring right.

  He was almost too model.

  There were two doors leading off the room. One led to a covered patio area and beyond that was a swimming pool. Jared eased open the other door to Livingston's bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was large. And perfect. The four-poster bed was made with precision. The matching throw rugs were straight. No scattered clothing. The only sign that it wasn't a static display was the glass of water on the nightstand next to the bed.

  Livingston was obviously a perfectionist. Not good. Attention to detail wasn't an asset that Jared wanted in a suspect. He'd take a sloppy opportunist any day.

  "Stay put," he told Rachel. "I'll look around in the bedroom."

  "Wait, I might have found something already."

  Jared quickly crossed the room to the oversize desk. Rachel was searching through the "Sent Items" folder in Livingston's e-mail inbox.

  "Livingston has his defaults set so that his computer automatically saves a copy of each message that he sends out. It's a break for us and an even bigger break that he hasn't deleted them."

  She pointed out a pair of messages sent to a Dr. Randall Sheridan. But it wasn't just the word Doctor that garnered Jared's attention. It was the dates. Livingston had sent the messages exactly one week ago.

  The date the baby was probably born.

  Rachel opened the first message. It was short and sweet. "'Inform me when procedure is complete and the outcome,'" she read aloud. She clicked onto the next one. "'Payment for your services will arrive by courier.'"

  "Payment," Jared repeated.

  He glanced at the time difference between the messages. A little over two hours. That was most likely enough time for Dr. Sheridan to have completed the C-section and given Livingston the news. Of course, it was entirely possible that this message thread had nothing to do with Sasha Young or the baby.

  But Jared's gut instincts said otherwise.

  "Go ahead and have a look around the rest of the house," Rachel insisted. "I'll see if I can retrieve the messages tha
t the doctor sent to Livingston."

  It was a good idea, but Jared didn't intend to get too far away from Rachel. He left her to do her e-mail search and went back into the adjoining bedroom. If Livingston had left what might be critical information on his computer, he might have left it elsewhere, too.

  Jared checked the drawer of the nightstand, but it was empty except for some generic-brand condoms. Even though he tried to stave off the thoughts, the condoms reminded him of sex.

  And Rachel.

  But, of course, he hadn't really needed the condoms to ignite any memories or lustful thoughts. In the past twenty-four hours, despite fatigue, danger and the harrowing search for the child, he'd thought about sex a lot.

  And Rachel.

  Once this was behind them, he really needed to sit down and figure out what they were going to do about, well, everything. Whatever they'd thought was over between them had certainly gotten a second wind. It had for him, anyway, and he was almost certain Rachel felt the same. Especially after that toga incident. But the real issue was—would either of them be willing to take the kind of risk necessary to jump into another relationship?

  Again, he relied on his gut feeling. After those toga kisses, just about anything was possible.

  Forcing his attention back to his search, Jared glanced into the small, color-coordinated trash can that was near the massive walk-in closet.

  Nothing.

  The closet itself didn't look promising either. Shoes, clothes and ties in such perfect arrangement that it made Jared shake his head. Still, he rifled through the shelves to make sure nothing had been tucked out of sight.

  He had just pulled aside a stack of crisp white undershirts when he heard the sound.

  A click.

  Just a click.

  And then Jared's worst fears came true. Because the click was the sound of a door opening.

  Not in the bedroom.

  But in the office where Rachel was still working on the computer.

  Drawing his weapon, Jared quietly rushed to the door and peered into the bedroom. Empty. He hurried to the entrance to the office, and the second he made it there, the lights in that particular room flared on. He caught just a glimpse of the snow-haired man coming in through the patio.

  Donald Livingston had apparently come home.

  Hell.

  "I just have to change my clothes," he said to someone. "I won't be long."

  Silently cursing himself and their rotten luck, Jared frantically glanced around the office and finally spotted Rachel beneath the desk. She looked terrified but was unharmed. Thank God.

  From Livingston's angle, he wouldn't be able to see her. Well, hopefully not. But that might not last. Besides, Jared knew he was in a highly visible spot if Livingston came into the bedroom.

  Jared debated just latching onto Livingston and holding him at gunpoint so Rachel could escape, but he had no idea who was on the other side of that patio door. If it was a hired thug, Rachel would be in more danger than she was now.

  He motioned for Rachel to stay quiet, and then scrambled beneath the bed so he could still see the corner of the desk in the office. God knows how long it would take the man to change his clothes, but Jared hoped Livingston would do it immediately and get the devil out of there.

  Livingston strolled into the bedroom, his pricey leather shoes whispering over the thick platinum-colored rug. And then—damn it—he shut the door.

  Jared choked back a wave of fear and concentrated on listening for Rachel. If the other visitor came into the office and spotted her, Jared would almost certainly hear her react. And then he'd get to her, no matter what that took.

  Even if it meant going through Livingston first.

  Jared pulled in his breath, kept his gun ready and braced himself for whatever was about to happen.

  * * *

  OH GOD.

  She'd barely made it under the desk in time. Another second, and Livingston would have seen her at his computer. She prayed he wouldn't look in the direction of the monitor, because he would notice that it had been turned on.

  This was obviously one of those worst-case scenarios that Jared was always talking about. At least, that's what Rachel thought when Livingston slipped into his bedroom and shut the door.

  She was so wrong.

  The worst was yet to come.

  Almost immediately she heard another sound. The rattle of a doorknob a split second before it opened, and it wasn't the one from the bedroom where Livingston had just entered. It was the one that led from the patio, and that sound sent Rachel's heart to her throat.

  Someone strolled into the office. She'd known Livingston was talking to someone outside, but Rachel had prayed the other person wouldn't come in. But not only was this person in the house, but the sound of footsteps seemed to be coming straight for the desk.

  Rachel squeezed herself as far back as she could go. Drawing her knees against her chest, she tried not to make a sound. She tried not to breathe, hoping Jared would stay put, as well. She didn't even want to speculate about what would happen if he came bursting out of that bedroom with a gun in his hand.

  The footsteps stopped. Directly in front of her. And she saw the visitor's legs. It was a man wearing dress slacks, and he was so close she could have reached out and touched him.

  She pressed her fingertips to her mouth. And waited. She didn't have to wait long. He moved quickly. Away from the front of the desk. Behind it.

  Behind her.

  "Mind telling me what you're doing down there?" the man snarled.

  The sound that she'd choked back escaped as a small, barely audible gasp. A thousand thoughts went through her head. None good. But she forced herself not to panic. Maybe she could defuse this situation so Jared wouldn't have to use his gun.

  Praying, Rachel crawled out from beneath the desk and looked up at him. Whoever he was, he was huge and towered over her. A wide face, hulking shoulders, and a thick head of cropped blond curls.

  However, it wasn't just his physical appearance that sent her heart pounding. It was the shoulder holster and gun she saw beneath his open jacket. That coupled with his mere presence would have been enough to scare her, but it was only the beginning. Her gaze landed on his name tag.

  Sergeant Colby Meredith.

  This was the very person that Jared suspected of being a leak in the department, and he was also likely on Esterman's payroll.

  Now, this was a worst-case scenario.

  Rachel somehow got to her feet. How, she didn't know. Her whole body suddenly felt as sturdy as cotton balls, and there was a shiver going up her spine. If she'd been an animal in the wild, she'd have run for cover immediately because her every instinct was telling her that she was in danger.

  "I'm Mr. Livingston's new cleaning lady," she managed to say. "It's my first day on the job."

  "Oh. And what were you doing under the desk—looking for dust bunnies?" His voice was a throaty growl, and his icy gray eyes matched that tone.

  Good question. Rachel said the first thing that came to mind. "I didn't think anyone was supposed to be here so I got scared when I heard you come in. I thought maybe you were a burglar."

  God, could she possibly sound wimpier? She would never convince him to back off if she didn't put up a better front. Rachel hiked up her chin and tried to look as if she belonged there.

  It didn't work.

  The step that Meredith took toward her put a serious dent in what little fight she had managed to assemble. All she could think of was Jared and the baby. If Meredith was the one who killed Aaron Merkens, then he probably wouldn't show much mercy to Jared or a child.

  Rachel caught the edge of the desk to steady herself. The last thing she wanted to do was faint, but by God she felt a dizzy spell coming on. Still, she didn't let that dizziness turn her to mush. She instinctively knew she had to show some backbone or things might quickly get out of hand.

  "I'm leaving," Rachel said with authority that she certainly didn't feel. She f
ought all the old demons, the old fears from her parents' deaths. "I'll come back after Mr. Livingston is at work."

  Meredith caught her arm.

  Because she had nothing else to rely on, Rachel went on pure instinct. She shoved his hand away and again tried to go around him. She had nearly made it to the patio door before Meredith snagged her arm again. His fingers dug into her skin. It hurt, and she winced in pain.

  That did it. Rachel gave up any pretense that this would end with placid requests. "You're asking for a knee in the groin, mister."

  Inching his body closer, he trapped her against the door. "Don't you think I know what you're doing?"

  As threatening as that sounded, she preferred that to his knowing who she was. She hoped he thought she was a thief. Now, the real question was how she could get away from him without Jared having to use his gun.

  "It was stupid for you to come here," Meredith insisted. "Dillard didn't do a very good job of protecting his woman, did he? But his stupidity is my gain."

  He knew.

  God, he knew.

  Meredith pushed harder, and Rachel felt the sting of his hand on her arm. She'd have bruises, but she prayed that was all she'd have. It didn't help that he loomed over her and outweighed her by a good seventy-five pounds.

  She could feel the rage in him. And he was ready to unleash it all on her. Since this could easily turn into a fight for her life, Rachel lunged for a glass paperweight on the desk.

  Meredith beat her to it, and knocked it out of reach.

  Rachel tore herself away from him, but before she could put some distance between them, he latched onto a handful of her hair. With seemingly no effort Meredith shoved her face-first against the wall.

  "You really shouldn't have done that," she said through clenched teeth.

  She hadn't wanted to fight him, but she wouldn't stand there while he beat the heck out of her, either. Rachel pivoted, fully intending to send his reproductive organs right into his throat, but with a flash of motion, he drew his gun.

  And aimed it right at her.

  Her reaction was instant. Something she couldn't stop. Something beyond fear. Something raw, primal and totally beyond her control. Rachel felt every muscle in her body turn to iron. Her breath froze in her lungs.