Due Date_A Baby Contract Romance

by Emily Bishop

  I take another drink and run my hand along the base of my neck. A headache’s forming there, but I ignore it. My gaze wanders aimlessly around the kitchen and lands on my busted-up camera. I’ve kept it sitting on the tiny shelf beside the spice rack, because I haven’t had the energy to deal with it, yet.

  An idea dawns.

  Maybe I can salvage the SSD card.

  I reach for the camera and pop open the little compartment. The tiny card is still there, and I pull it out and examine it beneath the light. It looks OK to me, but there’s only one way to find out. If there’s one thing that can cheer me up right now, it would be the beautiful pictures I took before my life went south. Maybe I can still use a few for the new restaurant I’m going to have to build.

  That thought makes me sad.

  I flip open my laptop, get out my adaptor, and insert the little drive. A second later, a folder pops up—woo, my pictures were saved!

  “Score!” I whisper. I open up the file and see there are twelve images inside. I start from the beginning, and I smile at a picture of the restaurant, so perfect and shabby. I let myself mourn what I’ve lost, and fresh tears flow freely down my face. I get to the picture of the lighthouse, which came out beautifully, and then I reach the end.

  The last picture isn’t one I remember taking. It’s blurry, and all I can see is the image of a man’s arm. Behind him is a tilted ocean and the deck of a yacht.

  This picture snapped right before I jumped into the ocean that day. I focus on the arm, because there’s something on it. A tattoo.

  Jordan’s tattoo.

  I swallow as I stare at the image in disbelief. That was Jordan? The black-masked gunman who held a gun right up to my heart was the same man who has been trying to get me to date him again? My mind reels as I think about Jordan reminiscing about all the great times we had, all the while knowing that he had nearly killed me.

  Apparently, now I know what lengths Jordan will go to.

  I email the image to myself, then pick up my phone. When I find Katie’s name, I add it to a text and drop the image in to send to her.

  I found this on my SSD card. I need you to keep a copy, in case. This might give us some information on who lit the fire. Don’t tell anyone until I can find out more.

  I hit the send button and set my phone down. I stare out once more into the nothingness that is becoming a close friend of mine, and I come to terms with the fact that Jordan was directly behind the yacht theft, Katie’s abduction in her own home, and the destruction of my livelihood.

  Why am I surprised?

  I accused the man of as much. I threw the accusation right in his face, and I was right, the entire time. I have no idea what I’m going to do with this information. I am paralyzed, and Jordan is the man who has hobbled me.

  This is the most concrete evidence I’ve ever had. This could eliminate any guilt in his eyes as it relates to me, and give him a solid lead to go on. I could solve all of Ben’s problems with this picture.

  I could solve all of my own. I lurch to my feet, clutching my cell. This is it. I’m going to prove my innocence and have Jordan—

  My front door opens, and red-hot fear slices through my thoughts.

  I forgot to lock my door. I promised Katie I would, and I forgot. Idiot!

  The door closes, and I stare at the hallway, waiting for the worst. When Jordan walks in, I realize the worst has arrived.

  “Naomi,” he says, his tone genial. He cocks a gun and lifts it, the weapon pointed directly at my face. “A pleasure, as always.”

  28

  Ben

  I sit at my desk and twirl a pencil between my fingers as I stare out into nothingness.

  Where did I go wrong?

  I thought that maybe Naomi and I could be a thing, possibly. Part of me could never trust her, could never fully let her in. What’s wrong with me? Am I crazy, or are my suspicions telling me something?

  Am I right to push her away?

  My mind drifts to Skippy, and I consider questioning him. He’s been denied bail on a charge of False Imprisonment, and I’m pretty damn happy about that. After what he did to Katie, to Naomi, I hope he rots in that cell.

  I scowl at the series of events that led to this moment. Naomi at the docks. Naomi in Katie’s house. Skippy interrupting my date—with Naomi. And the restaurant burning down.

  Is it possible that I’ve been shortsighted in this? That my desire to protect my own heart has possibly destroyed the one relationship that could have worked?

  I release a frustrated growl and slam my palms on the desk. I need to get some of this energy out. The best way to do that is to work on Skippy. Maybe the asshole is finally ready to talk.

  I step out of my office and walk over to the cells. James glances up at me but says nothing, the only sound is the clap clap of his keyboard as I step into the next room.

  The holding cells are barren, as they should be. The walls are white, the florescent lighting bright and uncomfortable on the eyes. Skippy leans back against the painted wall, his face cast in shadows behind the gray bars. He doesn’t look up when I enter.

  “What’s the matter, Skippy? Bummed that your friends aren’t coming to rescue you?”

  He glares ahead at the ground before him, but his shoulders tense ever so slightly. I’m getting to him. Let’s see if I can make him crack.

  “I thought that you had influential friends, Skippy. I’m surprised they haven’t come for you. Perhaps they’re content to let you rot in here. I know I am.”

  Still nothing. His black eyes bore holes in the ground, and I imagine if he could shoot laser beams, the floor would be engulfed in flames.

  Much like Naomi’s restaurant.

  The image of her destroyed kitchen fills me with new purpose, and I decide to try a different angle.

  “I mean, I get it. If I were rejected by a woman, I’d think about setting her place on fire, too.”

  Skippy looks up at me, his eyes filled with hatred. His lip twitches. “How could I have set the restaurant on fire if I was in here?”

  “How do you know it was the restaurant and not her cottage I was referring to?”

  His expression closes, and I check off a point for myself in my head. He’s admitted some knowledge of the arson, without realizing he was doing it.

  Got you there, fucker.

  I lean in and lower my voice. “I can get you out of here, you know. There would be stipulations, obviously, since we can’t have you attacking innocent women, but if you’re willing to talk, we can strike a deal. Maybe get you into one of those nicer prisons where they don’t like little white guys like you as much.”

  His eyes widen at this, but he doesn’t look at me. “You’re full of shit. You have no power in this town. If you did, none of this crime would have ever happened. You are a nobody, a nothing. There are at least ten other men in charge of Stoneport before you. You’ll find that out when I’m out of here without you even knowing it.”

  This time, he does look at me, and he leans in. The scent of his breath reminds me of his rancid trailer, and I hold my own breath, but I don’t back away.

  “Unless you want a stake in this game?” he asks, his tone suggestive.

  I stare at him and lift my eyebrows like I’m interested. “Go on,” I say.

  He leans back against the wall, and I’m grateful because it means his stench is a little further away. “I’m sure we can cut a deal with you, make it worth your while. You let the odd yacht disappear here and there. It’s not like these rich assholes don’t have insurance for this kind of thing. And then you get a cut. Think of the nice house you could afford, maybe move Naomi in there.”

  He’s talking real sweet, and he thinks he’s gaining ground. I realize with disgust that’s because this kind of talk has worked for him before. I scoot a little closer, indicating that I’m interested.

  “And who do I talk to if I want to square this deal away?”

  His eyes narrow as he looks at me. Shit,
he’s wizened up to my game. “Me,” he says.

  “OK, here you are, in a position of great power. Where’s my money?”

  His pockets are empty. The man is a prisoner with nothing on him. He looks away then and stares back at the ground. “Fuck you, man. You had your chance.”

  “You keep threatening me, but I have yet to see any actual harm coming my way.”

  “Maybe it would have if Naomi was in the building.”

  His words stop me cold. Would he and his gangster friends kill Naomi in order to teach me a lesson? If they did, I could never forgive myself, especially not for the way I’ve acted toward her.

  “So, what you’re saying is Naomi isn’t one of your gang.”

  I’m desperate for answers on this point, but I keep my expression neutral.

  He scoffs. “Naomi’s a fucking bitch. We should have knocked her out ages ago and spared ourselves the drama.” Too late, Skippy realizes what he just said. He closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. “I’m done talking to you. Come back when it’s time to let me go.”

  I’ve gotten all I can at this point, so I stand and walk to the door. When I get there, I turn back. “I would, but you’d probably starve to death. Have a great night, Skippy.”

  “You don’t understand! I need to talk to him!” A woman’s voice echoes down the hall from the front of the station.

  Curious, I walk in that direction until I step out into the open. There, Katie stands in front of James as he tries to calm her down. When her gaze crashes into mine, her shoulders slump with relief.

  “Ben,” she breathes.

  She rushes over to me—hug incoming? She stops short of where I am, and I’m a little relieved. I don’t know how to handle frantic women who get physical.

  At least, not most women. One, I wouldn’t mind being here right about now. The thought of Naomi turns my blood cold. Why is Katie here?

  “What’s happened?” I ask.

  She pulls out her cell phone and unlocks it, and then she hands it to me. When I look down at the image, it’s a blur. I look back up at Katie in confusion. “What is this meant to be?”

  “It’s a picture that Naomi sent me a little while ago. She said that she wanted someone else to have record of it, but she didn’t go into detail as to why. She said it might help find out who lit the fire, and then she said not to tell anyone until she could figure it out.”

  I curse under my breath. Why won’t that stubborn woman trust me?

  As much as you’ve trusted her?

  Shut up, voice.

  I look back down at the image and examine it. Naomi said that it’s a clue about who might have lit the fire, but could it also be tied to the yacht mystery—to all the happenings of the past week?

  I zoom in on the image. Through the blur, I decipher the blue of the ocean in the background, the pink and purple sky above. This was taken at dusk, likely not long before I found Naomi at the dock that night. The black blur in the middle is roughly humanoid, but the only thing I make out is an arm.

  I zoom in again.

  On the arm’s wrist, the sleeve is slightly lifted, and there’s a tattoo. A distinctive tattoo, something that could work as a clue to help us solve all of this and be done with it.

  I look up at Katie. “This is the proof we need to get us to the thieves. How did she find this?”

  Katie wrings her fingers together as she looks from the phone and back to me. Her eyes are loaded with worry. “I don’t know. Here, this is the only thing she sent me.”

  She scrolls up in a message until she reaches Naomi’s. I read it, and realize that there isn’t a lot to go on. Then I see the myriad of messages that Katie sent after that are still unanswered.

  “She said she would keep her phone close by for messages, but this is all she sent. I’ve been texting and calling ever since, but she’s not answering. After everything we’ve been through, I’m scared something’s happened.”

  I stare back down at the image and try to capture any more features that might help with the case. There’s no help for it. I’m going to need to go to Naomi’s tonight and make sure she’s OK.

  “I would have gone down there to check on her, but I’m honestly too scared to go alone. She’s been big on not involving the cops this whole time, but you’ve been a big help to us, Ben. We need you now more than ever.”

  Her words are uplifting, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything but a blossoming fear of my own.

  I pat Katie on the shoulder. “Everything is going to be fine. We’re going to solve all of this and bring peace back to this town.”

  “I know you will, just, can you please hurry? I have a bad feeling in my gut.”

  I nod. “I completely understand. Do you feel safe staying here? Skippy is locked behind bars. He won’t be able to harm you in any way.”

  Katie sighs. “I think I feel safer here than anywhere at this point. Can you please let me know she’s OK when you get there?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I walk over to James. “We’ve got a situation here,” I say. He looks up and waits for my story. Was he not listening this entire time? “Naomi found an image of the man who robbed the yacht. Check it out.”

  I hand the phone to him. His face is expressionless as he zooms in, just as I did, and looks at the picture from several different angles. He shoots out of his seat and sets the phone on the counter.

  “I’ve got this one, Sheriff. Maybe this time you stay behind.”

  “What?” I ask, but James is already out the door.

  I turn and look back at Katie. Clearly, I can’t stay behind, but I don’t want her left here feeling unsafe. Then again, there are plenty of officers still around at this hour. Late shifts, the dispatcher. She’ll be fine.

  She glances at the door with a tilt of her chin. I hand Katie her phone back.

  “Tilda’s on dispatch tonight. If you need anything, ask her. You can stay busy on James’s computer until we get back. Just no porn.”

  That elicits the barest hint of a smile from her. “Noted. Now please go help my friend.”

  “I will,” I say, and I strap on my holster on the way out.

  I will.

  29

  Naomi

  Jordan circles around to face me directly. His gun is trained on my face. I recognize the barrel of that gun.

  It must be the same one he used on the yacht, when he stole it.

  I think about escaping. Maybe I can jump out of my busted window and run to freedom. But, I’m not free. I never was.

  With Jordan here, I’m not likely to be alive much longer either.

  “What? Nothing to say for yourself? You’ve been terribly naughty,” Jordan taunts.

  I glare up at him and stay silent.

  “You’ve been such a disappointment through all of this, Naomi. The answer was quite simple, yet you ignored it. You defied me at every turn, when I gave you some pretty stern warnings. Should I have had your friend murdered instead? Would that have taught you a lesson?”

  “Last I remember, you never sank that low.”

  “Last you remember? How long ago was that? I’m a changed man, Naomi. My ambition grew. My talent matched it. Now I’m into some big-time deals, and you’re missing out. You’re missing out on everything.”

  “If having a gun in my face makes me more included, feel free to count me out.”

  “So sassy!” he says. The gun is still trained on me, and I can barely focus on his words, wondering with each passing second if it will be my last. At least if he shoots me in the head, it will be fast.

  I don’t want to suffer before I die.

  My phone buzzes beside me, and Jordan looks at it with annoyance.

  “Who is that? Your fucking cop boyfriend?”

  I don’t look at the phone. I’m scared if I do, he’ll shoot me, thinking that I’m trying to call for help. I already tried that tactic once and it didn’t work. That was with Skippy. Jordan is much more cunning.

>   “I don’t know.” I keep my eyes trained on him. “Jordan, why are you doing all this? You’re a talented man. You could have done so much more with your life.”

  Jordan laughs, and there is no humor in the sound. “Yes, yes. You are so right. I could have opened up my own lobster boat and been a proper Maine man. I could have come home reeking of fish every night, and maybe if I had, I would have been considered good enough for you.”

  “You could have done a lot to be considered good enough for me.”

  “Please. You think you’re hot shit, but you’re nothing, Naomi. If you had been smart and stayed with me, you’d be riding in a beautiful yacht across the Atlantic right now. We could be balls deep, riding the waves, and each other.”

  The thought of having sex with Jordan sends a wave of bile up my throat, and I swallow it down as I glare at him. “I’d rather have my brother out of jail, free from a crime he didn’t commit.”

  Jordan laughs and twirls the gun around. “Naomi, come on! Get over it already. Alex was a loser. He was more of a low life than I was. If you could have accepted me for who I was back then, maybe he wouldn’t be in the situation he’s in now.”

  “Are you seriously blaming me for what you did to Alex? You paid off the cops to make him take the fall for you! I saw it myself!”

  “And yet you had no proof, if I remember correctly. It’s not nice to throw around accusations like that, Naomi. Your brother is not a nice man. He’s exactly where he belongs.”

  “He’s where you belong. I’m in a position to see to that now.”

  Jordan hisses between his teeth. “What a shame, what a shame. You do know far too much at this point. I’m going to have to take you away from here now so you can be properly disposed of.”

  I swallow, and my throat has gone dry. He’s going to take me away to kill me. He leans in and breathes me in, like a fucking psycho. “Of course, you do have an alternative. I’ve been looking for a regular whore for a long time. Who says that can’t be you? I think that’s a pretty good deal. A lifetime of exceptional sex in exchange for not being killed. Don’t you think that’s a good deal?”