Guarding His Fake Family

by Knight, Katie

“True enough.” Mike laughed. “I think it’s genetic in us Lewises. But seriously. Let her come around to it on her own.”

  “And if she never does? If she sticks to the decision to give the baby up for adoption?”

  “Then that’s her choice,” Mike said, matter-of-factly. “And if you care about her, you’ll support her, whatever she decides. Or is this just about the baby for you?”

  “No, of course not.” He shook his head and stood, shaking off some of the tension. “I’ll try to be patient—and I’ll make sure she knows that I’m on her side, whatever she chooses.” He could just hope she’d decide to choose him.

  “You do that. Later, man.”

  “Later.” Simon ended the call and looked around his freshly restored apartment. A new beginning. He only hoped he could be patient enough to have the same with Alisha.

  * * *

  Alisha knocked on her editor’s door at three that afternoon, then poked her head inside. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, Alisha.” He waved her inside and pointed to one of the empty chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat and let’s talk.”

  Her stomach dropped a little as she sat, as much from nerves as from the morning sickness that had started kicking in hard—and that didn’t only happen in the morning, apparently. She’d snacked on some saltines before the meeting, so hopefully that would help settle things until this was over with. No one at the paper knew about her pregnancy yet and she wanted to keep it that way. She’d tell them, in her own time and her own way, once she figured out what the hell she was doing.

  Her editor, a sixty-something man named Bob Haskins, smiled at her from across the desk, his bald head gleaming beneath the overhead lights. Bob was old school—typewriters and Xerox machines old school. He liked to write his editorials by hand and smoked like a chimney on his breaks, despite having several heart attacks under his belt. She sniffed and resisted rubbing her nose from the lingering sting of tobacco smoke. At least he was wearing a nicotine patch today on his arm, she noticed.

  “I wanted to congratulate you on the success of your story this morning, Alisha,” Bob said. “Great work there.”

  “Thanks, Bob.” Alisha crossed her legs and placed her hands atop her still-flat tummy without thinking. “I’m glad I was able to get this one written. Felt good to work on such an important story.”

  Bob nodded. “And I owe you an apology about that too, Alisha. I’m sorry for tabling the story initially. Your instincts were right, and I won’t doubt them again.”

  “Good to know.” Alisha smiled. This was going better than she’d expected. “Since I’d like to continue working on more stories like this one in the future.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Bob sat back and clasped his hands atop his desk. “I wanted to meet with you to extend an offer, Alisha. One that will give you more say in which stories you cover and how you cover them. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds awesome.” Alisha tried to hide her excitement and failed miserably, if the way Bob held up his hand to temper her response was any indication.

  “There are still details to be worked out here. I still need to confirm everything with our publisher, but I’m really impressed with your work here, Alisha, and I’m sure she will be too.”

  Bob continued to talk, but Alisha was only half listening. It felt wonderful to be back in the saddle again, to feel like she was finally making progress up that hill she’d been climbing for so long.

  The phone on the desk rang and Bob checked his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I wanted to make sure you knew how I felt about your story and to let you know what was happening before you left for the day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a conference call to attend.”

  “Sure. Thanks again, Bob.” Alisha let herself out of the office and wandered back to her desk, still trying to wrap her head around everything. It was what she’d always wanted. Now all she had to do was figure out how to balance these exciting new job possibilities with the pregnancy.

  Twenty-Three

  That night, Alisha was sitting in the living room of her tiny studio apartment, reading through her story on the Andronetto brothers and the smuggling operations. It was good, she admitted, but as she skimmed through the facts of the case, something still didn’t sit right.

  Sure, the facts were complete enough for the cops to have arrested Hendrix and Milo as well and shut down their operations, but still. Something felt… off. Alisha sat back in her chair and frowned up at the ceiling, running through it all in her head again. The biggest question left unanswered for her was why.

  Why did they kidnap Thomas Warren?

  The evidence showed that he’d been working with the Andronetto brothers for months, fully participating in their operation. Why would that have changed? Maybe he was going to snitch. That would certainly be a motive for the Andronettos. But why would he change course like that, sabotaging a business that had been very profitable for him and undermining his own professional reputation? If it was on moral grounds, he wouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. Had something changed? But what?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of her cell phone. She picked it up to see a text from Simon: Outside. Can we talk?

  Ugh. She’d put off dealing with him all day because, frankly, she needed the space, but now it seemed she couldn’t hide any longer. Besides, if she was honest with herself, she kind of missed him. They’d spent basically twenty-four-seven together for days, then nothing. Not that she’d tell him that. He was too up in her business already. No sense giving him even more leverage to use against her. Still, as she thumbed in a quick response for him to come on up, giddy butterflies filled her stomach. Must just be her pregnancy hormones again. At least that was the excuse she was going with.

  The doorbell rang a minute later and she answered the door, running a hand down her comfy T-shirt and sweats, wishing she’d changed into something more presentable beforehand. But considering he’d seen her at her worst, maybe it wasn’t such a big deal.

  “Hi,” she said, suddenly breathless for no reason at all, other than that he was here.

  “Hey.” Simon gave her a look that made her toes curl, like he was dying of thirst and she was a cool glass of water. And there went those darned butterflies again, swirling inside her. He held up a bag from her favourite bakery in town and her heart melted a little more, despite her wishes. “I brought cupcakes.”

  “Then get in here already.” She stepped aside for him to enter, grinning. “Strawberry cheesecake?”

  “Of course.” He winked and she clenched her fists to keep from throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him silly.

  Down, girl.

  “Right.” She stepped around him and waved toward the living room before heading into her open-style kitchen. Her building was another former warehouse, like Simon’s, and her apartment was a loft—basically one big room divided up into smaller sections, except for the bathroom which was a separate room. “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Uh, just water for me is fine, thanks.” He took off his jacket and whoa. She’d forgotten how cut he was but the way that cotton T-shirt clung to all those muscles and sinews of his was unmistakable. Alisha bit her lip and turned away to fetch their drinks, along with plates and napkins for the cupcakes. She carried it all into the living room where Simon was sitting. Her cheeks felt hot and her pulse was racing, all from just having him here. She needed to get a grip and quick.

  She took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa from him and accepted the plate with a cupcake he handed her, careful not to let her fingers brush his. Given how attuned to him she seemed to be tonight, she was afraid she’d jump him right here on the couch. But they had stuff to deal with before they hopped into bed again. Important stuff.

  Simon was frowning down at his water bottle, looking as off-balance as she felt. Finally, he said, “I saw your story in the paper this morning.
You move fast.”

  Alisha shrugged, swallowing a huge bite of yummy cupcake before answering. “That’s how I work.”

  He nodded, then frowned. “I was hoping we could talk about my plans for the book.”

  “What about them?” She licked a glob of cream cheese frosting off her fingertip, then froze as he tracked the tiny movement, his expression damned near pornographic. Oh God. Answering heat flared inside her before she tamped it down hard. Cool it, girl. Keep it professional. Alisha set her cupcake aside. “You have all the same files I do, right?”

  “Yes, but my novel will go into more detail, obviously.” Simon’s usually smooth voice sounded rougher than usual. Or maybe that was just her overactive imagination again. He cleared his throat and continued. “I think it will play really well to readers, showing our harrowing investigation as we tracked down the bad guys to get justice.”

  “Hmm.” Alisha tucked her braids behind her ear and concentrated on her story again, the unanswered questions she still had, anything besides the hot-as-hell man beside her and how she’d like to gobble him up like she’d just done her cupcake. “You know, after I read through everything again, there’s still a couple things sticking out for me.”

  “Yeah?” Simon’s posture relaxed a bit, seemingly as relieved as she was to focus on something other than the crackling attraction between them. “Like what?”

  “Well, like why did they kidnap Warren?” Alisha tucked her legs beneath her and scooted back into her corner, angling to face him. “That’s never been their style in the past. And the evidence suggests he was cooperating with them for months. What changed? Why did they suddenly need to play hardball?”

  “Good question.” Simon mirrored her body angle from the other end of the sofa, crossing his legs loosely, one ankle resting atop his knee and his arms spread over the back of the sofa, claiming his space. “And it’s not like they were very good at kidnapping, either. The whole thing with Amy was a complete debacle. I don’t think they really planned it. Maybe they thought things wouldn’t go that far. But Warren stood his ground—for some reason.”

  “It’s crazy,” Alisha agreed. “And it doesn’t feel right to me. I think there’s more to it.”

  * * *

  “Hmm.” Simon rubbed his jaw, trying to understand what he was hearing and not mishandle it like he’d done before. “Maybe. I mean your instincts were on target about the whole smuggling thing.” He took a deep breath and narrowed his gaze on her. “But then, thinking that there’s more here could also just be another distraction to keep you from moving on.” At her flat look, he backtracked a bit, hoping to soothe her obviously ruffled feathers. “Listen. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying it’s easy to fall down a rabbit hole. Happens to writers researching all the time, trust me. Is it possible you’re just continuing to dig here because you don’t want the story to be over?”

  Alisha raised a brow at him. “I legitimately think we missed something important.”

  Well, crap. He’d come over here hoping to talk about them, how he wanted their relationship to continue. He’d meant it when he’d said he wanted to be there for her throughout the pregnancy. Whether they kept the baby or not, she deserved his support—and by her side was where he wanted to be. But how could they talk about the future when she still seemed stuck on this case?

  After a deep breath, he tried to come at it from another angle. She thought they’d missed something, so maybe it would help to go ahead and talk it through. Prove to her that there was nothing left to investigate. Dot all her I’s and cross all her T’s, just like she’d said before. Then there’d be nothing left to argue about.

  “Fine.” He sat forward again. “You asked why they’d kidnap Warren. What is your gut telling you is the reason? The smuggling?”

  “Maybe.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her chin atop them, looking far too adorable for her own good. “But he’d been fine with the smuggling they’d done up to that point. Maybe the situation changed? What if they were smuggling more than fake antiques? What if they were moving drugs? Or guns? Or people? That might be what caused him to draw the line.”

  “Or maybe he just got worried about being caught. Eddie could have warned him that you were poking around—that might have been enough for him to get spooked. He doesn’t have a criminal background. Maybe that was enough to scare him straight.”

  “Well, I trust my gut, and it’s telling me that there’s more than that going on.” She got up and picked up her plate to take it to the kitchen. “It hasn’t led me wrong before.”

  Meaning he had, was the gist of that. Simon crossed his arms. Coming here tonight had been a mistake, that much was obvious now, regardless of how badly he’d missed her.

  Their relationship seemed to be a recipe for disaster. The more he tried to reach her these days, the farther she pulled away. How the hell would they ever find a compromise that worked for both of them? Worse, what if he wasn’t enough for her? What if the way she pursued stories was an indicator for how she’d be with everything—always searching for more, more than him, more than their baby, more than he could offer?

  She finished up in the kitchen and returned to the living room to stand near the end of the sofa, her expression unreadable. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore, Simon.”

  “No.” He stood and grabbed his jacket. “I don’t want to fight either. I should probably go.”

  “Yeah.” She walked him to the door. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe I am seeing things that aren’t there.” Alisha opened the door for him and leaned the side of her head against it. “Thanks for the cupcake.”

  “Sure.” He stopped halfway across the threshold. “Talk to you later.”

  “Sure,” she said, watching him a moment before closing the door. “Good night.”

  “Night.” Simon stood there a moment in the hall, staring at his toes, before starting back downstairs to the lobby of her building, wishing he knew how to write a happy ending for them…even as he grew increasingly worried that that wasn’t going to be an option.

  Twenty-Four

  They didn’t talk again until three days later. Her schedule was crazy—and now that he finally had a writing topic, so was his. There were so many sources he needed to interview, so much background research he needed to do before he could dive fully into his writing. It all meant that their timing just hadn’t clicked. Now, as he sat across from Alisha in the trendy new Korean fusion place, Simon felt nervous. And awkward.

  Never a good combination.

  They ordered their food—Wagyu Bavette steak for him and Pacific cod for her—then fiddled with their silverware or sipped their sparkling waters or looked basically anywhere but at each other.

  Yeah, this evening was going splendidly.

  “So, uh. How are things at the paper?” he asked at last, for lack of anything better to say.

  “Good. Fine. Busy.” She toyed with the stem of her water goblet. “How’s the book coming?”

  “Great.” He shrugged. “I’m still gathering all the information, but I was able to pull together a solid proposal, so my agent’s happy.”

  “Good.” She nodded and glanced around at the other tables around them. People talking and laughing and generally having a good time, unlike them.

  Ugh. Enough. Simon hung his head and let it all out. “Look, I’m sorry about how we ended things the other night. I’m sorry about pressuring you about your work, Alisha. I’m sorry about all of it, okay? Can we just start over again, please?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, her dark eyes unreadable. Then, at last, she gave a small nod and he released his pent-up breath. “I’d like that.”

  He smiled, the first genuine one of the night. “Good. I’m so glad. I’ve wondered how you’ve been. Any more problems with spotting?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Some morning sickness.” She shook her head. “All day sickness, really, but otherwise good. And I’m glad we can start o
ver again too. We’re a still a team, right?”

  “Right.” A team that could finally concentrate on their baby. Simon reached over and took her hand. “We can do this.”

  A minute later, Alisha excused herself to go the restroom. Almost as if that was the cue, the waiter came to bring their salads. Simon tried to help clear space for their dishes on the table and accidentally knocked her purse on the floor.

  Crap. He bent to retrieve it and found the latch had opened, scattering stuff everywhere.

  Dammit. Simon crouched to get it all, doing his best not to look at things, but unable to really help it. There was the usual lipstick and pens and a tiny bottle of the perfume she wore and…

  Her day planner had fallen open to an appointment the next day, a meeting with a guy who was a known associate of the Andronetto brothers.

  Shit.

  Proof she was still digging into that story.

  He quickly shoved the planner back into her purse and set the whole thing back on the table just as she was weaving her way back toward him. Cheeks hot and mind racing, he gulped down some water to cool the agitation now simmering inside him. He’d agreed to a fresh start just minutes earlier, but how could he ignore what could potentially be a dangerous situation for her and their unborn child?

  Simon waited until she’d sat down again and picked up her fork to ask the question he couldn’t avoid. “Are you still working on the Andronetto story?”

  * * *

  Alisha blinked at him a moment, trying to wrap her head around the shift in him. When she’d gotten up to go the bathroom, he’d seemed like the old Simon—fun, sweet, endearing. The man she’d fallen hard for. But now, he was back to being bull-headed and defensive. What changed?

  She stabbed some lettuce with her fork and glanced over to where her purse sat on the table. It was in a different spot then before and her gaze flew back to Simon, her own guard rising up to meet his. “Did you go through my things?’