by Rebecca York
He held out his hand to her, and Amanda joined him in the other chair facing the doctor. He kept his strong fingers curled around hers.
“I was telling Mr. Cunningham, everything is fine. Your blood pressure is normal. No protein in your urine, no abnormal water retention, and the baby is developing normally. Do you have any questions?’’
She felt Matt’s fingers tighten on hers. “Well, my wife and I have a pretty active sex life, which neither one of us wants to curtail because of her pregnancy. I’d like to make sure that there’s no problem with that.’’
Her cheeks reddened, but Dr. Stalton seemed to take no notice.
Briskly, he said, “I always tell couples sexual relations during pregnancy are good for their emotional well-being. You just want to make sure not to put any undue pressure on the uterus.’’
Matt stretched out his legs, crossing them comfortably at the ankles. “And oral sex is all right?’’ he asked, making her go a shade redder.
“Yes,’’ the doctor answered, keeping his voice even as he recited a few clinical details that made her sink lower in her chair.
As soon as they were in the elevator, she turned to him, her eyes flashing. “Were you trying to embarrass me in there?’’ she demanded.
“No. I was trying to make sure that the things I’ve been wanting to do with you are okay for you and the baby. So now I know,’’ he whispered, his lips playing with her mouth as his hand slid over the roundness of her tummy.
They reached the parking level, and the door opened again, exposing their activity to a mother with two little girls in tow.
“Mommy, that lady’s pregnant,’’ one of the girls remarked loudly.
“And he’s kissing her,’’ the other one added.
Amanda barreled out of the elevator. Matt followed at a more leisurely pace, and she could hear him laughing behind her.
As soon as they were in the car, he pulled her close again, explaining in very erotic terms exactly what he was going to do with her when he got her back to the apartment.
LATER, AS THEY LAY IN BED, sated, she figured there wouldn’t be a better time to bring up a topic she knew was going to be explosive.
“You’ve been investigating Dexter Perkins. And I get the feeling you haven’t found out too much,’’ she began. “Like whether or not he could have ordered a hit on Francetti.’’
“Perkins is pretty circumspect about his business and his personal life. He’s shut down his drug lab and he’s running scared—of someone. If I had to guess, I’d say he was too much of a wuss to go after Francetti.’’
“Well, I was thinking about a more direct approach to getting information out of him. Kind of like what you did in Las Vegas, only you can’t be the one to do it, because your face is known.’’
“What exactly did you have in mind?’’ he asked cautiously.
“What if I go to him and tell him that I’m carrying Colin’s baby, and I’m desperate to know what happened to the father of my child?’’
Chapter Thirteen
Matt’s face contorted. “Absolutely not!’’
“You said I was a good actress.’’
“That has nothing to do with it. I’m not going to let you do anything dangerous.’’
“But we both know it’s dangerous to stay here in L.A. while you investigate Perkins. We need to be away from the city—somewhere we won’t see too many people.’’
He scowled at her again, but she saw he’d taken the point.
Fluffing up the pillows, he propped himself against the headboard, his toes playing with her knee under the covers. “Okay, let’s hear your crazy idea so I can point out the flaws.’’
She gave him a steely look, moved her knee away, then fixed her own pillows, pulling the covers over her breasts as she sat up.
“Still modest?’’ he asked, his voice silky. “We’re going to have to do some more training exercises.’’
She ignored his blatant attempt to change the subject and said, “You told me that Perkins eats in public places—a half-dozen different restaurants near his apartment. What if we find out which one he’s at tomorrow for supper? I can go in, let him see my belly, make him feel sorry for a poor woman with no father for her child.’’
Matt considered the idea. When he said, “All right,’’ she almost rolled off the bed in shock.
“All right? Just like that?’’
“Yeah, ’cause the only way you’re going into any restaurant with Perkins is if I’m with you.’’
“That will spoil the whole thing!’’
“I don’t mean we need to be holding hands. You can walk in alone. If Perkins is there, I’ll already be sitting at a table nearby.’’
“Thank you.’’
“Don’t thank me yet. We’re going to go over some scenarios and contingency plans so you’ll be prepared for anything that comes up. If I tell you to get up and duck out the back way, I expect you to do it without argument.’’
She saluted. “Yes, sir.’’
He gave her a considering look. “Are you taking me seriously?’’
“Yes.’’
“Then let me fill you in on everything I know about his background. Then we’ll start going over some ground rules.’’
BUD LOGAN WAS TIRED of waiting around Las Vegas. He’d dropped a thousand dollars in the casino downstairs and come up to his room in disgust. He was lying on the bed in his hotel room drinking vodka and orange juice and watching a porno movie when the phone rang.
“What do you want?’’ he barked.
“We have the information you sent.’’
Instantly his attitude changed. “Good.’’
He glanced at the clock. It was ten-thirty in the evening. But that wasn’t late for a Las Vegas business deal—not in the city that was open twenty-four hours a day. “When do I get the money?’’
“Right now, if that will be satisfactory.’’
Bud let the air slowly ooze out of his lungs so that the man on the other end of the line wouldn’t hear his relief. He’d been hanging around for days, wondering what the hell was going on, trying not to worry that his delicate negotiations were going to fall apart. Now he knew that everything was coming up roses.
“We have a man down in the lobby. Can you meet him?’’
“Of course,’’ Bud answered. Standing up, he jammed his feet into his loafers and looked down at his knit shirt. The color was dark, so it would probably do. Besides, this wasn’t some kind of social call.
“How will I know your guy?’’ he asked.
“He’s got your description. He’ll find you.’’
“Oh. Right.’’
He was in the lobby in ten minutes, looking around as a man in a chauffeur’s uniform marched up to him.
“Mr. Logan?’’ he asked deferentially.
“Right here.’’
“Follow me. I have a car waiting.’’
As Bud stepped outside, he thought that it still felt as if it was over ninety degrees, even this late in the evening. But the air-conditioned white Mercedes immediately eliminated any discomfort.
Leaning back in the seat, he watched the brightly lit hotels flash by. “Where are we going?’’ he asked as they headed up the strip toward the outskirts of the city.
“My employers want this meeting to be private.’’
“Understood,’’ Bud acknowledged crisply.
They cleared the city limits, then headed into the desert. Bud watched Joshua trees and cacti drift past in the moonlight, wondering where the rendezvous would be.
When the car turned off the highway, he sat up straighter, straining his eyes to see at the farthest edge of the headlight beam. But there were no other cars in sight.
“Hey, where are we going?’’ he asked, his voice suddenly querulous. “Did my brother Roy send you? Are you working for him?’’
“No’’ the driver assured him, pulling to a stop beside the unpaved track.
A lie? He looked wildl
y around, assessing the desolate setting. It would be just Roy’s style to set up something funny out here in the desert.
His eyes flicked back to the driver and saw the man had a gun in his hand.
Frantically Bud reached for the door handle, but he never made it out of the car.
IT WASN’T JUST WORRY about the confrontation with Perkins that had Amanda’s nerves twanging as she waited outside a restaurant called La Mesa, on La Mesa Road. Matt had laid down so many rules that she was having trouble remembering them all.
He’d warned her that it might take a couple of tries to get the restaurant location right, since he couldn’t stake out all of them by himself. But they’d hit it lucky on the second try. Perkins had pulled into the parking lot and gotten out of his car fifteen minutes after they’d arrived.
He was in his early twenties, already starting to bald and apparently as nervous as she was, Amanda noted.
“If he’s so jumpy, why does he go out at all?’’ Amanda asked as they watched him cross the parking lot.
“I guess he can’t stand being cooped up all the time. And he probably figures that nothing can happen to him in a public restaurant—he’s not going to be executed mob-style.’’
“Let’s hope not,’’ Amanda murmured.
Matt waited five minutes, then followed Perkins in. Five minutes after that, Amanda sat down at one of the outside tables where diners could eat under a wooden arbor shaded by flowering vines. Picking up a greasy corn chip, she dipped it in the bowl of salsa, feeling her stomach roil with indigestion. But she needed to do something to occupy her hands and mind.
It was still early for dinner, and through the arched window she could see that the place was about a quarter full. Matt sat about ten feet from her, at a heavy wooden table for two. Their quarry occupied a similar table about eight feet from Matt. Most of the rest of the diners were farther back in another section.
Muscles tensed, she waited for Matt to give her the signal to come inside. He’d been in there forever, and she was still on the outside looking in.
Then he dropped his napkin on the floor and reached to pick it up. That was the sign they’d agreed on. Laying down the corn chip, she pushed back her chair so quickly that it clattered backward, and she had to grab it to keep it from tipping over.
Nervously she smoothed out her dress. It was cornflower-blue, with a high waist that accented her pregnancy, making her look both vulnerable and pretty. She’d never thought much about trying to look pretty until Matt had started picking her clothes. Now she was starting to enjoy her femininity.
Would pretty and vulnerable do anything for Perkins? she wondered as she watched the hostess approach her.
“I’m meeting a friend here,’’ she said, “and I thought we were supposed to wait for each other on the patio. But I finally realized that he’s already here—at a table.’’ She gestured toward Perkins, who was sitting with his back to her. “So I’ll just go join him.’’
The hostess nodded, stepping aside, and Amanda started toward the dining area, heart pounding. She kept her eyes away from Matt, who appeared to be looking down at his plate, although she knew he was recording her every move.
Stopping beside the chemist’s table, she waited while he bit off a piece of taco and chewed. His looks defined the word nerd down to the plastic pocket protector filled with pens adorning his dirty white shirt, which looked as if he’d been sleeping in it for the past week. Although the body odor coming off him in waves almost made her gag, she kept her place.
He looked up at her inquiringly, his eyes focusing on her face, then her bulging middle, then her face again. “You want something?’’
“May I sit down? I feel so tired when I have to stay on my feet these days,’’ she said. Without waiting for permission, she pulled out the chair opposite him and plopped down.
“You’re interrupting my dinner.’’
“I know. But I’ll only take a minute of your time,’’ she answered, putting an undercurrent of desperation in her voice, but not pushing too hard, lest he complain to the management.
He was already looking apprehensive as she added, “It’s a very delicate matter.’’
“Yeah?’’
“My boyfriend and I were going to get married. But he was killed before he could make me his bride. Now—’’ She stopped and sighed deeply. “Now I want to find out what happened to him.’’
“What does that have to do with me?’’
“I think you knew him.’’
Perkins looked at her warily.
“His name was Colin Logan.’’
From the instantaneous change in Perkins’s expression, she knew she’d hit a delicate subject.
“Lower your voice! I don’t know anyone named Colin Logan,’’ he replied in a strangled whisper.
“I understand why you don’t want to admit the connection,’’ she said, trying to breathe through her mouth to lessen the odor as she leaned across the table. “But Colin and I had a very close relationship. He was doing a lot of things to raise money so the two of us could buy a little ranch. I know he had business dealings with you.’’
“The hell you do! What are you up to?’’ He glanced around, looking relieved that nobody was paying them any attention.
“Just what I told you.’’
“Are you trying to shake me down for money? Did that uncle of his send you—Bud Logan?’’ he asked, punctuating the question by jabbing his fork in her direction.
“Uncle Bud?’’ she managed to say. “No, I met him a couple of times, but I haven’t seen him since before Colin died.’’
“So you’re trying to get money out of me on your own?’’
“No, Colin left me well off,’’ she replied with one of the answers she’d rehearsed. “We had a joint bank account. And there’s enough to take care of me and the baby.’’
“I had nothing to do with your boyfriend’s death,’’ he snapped. “So you can stop having me followed around.’’
“I’m not having you followed.’’
He snorted. “Oh, yeah? Then who is?’’
“I don’t know. But please hear me out. After what happened to Tim Francetti, I’m scared.’’ She paused, but his facial expression didn’t change. So she went on. “I don’t think it was a coincidence that Colin ended up dead in a Denver alley. And I don’t want anybody to come after me and my child. So any hints you can give me about what happened to him would be most appreciated.’’
“I don’t know what happened to Colin. And I don’t know this Francetti guy. I’m just praying that what happened to Colin doesn’t happen to me,’’ he muttered. “That guy was poison. I’m sorry I ever got mixed up with him. And you will be, too. If you don’t—’’
Before Perkins could finish, Matt was at her side. “Come on, we’re leaving.’’
She and the chemist both stared at him as if he’d just beamed down from the Starship Enterprise.
“Come on,’’ he said, pulling her to her feet and steering her toward the back door just as a man in a business suit entered the restaurant.
“That’s one of them!’’ Perkins gasped, pushing himself up and looking wildly around.
Matt yanked on Amanda’s arm, propelling her toward the rest rooms. Perkins streaked past them, pushing open the emergency exit and setting off the alarm.
As the bell clanged, Matt hurried Amanda into the parking lot and toward his car.
“Stop!’’ a voice rang out above the din of the alarm.
Ignoring the command, he opened the passenger door and handed her inside.
She thought she heard a cracking sound as he ducked behind the wheel and ground the key in the ignition. Backing up with a squeal of tires, he careened out of the parking lot and into the flow of traffic, narrowly missing a small car that was speeding toward them.
“What’s happening?’’ she gasped.
“I don’t know. But that guy was Will Marbella, one of the syndicate members I was investigatin
g in Las Vegas.’’
“You said he’s a solid citizen.’’
“That’s the image he projected. But he was shooting at us—him or somebody with him.’’ Matt took a corner on two wheels, then made another lightning-fast turn.
Twisting around, Amanda scanned the street in back of them. It was empty. “You lost him.’’
“I hope so,’’ Matt answered, putting distance between themselves and the restaurant before finally taking a freeway on ramp.
“What was Marbella doing coming after Perkins?’’
“Perkins or us,’’ Matt informed her. “If somebody was looking for us, they might have staked out the chemist.’’
“Us or me?’’
“I don’t know.’’
A small noise bubbled in her throat as she suddenly realized the implications.
Matt swung his eyes toward her for a moment. “Are you okay?’’
“Yes. Thanks to you. I didn’t think somebody would stake out Perkins to get to me.’’
“That may not be what happened. We may just have walked in at the wrong time again.’’
“Maybe. But I get the feeling we’re not keeping our apartment in L.A. any longer.’’ When Matt nodded gravely, she continued, “Where are we going now?’’
“I’m still considering a couple of options.’’
It was a measure of her changed behavior that she didn’t press him.
“I need you to tell me what you found out from Perkins.’’
She repeated the conversation as best she could, giving him both the words they’d spoken and her impressions of the chemist.
“Well, we know he’s afraid of someone,’’ he said. “Maybe Bud was hassling him. Maybe he’s lying about Francetti. Or maybe he’s tied to the Las Vegas syndicate—in some way that I haven’t figured out.’’
Amanda nodded, trying to come up with a connection, but it was like having pieces from two different puzzles mixed together. And she’d never been good with puzzles.
They pulled into the parking garage under the building. Before he opened the door, Matt turned to her. “Are you up to helping me pack?’’
She was weary of packing and unpacking, weary of having no place to call home. But she made her voice strong as she answered, “Yes.’’