Ugh. Alisha rolled her stiff neck and stared up at the ceiling. Everything was so damned complicated. She loved her job. It was her driving purpose, who she was. But how in the hell was she supposed to keep doing what she loved with a baby on the way?
“Dollar for your thoughts,” Simon said, glancing over his shoulder at her from where he stood at the stove, the scent of toasted bread and melted cheese filling the air and making her stomach rumble.
“It’s a penny for your thoughts,” she said, snorting.
“Inflation.” He winked and darn if she didn’t feel that tiny gesture all the way to her curled toes. “Feeling okay?” he asked, his tone turning concerned. “Any more cramping?”
“No. I’m fine now,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “It’s just… I don’t know. I feel weird. Guilty or something.”
“Guilty?” Simon frowned as he plated one grilled cheese sandwich and started on a second one. “About what?”
“Being on the run, the spotting. All of it.”
“Neither of those things were your fault,” he said, stirring the canned tomato soup he’d heated up to go with their sandwiches. “Seriously, Alisha. Doctor Cho said some minor bleeding isn’t uncommon at all and there wasn’t anything you did to cause it.”
“Yeah, but all this running around and hiding probably didn’t help,” she said. “I mean, we haven’t exactly been living a normal life the past few days. And how exactly am I going to take it easy with the Andronetto brothers and their thugs after us?”
“Eh. Normal’s overrated.” Simon flipped the second sandwich in the pan, then pulled out two bowls for their soup. “Don’t worry about our current situation. I’ll protect you and Amy and our baby. Trust me.”
“I do. But what about after this is over? My job’s always going to be demanding. I’ll still have investigations to do, people to talk to, justice to fight for.”
He served up the second sandwich and shut off the stove before carrying their food to the table and taking a seat across from her. He didn’t meet her gaze, fussing with his napkin instead, his expression thoughtful. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, Alisha, but maybe it’s time for you to hand this story over to someone else at the paper. Someone you trust to handle it the way you want and—”
“No.” Scowling, she stirred her soup and nibbled on the corner of her sandwich. Warm, gooey, salty goodness filled her mouth, but she could have been eating cardboard for all the attention she paid. “I can’t hand this story off. It’s mine. Period. I thought I made it clear before that I won’t give up on my professional goals, baby or not.” The unease inside her knotted tighter. She had a career. One she was good at and loved. That didn’t make her her mother. Nope. That was why she’d been planning on adoption from the start. The baby could go to parents who could provide all the love, time, and dedication he or she needed, and Alisha could have the life she’d worked so hard for. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this story and I’m going to get myself back on the crime beat. I’ll worry about the rest of it later.”
The words were said as much for herself as for Simon.
“Eight months later,” he murmured under his breath, still not looking at her, and dammit. That pissed her off. How dare he judge her and her choices?
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” His gaze flicked up to her now, unreadable. He took a bite of his sandwich, speaking around it. “I’m just thinking you’ll have to make some decisions sooner, rather than later.”
The stress of the day had her on edge and frazzled. She lashed out before she could stop herself. “You don’t think I know that? Listen, buddy. I’m the one with another human being growing inside me here. I’m the one who’ll have to take all the brunt of that, all the pain and the suffering and sacrifice. It’s fine for you to sit there and lecture me when your life doesn’t have to change at all.”
Tiny dots of crimson flushed his cheekbones and a muscle ticked near his tight jaw. “I told you I’ll be there for you and the baby every step of the way. And I meant that. You don’t think my life will change after our child is born? Who exactly is going to take care of the kid while you’re off working?”
“No one asked you to do that, so don’t act like you’re making some big sacrifice,” Alisha shot back. “And don’t pretend that saying you’ll be there makes you equal in this pregnancy. It’s not like you can just gestate the baby for me whenever I need a break.”
“You’re right—I can’t,” he retorted, hands clenching and unclenching on his napkin. “You’re the one carrying that baby, so why don’t you think about what that means? Our kid’s a part of you—so are you really okay with bringing the baby into danger? On stakeouts? On assignments in the city’s underbelly? On the run? Don’t you think perhaps you should consider another area besides the crime beat while you’re carrying a child?”
Appetite gone, Alisha threw her napkin down on the table. “So you think I should just abandon my job, abandon my dreams? No. I can’t do that. Sorry.”
A small squeak came from upstairs and they both glanced over toward the stairs, silence falling hard and awkward between them as they waited to see if Amy was awake and needed attention. It appeared she wasn’t, because it stayed silent after that.
Alisha managed to finish her soup and half her sandwich before pushing away from the table. It hurt, knowing how he felt about what she was doing. It shouldn’t, since Simon hadn’t made it a secret that he thought her job was too dangerous for a pregnant woman, but still. She’d hoped maybe, after their talk last night, he might have understood her perspective. What hurt worse were the doubts she now felt inside because of what he’d said. She remembered her own mother, how she’d missed her growing up, how she’d wished her mom had been around more but understood that she couldn’t because of her work. She didn’t want her own child to feel the same way. Did that mean that adoption really was the only choice?
She carried her plates to the sink and started to rinse them, but Simon stopped her, his voice quiet from where he sat at the table behind her, facing away. “I’ll clean up. You go rest.”
Part of her wanted to argue, but the rest of her was tired. Tired to the bone.
“Fine.” She shut off the water and headed back upstairs alone.
Seventeen
The next time Alisha woke up, the bedside clock read five-thirty. Damn. She’d been napping almost four hours. After yawning and stretching, she got up and used the bathroom, then went downstairs to work on her laptop.
Sleep had refreshed her and now she was ready to dive back into her research. Simon sat across the living room from her, using the dictation software on his phone. He acknowledged her arrival with a grunt but didn’t say anything else. The tension from their argument earlier was still there, but lessened, thank goodness.
She opened up the laptop, losing herself in the joy of the hunt. Alisha pulled up her list of leads and began looking into them, one by one, checking into them all, no matter how small. Time drifted and the next time she looked up, an hour had passed. Simon was returning from upstairs.
“I just gave Amy her bottle and got her diaper changed. She’s down for another nap,” he said, taking his seat across from her again. “What are you working on?”
He looked relaxed now and seemed genuinely interested in her answer, so she went with it. Dropping their discussion from earlier today was probably a good thing anyway, for now. “I’ve been checking on some of the leads I had about properties tied to the Andronettos and I think I’m on to something.”
“Yeah?” He got up and moved to take a seat beside her on the sofa. Simon peered at her screen, then exhaled slowly. “That’s good. We can check on those more tomorrow. You should stop now so we can have some dinner. You barely touched your lunch.”
Her hackles rose again. Maybe their earlier discussion wasn’t over after all if he still thought he had the right to tell her what was best for her, as if she wasn’t an adult who could d
ecide for herself. “I’m fine. And I’m not hungry.”
He raised his eyebrows, staring her down. “But it’s not all about you. Not anymore.”
“Jesus.” She slapped her laptop closed and gave him a stern side look. “Are we back to that again, Simon? It’s not your decision how I choose to take care of myself, okay?”
“Sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I meant no offense. And you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. I know that. I just didn’t want you to push yourself too hard, that’s all. We had a scare earlier and I, for one, would rather not have another one.”
“And you think I would?” Her gaze narrowed. “You think I enjoyed that experience, Simon?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He scooted to the edge of the cushion and rested his forearms on his thighs, raking his hands through his hair. “God, everything I say comes out wrong.”
“Maybe you should shut up then,” she said, moving forward as well to set her computer on the coffee table.
“Nice.” Simon gave her some side eye. “Why are you so defensive about everything today?”
“Why do you keep pushing me about this?”
“Because I care about you, dammit. Is that so wrong?” He pushed to his feet and began to pace. “I don’t want you to get run down. I want you to take better care of yourself. Because when you’re working, you just keep going. I’m not sure you’d stop long enough to notice even if you were hungry.”
“And there we go.” She stood too, crossing her arms and tapping her stockinged toes on the carpet, ready for round two. “So, it’s fine for you, but not for me, huh? Double standard much?”
“Stop twisting what I’m saying!” he yelled, then stopped himself, glancing upstairs. “And keep your voice down. We’ll wake Amy.”
“Says the man yelling.” Alisha had had enough of him smothering her and telling her what she should and shouldn’t do, whether his intentions were good or not. “When I need your opinions about my life and my choices, I’ll ask for them. Otherwise keep them to yourself. Is that clear enough for you?”
“Crystal.” He stopped about six inches away from her, mouth open to respond, when a loud thunk issued from the second floor followed by angry wails.
“Crap!” Alisha said, starting for the stairs. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Simon answered, hot on her heels. “But I’m going to find out.”
* * *
Heart pounding for more reasons than one, Simon raced toward the nursery. He hated that he was riled up from the fight rather than fully focused on the situation, but there was nothing he could do to change the day’s events. He needed to get to Amy and figure out what the hell had made all that noise.
Alisha halted abruptly in front of the nursery door and it was only Simon’s cat-like reflexes that kept him from smacking into the back of her and sending them both tumbling to the floor.
“What’s going—” he started to say, then stopped as he peered over her shoulder and spotted two large figures dressed in black standing over the crib. One of the men had picked up Amy and was now turning toward the open window to climb back out. Without thinking, Simon shoved Alisha behind him and faced off with the second intruder, calling to Alisha over his shoulder, ducking to avoid the fist flying at his face. “Stall that second guy and make sure he doesn’t get away with Amy.”
Damn. He really didn’t have time for this shit right now. Charging forward, Simon rammed his head into the guy’s abdomen, knocking him back against the far wall, then pummelling his kidneys with a few well-placed jabs to his torso. A few satisfying grunts later, they ended up on the floor. His attacker landed a couple of punches before Simon managed to roll the guy beneath him and knock him out for good.
Once that was done, he ran back downstairs to find the front door open and Alisha out in the front yard, the second intruder running down the sidewalk in front of her with a squalling Amy in his arms.
Shit.
Rather than barrel out the front door, Simon went out the side and skirted the perimeter of the property, encountering the ladder the bad guys had used to get in and out of the second floor. Dammit. He’d been arguing with Alisha again and got distracted. Self-recrimination melded with the frustration already bubbling inside him and drove his anger higher. Time to end this crap now.
He crept silently along a row of parked cars at the curb, keeping one eye on the guy holding Amy and the other on Alisha. Simon managed to catch Alisha’s attention as he got in position behind him, then went in with a quick Vulcan neck pinch while the guy was struggling to get into the car with Amy. It actually worked pretty effectively in real life. With a baby in his arms, the assailant was pretty much unable to react fast enough to stop him and soon dropped like a log at Simon’s feet. Simon was able to grab Amy before she fell, and hand her safely off to Alisha. Danger averted.
Or not.
Behind Alisha, thug number one appeared. Simon had thought he’d rung the guy’s clock hard enough to put him down for the count, but apparently not. Perfect.
Because Simon’s day hadn’t been shitty enough already, now it was two on one. He clenched his fists and released them, fury burning a hole through his gut. He was a Navy SEAL. He’d faced these odds before and much, much worse. He could handle this. He would handle this. He had no choice.
Alisha held Amy close to her chest, her eyes wide in the gathering twilight. “Simon?”
“Get out of the way, Alisha,” he said. “Go inside with Amy—keep her safe. I got this.”
Eighteen
“Simon!” Alisha yelled. Amy wailed. Then all hell broke loose.
The two thugs attacked, one grabbing Simon from behind while the other punched him hard in the stomach. He was prepared for it though and tensed his abs, so it didn’t hurt as much, only knocked the wind out of him. It hurt, but he could ignore that—it didn’t affect his ability to respond. He might have been sitting at a desk writing since he’d been out of the SEALs, but those battle skills never went away. They’d been seared into his muscle memory through years of intense training and service.
Acting on pure instinct, he dug his fingers into the sinewy forearm wrapped around his throat, then rose up fast, knocking the back of his head hard into the assailant’s chin and nose. A sickening crack of bone sounded through the darkness and Simon gave a mirthless grin.
Take that, bastard!
The hold around his throat loosened and Simon took advantage. After inhaling deeply, he bent forward again, using his grip on the thug’s forearm to knock him off balance and flip the guy over his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground in front of Simon. The second thug stumbled back to avoid stepping on his cohort, giving Simon an opening to attack.
He ran forward, head down, and rammed the guy in the solar plexus with his skull, knocking the wind out of him. There was a brief struggle, but Simon was pissed off and determined to win. No one would hurt Alisha or Amy or their unborn child. No one.
Adrenaline and anger spurring him onward, Simon punched the assailant in front of him first in the jaw, then in the torso before going for an ankle sweep to take his feet out from under him. Unfortunately, the first assailant was now back on his feet and jumping back into the fight.
Fortunately, the guy gave Simon a long look, then turned to the other thug and said, “Fuck this—the lady and baby are gone, anyway. Abort!”
The two thugs started hobbling toward their car, parked at the curb. An odd mix of relief and aggravation stormed through him as he hurried toward them, a bit unsteady on his feet now, and reached the curb just as their engine fired up and the car began to pull away with a screech of tires. Through a haze of dust and the stench of burning rubber, he made note of the make and model of the car. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start.
Reality slowly came back into focus as the quiet suburban night settled once more. Crickets chirping. The breeze rustling through the leaves, stirring the curtains in the window of the nurse
ry.
Amy. Alisha.
Rushing into the house, he saw the bathroom door was closed, with the light shining under the edge of the door. Smart of Alisha to choose it—the window was tiny, the bad guys couldn’t have come through it if they’d tried. And the door had a lock. Knocking on it gently, he called out, “It’s me, Alisha. It’s okay. They’re gone.”
A moment later, he heard the lock click and then the door opened. She stood there staring at him, her eyes huge and her hand trembling as she reached for him.
“Simon, are you okay?” she asked, her tone as tremulous as he felt inside. “Did they hurt you?”
“Only my pride,” he said, trying to make a joke that fell flat as he straightened and took in her worried, worn expression. “I should have anticipated that. I’m sorry. I was distracted today with the hospital and things felt so nice and normal here, and…” He raked a hand through his hair, then shook his head. “It’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”
She kissed little Amy’s temple and adjusted the baby in her arms, then nodded. “I’m sorry too. And this isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. No one’s to blame but the Andronettos.” Alisha sighed, her shoulders slumping. “What do we do now?”
“We can’t stay here tonight,” Simon said. No matter how nice it had been to live in their own little fantasy world for a few days, the house was no longer safe. Their location was no longer secret and it wouldn’t be long until those goons came back with reinforcements. He took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. “Let me call Rick and see if we can crash at his place tonight. I need to talk to him anyway about the bad guys’ vehicle. With luck, someone reported it stolen and he can find it in the law enforcement database. Maybe they can even track it through the traffic webcams to find out where they’re headed.”
Guarding His Fake Family Page 11