Covert Conception

by Delores Fossen

  * * *

  Covert Conception

  Delores Fossen

  * * *

  Toronto • New York • London • Amsterdam • Paris • Sydney • Hamburg • Stockholm • Athens • Tokyo • Milan • Madrid • Prague • Warsaw • Budapest • Auckland

  To Rickey. I can never thank you enough.

  "Is this your idea of a bad joke?" Rick asked.

  Natalie carefully studied his reaction. It was too similar to what her own reaction had been when she'd learned about her test results. She'd expected…what? An explanation that would cause all of this to make sense? However, it was obvious that Rick didn't have any answers.

  "How did this happen?" he amended.

  She'd already asked herself that. At least a dozen times. And she knew that Rick was not a part of this—he wasn't the sort of man that required drugging or any coercion to get a woman into bed. She didn't know how it happened and her only clue was that surveillance video.

  "I don't know what happened. I need answers and that's why I am here—because I am pregnant with our child…."

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it's easy to understand why Texas author and former U.S. Air Force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she was genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn't have to look too far for inspiration.

  Books by Delores Fossen

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  648—HIS CHILD

  679—A

  MAN WORTH REMEMBERING

  704—MARCHING ORDERS

  727—CONFISCATED CONCEPTION

  788—VEILED INTENTIONS

  812—SANTA ASSIGNMENT

  829—MOMMY UNDER COVER

  869—PEEKABOO BABY

  895—SECRET SURROGATE

  913—UNEXPECTED FATHER

  932—THE CRADLE FILES

  950—COVERT CONCEPTION

  *Man on a Mission

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Natalie Sinclair—Someone drugged her and her nemesis, Rick Gravari, so they'd have sex. Now, pregnant with Rick's child, someone wants them both dead and Rick is her only hope. Can they overcome a bitter past and work together to save their child?

  Rick Gravari—He's more comfortable building custom motorcycles than he is in Natalie's high-society world. But he'll do whatever it takes to keep Natalie and his baby safe…even if that means moving in with the very woman he's sworn to resist.

  Dr. Claude Benjamin—Creator of the Cyrene Project, a plan to produce genetically superior babies. Can the doctor have changed his mind about continuing his research, and does he now want to eliminate them all?

  Dr. Isabella Henderson—She also worked on the Cyrene Project, but now vehemently objects to it.

  Carlton Gravari—How far will Rick's uncle go to put an end to the Cyrene Project?

  Macy Sinclair—Is Natalie's flamboyant mother covering for someone, or is she too the victim of the Cyrene Project?

  Troy Jackson—A product of the Cyrene Project, he holds a grudge against Rick and Natalie.

  Brandon Steven—He has answers that Rick and Natalie need, but he's not willing to share.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter One

  San Antonio, Texas

  "You're pregnant, Natalie."

  Natalie Sinclair blinked, stared at her sister, Kitt, and then waited because she was certain that Kitt was about to deliver the punch line of a silly joke.

  But the punch line didn't come.

  Judging from Kitt's expression, she was serious. However, Natalie was serious, too, and she knew for a fact there was no way she could be carrying a child.

  "I haven't had sex in over a year," Natalie admitted. Though her sister no doubt already knew that. And it was the realization of the no doubt that caused any remaining amusement to vanish.

  Pulling in her breath, Natalie set her teacup aside, the delicate bone china rattling against the saucer. Some of the Irish blend splashed onto a pair of entwined hand-painted yellow roses.

  "Dr. Benjamin did the pregnancy test," Kitt continued, her voice shaky and thin. "He called when you were in the meeting with the antique broker, and when I pressed him about what was wrong with you, he finally told me. You don't have the flu, and you're not anemic—"

  "Stop right there. I can't be pregnant." Natalie waited for Kitt to agree to that, but her sister made no such acknowledgement. In fact, nothing about Kitt's ultra-solemn expression changed. "But you think I am?"

  Kitt nodded.

  Okay. This obviously wasn't some joke. Besides, Kitt wasn't a joking kind of person. Still, there was no way this could be true.

  No way.

  Natalie shook her head. "The test is wrong."

  Kitt did some head-shaking of her own. "The doctor used your blood and urine samples to repeat it. Not once. But twice. And then he repeated it again at my request. All three times, the tests were positive. Based on the physical he gave you and those test results, Dr. Benjamin thinks you're about four weeks pregnant."

  Forcing herself to remain calm and think this through, Natalie snapped her fingers in rapid succession. "I've heard about this sort of thing. They're false-positive results. They have to be."

  Natalie was well aware that she sounded desperate.

  And she was.

  What was going on here?

  Kitt didn't respond to her false-positive theory. Instead, her sister turned the computer monitor around to face Natalie and typed in something on the keyboard. "You remember a couple of months ago I had surveillance cameras installed throughout the house?"

  "Of course, I remember. Some items were missing, and we thought someone on the staff might be stealing from us. The surveillance tapes proved it." And Natalie wasn't pleased about this seemingly mundane topic when they had something not so mundane to clear up.

  "I didn't have the cameras removed after the problem was resolved," Kitt continued. "I figured the extra security wouldn't hurt."

  Impatient, Natalie huffed. "Is this leading somewhere, Kitt?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. After I finished my conversation with Dr. Benjamin, I went back through the surveillance tapes for the past four weeks. I found something."

  Oh.

  That nearly stopped Natalie's heart.

  "Explain something," Natalie insisted.

  Kitt typed in a code on the keyboard, and Natalie instantly recognized the video feed that appeared on the screen. Nearly a month earlier.

  The night of her surprise twenty-ninth birthday party.

  Though Natalie was familiar with the scene, it wasn't an entirely pleasant memory. She'd arrived back in San Antonio from a week-long antique-buying trip in Ireland and had stopped by Dr. Benjamin's office because she was sick. The diagnosis was an upper respiratory infection. The doctor had done some lab tests and given her prescription meds. By the time she made it home, she had been exhausted, ready to fall face-first into bed. Only instead of bed, she'd discovered that her m
other had assembled three dozen or so of her close and not-so-close friends for a surprise birthday celebration.

  "Are you saying this is when the so-called pregnancy happened?" Natalie asked. "Because, trust me, I would have remembered something as monumental as having sex with one of the guests."

  Though Natalie had to admit to herself that some of the night was a complete blur. She blamed the big blur on the prescription meds. Of course, the fatigue from the business trip hadn't helped, either. She'd felt like a zombie throughout the entire party. Still, her zombie-haze wouldn't explain that pregnancy test.

  "Just watch," Kitt instructed.

  Even with Kitt fast-forwarding the event, Natalie had no trouble spotting her mother, Macy, in the crowd that had gathered in the foyer to say their goodbyes. With her Marilyn Monroe platinum-blond hair, curvy body and dazzling smile, Macy had a way of monopolizing space and drawing attention to herself.

  Then, Natalie spotted someone else.

  Rick Gravari.

  She automatically frowned. Rick had a way of monopolizing space as well, but in a totally different way. Wearing jeans and a white shirt, he appeared his usual self. Aloof. Surly. Her mother had no doubt invited him, but he definitely fell into the unwanted-guest category. Natalie had spent the evening avoiding and ignoring him, and was thankful he'd done the same to her.

  Natalie dismissed her surly, jeans-wearing nemesis and continued to study the surveillance tape. As the guests idled by the front door, she managed to locate herself. Alone. Her head down with her chin practically touching her chest. Leaning against the wall next to the fireplace. She definitely wasn't in the throes of having wild sex.

  The video stopped, and a second later, the screen became blank.

  "Something went wrong with the surveillance equipment at this point," Kitt explained. "I'm not sure what. But that's not the only camera we had in operation that night." Kitt typed in something else on the keyboard. "The lighting isn't very good, but here's some footage taken from the hall outside your bedroom. The time lapse is about a half hour from the segment you were just watching."

  The hall was indeed poorly lit. And empty. It didn't stay that way for long. Natalie soon saw the approaching couple. Mere shadows moving within the shadows.

  "There's no camera in your bedroom so this is all we have," Kitt explained. She latched onto her Texas A&M coffee mug, took a long drink of the heavily scented espresso, and that's when Natalie noticed that her sister's hand was trembling. "Still, I think it's enough."

  "Well, it's not much."

  Natalie couldn't see the faces of the couple, and without audio, she couldn't tell who was approaching her bedroom door. At least, she couldn't tell until the figures got closer to the camera.

  Then, Natalie realized that she was one of those shadowy figures.

  Seeing herself, however, didn't jog any memories. She had absolutely no recollection of being in the hallway that night though she was certainly aware it'd happened. After all, she had woken up in bed the following morning.

  Alone.

  Still, hadn't she had a feeling that something was wrong? A feeling she'd dismissed.

  Maybe she shouldn't have.

  And with that uncomfortable thought repeating in her head, Natalie moved to the edge of her seat, closer to the monitor. And she studied every inch of the screen. Praying. Hoping. That whatever image appeared, there would be a plausible explanation for it.

  Natalie watched herself as she slowly approached her bedroom. The person walking beside her had his arm looped around her waist.

  It was definitely a man.

  He was at least a head taller than she was and outsized her by at least fifty pounds. And neither of them was too steady. When she reached the door, she staggered forward, and her arm rammed into the wall. The reaction on her face could have been either pain or giddiness.

  Sweet heaven, she acted drunk.

  But she knew for a fact that she'd consumed no alcohol that night. The only thing she'd had to drink was a glass of sparkling fruit juice that someone on the catering staff had gotten for her shortly after she arrived home.

  "Okay, here it is," Kitt said.

  Natalie waited and watched. The man in the video turned, shifting his weight. So did Natalie, except she wasn't as graceful. He barely managed to catch her before she stumbled again. Once he had her semi-steady, he kissed her. She didn't resist. In fact, she kissed him back and groped behind her to open her bedroom door. And that's when the security camera and the meager lighting worked together to catch his face.

  Kitt froze the image. Not that Natalie needed a second look to know who he was.

  The man taking her into her bedroom was the one person on earth she considered her enemy.

  Rick Gravari.

  Chapter Two

  Rick Gravari pushed himself away from the custom Harley he was building and glanced at the Pennzoil clock mounted on the back wall of his shop.

  It was already past five-thirty.

  Less than an hour to closing time, and there was at least a half day's work left to do.

  "Hell," Rick grumbled.

  He used his forearm to mop the sweat from his forehead and neck, and then he cursed the air-conditioning. Why had it picked the hottest day of the year to go out?

  There wasn't much of a chance he'd get any of his four mechanics to stay late. Not on a Saturday. And not with the broken air conditioner. Overtime, a pizza and complete use of every fan in the place might be enough enticement for Hal, the head mechanic, but it'd be midnight before Hal and he could finish all the service orders on their own.

  The phone rang, again, and Rick walked through the motorcycle clutter, fans and tools toward his equally cluttered office. Along the way, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, drank some and poured the rest over his head. The cold liquid snaked down his face and back.

  It didn't help.

  Slinging off the excess water, he snatched up the phone from his desk and grabbed a service order so he could close out the Harley job. A little multi-tasking might get him out of here a few minutes earlier.

  The caller was the soon-to-be owner of a custom bike who said he wouldn't be able to pick it up until at least Wednesday. Rick considered it a blessing. One down, too many to go.

  Most days, he loved his job. He loved having his own business. Loved working with his hands to build custom motorcycles and repair them.

  But today wasn't one of those days.

  "Hey, Rick? You'll wanta take a look at this," Hal called out when Rick hung up the phone.

  Hoping they weren't about to get another customer, whom he'd almost certainly have to turn away, Rick glanced through the porthole-shaped window that separated his office from the reception-waiting area. The only person there was Bennie, one of the mechanics, who was at the cash register ringing up a client.

  "In the front parking lot," Hal added.

  Before the last syllable had left Hal's mouth, Rick was already looking in that direction. Specifically at the vehicle that'd just pulled up in front of the shop. A sleek platinum-colored sports car. As expensive as they came.

  The driver's door eased open, and thanks to the tinted window and the door itself, the only thing Rick saw of their visitor was a foot. One wearing a sexy, three-inch heel that was almost the same color as the car.

  It was like watching a striptease. A delicate hand slid over the top of the driver's-side window and door. Perfectly manicured nails—the color of ripe raspberries—gripped the glass and metal. The other foot touched down on the concrete. Graceful. Like a dancer getting ready to strut her stuff.

  Rick felt like fanning himself, and it wasn't all a result of the broken A/C, either. It'd been a while since he'd taken the time to appreciate the sight of a woman. This was a reminder that he truly needed a life outside the shop.

  Correction: he needed a life, period.

  Inch by inch, the top of their visitor's head came into view as she rose from the seat. Honey-blond hair c
ut short and choppy. Fashionable but not overly done. It still looked touchable, and he could almost feel his fingers sliding through it.

  But then, the striptease came to a non-gratifying, abrupt halt.

  Rick's gaze landed on her mouth. A full, sensual mouth covered with just enough gloss to make it noticeable. And notice it he did. Even though he hadn't immediately recognized the hair, he knew that mouth. It was the mouth of a woman he hadn't expected to show up at his shop. A woman he definitely didn't want to see. Not now. Not ever.

  Natalie Sinclair.

  She used her elbow to push the car door shut, eased off her sunglasses and started toward the shop entrance. No cautious footsteps for her. Just the long determined stride of a woman who appeared to be on some sort of a mission.

  The muggy summer breeze flirted with her turquoise suit, fluttering the slim skirt around the tops of her knees. And even slightly higher. He saw a good portion of her toned and tanned right thigh. Rick obviously wasn't the only one to notice that because Hal mumbled something about being in lust.

  Rick understood completely.

  He felt the lust.

  And he wanted to kick himself hard for feeling it.

  Thank goodness that lust was tempered with a hefty dose of reality and vivid, godawful memories. That lust had already cost a man his life, and it didn't matter how good she looked, Rick had made a solemn promise that he'd have no part of Natalie Sinclair.

  Now, the question was—did she want a part of him?

  He didn't mean that in a sexual sense, either. Rick knew Natalie would never think of him that way again. However, she had left her high-and-mighty estate and driven all the way downtown to his shop—which wasn't located in the best part of the city. She wouldn't have done that for just any old reason. Plus, judging from the tightness around her mouth, she was seriously riled. And she no doubt planned to aim that riled-ness at him.

  Why?

  He had a darn good guess. Maybe because he'd shown up at her surprise birthday party? If so, a month was a long time to hold onto that much anger.