by Lisa Childs
“I’m going to change that,” he said. When the police were done with her, he was going to take his turn interrogating her. Hopefully he hadn’t lost his touch from his years with the River City Police Department. Of course, he had spent more time undercover than interrogating suspects. That had been more Logan’s job, which he was proving with his inquisition of him.
“Since you’ve got a baby together, that would probably be a good thing,” Logan remarked. He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re a father....”
Neither could Parker. But he had no reason to doubt the test. The only one he doubted was Sharon Wells.
* * *
THIS HAD BEEN a mistake. Sharon had realized that even before Parker Payne had kissed her. She should not have come here. But she had been warned to trust no one else. So she hadn’t told the police anything—not that she’d had much to tell them. She really had no idea who was trying to kill her or why. But she hadn’t told the officers about the other attempts on her life.
And she had tried to pass this one off as her car being mistaken for someone else’s—maybe even Parker Payne’s. He was the one who someone was trying to kill—or so the news reports had claimed.
The gray-haired police officer opened the door of the vacant doctor’s office he had used to question her and held it for her. She had her hands full with the diaper bag and the sleeping baby. Ethan had exhausted himself from crying, but even in slumber, he clung to her, strands of her hair clutched in his chubby little fists.
How could she love this child so much? He had never been part of her plan. She had never wanted to marry or have children; she had intended to focus only on her career.
“You’re very lucky, miss,” the officer told her.
How? Along with her car, Sharon had lost her purse and her suitcases. She sighed. “I know it was just a vehicle...”
She could replace the money and other lost items; she would not have been able to replace Ethan. But even though he hadn’t been hurt in the explosion, she was still going to lose him.
To his father...
“The car wasn’t the only thing lost,” the officer informed her. “The bomb didn’t go off until someone started the engine.”
“But I had the keys,” she murmured. But when she patted the pocket on the front of the diaper bag, she realized they weren’t there. She must have left them dangling from the ignition.
“Security cameras picked up someone checking out cars in the lot, obviously looking for one to steal,” the officer said.
“Someone was trying to steal my car?” Because she had left the keys and the purse and the suitcases...
How had she been so careless? She’d had her hands full with Ethan. But she’d also been scared to bring Parker Payne a baby he hadn’t even known he had.
Shaking his head as if in pity of the dead carjacker, the officer said, “He picked the wrong car to steal.”
And he’d died because of it—because of her. She gasped as guilt and regret overwhelmed her. But then a strong hand gripped her shoulder, squeezing gently as if offering reassurance.
She glanced up at Parker Payne. He was dressed in a shirt nearly as blue as his brilliant eyes; it was tucked into a pair of faded jeans. She kind of missed the hospital gown.
“Did the security cameras pick up who planted the bomb?” Parker asked the officer.
The older man shook his head again with regret. “The bomber knew where the cameras were and avoided them. We’re going to have the techs go over the footage again to see if they can find anything usable.”
Parker nodded in approval.
She was surprised the officer had been so free with information about a police investigation. But then the older man clasped Parker’s shoulder.
“Glad you’re alive, Payne,” he said. “Losing your father was hard enough.”
A muscle twitched along Parker’s clenched jaw, and he nodded again.
“You tired of working for your brother yet?” he asked. “We’d love to have you back on the force.”
Parker arched a brow as if in skepticism of the older man’s claim.
“Well, maybe not now,” the officer amended, “but once you find out who’s trying to kill you...”
“That’ll be soon,” Parker promised.
“We’ll help,” the officer said. He turned to Sharon. “But until that person is caught, you might want to stay away from Mr. Payne, miss. For your own safety...”
She had already discovered she wasn’t safe anywhere, either.
“We’ll protect her, too,” Parker said. “It’s what Payne Protection does.”
His family ran a security firm; he acted as a bodyguard. But what happened when he was the one needing protection? Who protected him?
He stepped back to allow the officer to pass him, and she saw the others standing just down the hall. The brothers who looked so much like him and the other two men who looked like each other with their blond hair and light-colored eyes. All of the men watched him and her carefully, as if they didn’t even trust her not to try to kill him.
But then, they were smart to trust no one—especially not her. She needed to tell him the truth. But when she turned back to him and found him staring in wonder at the sleeping baby she held, she realized that he already knew.
“He is your son,” she said.
“I know.” But he shook his head as if he was still in denial of being a dad. Or maybe that wasn’t what he was denying....
He was denying her.
Pain clutched her heart, and even though it killed her to admit it, she added, “I am not his mother.”
“I know.”
Of course he knew. Despite the concussion, he would have remembered her had they ever been involved. But they would have never been involved. Even when they’d previously met, they hadn’t been formally introduced; they had only glanced at each other in passing. Apparently he hadn’t noticed her, but she had noticed him. It was impossible to not notice a man as devastatingly handsome and charming as Parker Payne.
But he wasn’t her type any more than she was his. She would never have gone for a man with his reputation or with his good looks. The only men she had ever dated, and there had been only a few, had been as serious about their education and their careers as she had been.
Before her little man had come along. Before Ethan...
So what was she supposed to do now? Hand Parker Payne his son and walk away? That was what she had been instructed to do, but her car was gone now. Her purse and money, too. She had no means with which to walk away...even if she could bring herself to turn her little man over to strangers.
“You’re coming with me,” he told her, as if he had read her mind or, more likely, seen her indecision. “And you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on....”
If only she knew...
But just as she hadn’t immediately admitted that she wasn’t Ethan’s mother, she stalled on admitting her ignorance, too. She needed more time with the little boy—enough time to make sure he would be safe...without her.
Parker’s hand moved to her elbow now, as he guided her toward his family and friends. “We need a diversion,” he told them, “a way to get out of here and make sure that no one follows us.”
One of his brothers nodded. “We’ll distract whoever might be watching. Do you have a safe place to take them?”
Parker nodded.
But Sharon felt no relief. Parker might be able to keep them safe from whoever was after them. But who would keep her safe from him?
One of the light-haired men spoke. “I found out more information from my contacts.”
Parker lifted a brow in question. “You know who ordered the hit on me?”
He shook his head. “No, but I know that you’re not the only one. A hit w
as put out on someone else the same day as it was put out on you.”
His eyes darkening with concern, Parker glanced toward his brother.
And the man shook his head again. “It’s on a woman.” His gray-eyed gaze focused on her. “A woman named Sharon Wells.”
So she hadn’t just been in the wrong places at the wrong times. It had not been coincidence or mistaken identity. Someone was definitely trying to kill her. Someone wanted both her and Parker Payne dead.
Chapter Four
Parker closed and locked the door behind Sharon Wells and the baby she carried—his baby. Then he slid his gun back into the holster beneath his shoulder. Before he’d brought her up from the garage in the basement, he had cleared the penthouse condo on Lake Michigan that his brother Logan used as a safe house. Parker had also made certain they weren’t followed from the hospital.
“We’ll be safe here,” he assured her.
She trembled—maybe with cold or maybe with exhaustion from carrying the sleeping child. When he’d cleared the penthouse, he had also brought up the portable crib his mother had somehow conjured up at the hospital. He had set it up in a corner of the master bedroom. He reached out for the baby and carefully lifted him from her arms. But the child—even in his sleep—clutched her hair in his hands, binding the baby to her as if those tresses were caramel-colored ropes.
She was not his mother; she had finally admitted that. But there was definitely a bond between her and the baby. She gently pried open the little fingers so that her hair slipped free. And Parker held only the baby.
Ethan—she called him. His son’s name was Ethan. He stared down in wonder at the little boy. His pudgy cheeks were flushed and drool trailed from the corner of his open mouth. His fuzzy black hair was damp, too. He had been held so tightly in Sharon’s arms that the child had gotten too warm. She had held him as if she would never let him go. And now she visibly held her breath as she watched him handle the baby, as if afraid that Parker might drop him.
That he might hurt him...
A test had proved that somehow this child was his. Parker had vowed to never become a father, but now that he was, he would do anything for his son. He would die for him before he would ever let any harm come to him.
If Ethan had been in that car when it exploded...
Parker shuddered in horror over the thought. He could have lost his child before he had ever realized that the little boy was his. He never wanted to let him go now, but the little boy was already overly warm. And Parker was hot himself—with anger over Sharon Wells’s deception. But she watched him as if he was the one who couldn’t be trusted.
Very gently, so that he didn’t awaken the boy, he laid him down in the crib. The child sighed softly as he relaxed against the thin mattress, his slumber deepening.
“We’re safe here,” he repeated. But he was reassuring himself now that nothing would happen to his little boy.
“You probably want to kill me yourself,” she said, “for misleading you.”
He snorted. “Misleading me?” He wrapped his fingers around her arm and tugged her farther from the crib so that he wouldn’t wake the baby as the anger he had barely been able to contain boiled over in his voice. “That’s all you think you’ve done?”
“I didn’t lie to you,” she insisted, those huge light brown eyes wide with innocence and sincerity. “I never told you that I was Ethan’s mother—just that you are his father.”
He dropped his hand from her arm as he realized she hadn’t lied. She had never claimed to be the baby’s mother; he had only assumed that she was because she had brought the baby to him. Why hadn’t the boy’s mother? That woman—whoever she was—had kept her pregnancy from him.
“Why were you the one to bring me my son?” he wondered aloud.
While the baby’s mother hadn’t even told him that he was a father, this woman had brought him his baby. She had shared a secret that wasn’t even hers.
“I shouldn’t be mad at you,” he said as he turned back to the crib and studied the sleeping baby. “I should probably be thanking you instead.” If not for Sharon Wells, he might never have known he had a son.
“So you don’t want to kill me?” she asked, but she narrowed those eyes with suspicion as if she still couldn’t trust him. But given that someone was trying to kill them, she shouldn’t trust him or anyone else.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He was treating her as his family treated each other, making jokes to defuse a tense situation. “I could use the money for carrying out the hit. Maybe set up a college fund for Ethan...”
She smiled nervously, probably not completely certain he was kidding.
He wasn’t entirely kidding. He would have to set up a college fund; he would have to provide for his son’s present and his future. But he wouldn’t be able to do any of that if he was dead.
And why was there a hit out on Sharon, as well? She wasn’t the baby’s mother, so who exactly was she?
“Maybe you haven’t lied to me,” he said, “but you haven’t been completely honest with me, either. You know a lot more than I do. You know who Ethan’s mother is.”
Color flushed her face, giving away her guilt.
“And I think you even know why someone’s trying to kill us,” he continued, “maybe even who...”
She shook her head and all that thick hair tumbled around her shoulders. He was so glad that he had pulled it free from that knot. Those caramel-colored waves softened the sharp angles of her thin face, making her beautiful. “I don’t know why,” she said, “or who...”
He stared into her eyes, trying to gauge if she was being honest. If only he were the interrogator that his brother, the former detective, was...
But he had been the undercover cop—the one more adept at keeping secrets than at flushing them out. He hadn’t needed confessions; he had caught ’em in the act—in the commission of the crime.
Had Sharon Wells committed any crime?
“Who are you?” he asked.
It wasn’t the question he should be asking. He should be asking who Ethan’s mother was. But Sharon was the one with the bounty on her head—not whoever the baby’s mother was. And for some reason Parker was more interested in Sharon than in whoever had kept his son from him.
“Who are you?” Parker asked again.
* * *
SHARON HAD EXPECTED his anger. She hadn’t expected his suspicion. “I told you who I am. I would show you my driver’s license to prove it, but it burned up when my car exploded.”
But more than material possessions had blown up. Somebody had lost his life because of her, because someone else wanted her dead. And that man might not have been the only one who’d been hurt in the cross fire....
Parker crossed the enormous master suite to a desk near the window that overlooked Lake Michigan. The sun was setting now, streaking across the surface of the water. He lifted a piece of paper from a fax machine. “Here’s a copy of your license.”
Her face—looking pale and tense—stared back at her from the paper he held up. Then he replaced that with another photo—one of a burned-out and boarded-up apartment building. “And here’s a picture of the address on your driver’s license....”
Sharon stepped closer to him. “Did anyone die in the fire?” She reached for the picture, which was actually part of a newspaper article.
He caught her wrist. “You knew about this?” A muscle twitched in his cheek and his blue eyes were so intense, so filled with concern. “Were you and Ethan there when the building caught fire?”
His concern was for his son. But she was concerned for the baby, too. She had been entrusted with his safety, with his welfare. It wasn’t a job for which she had asked, but it was one she had taken more seriously than her real job. And she had nearly failed. She glanced at that picture
of destruction and shuddered.
“No,” she replied. “We weren’t there. But I saw it on the news.”
Panic clutched her heart as she remembered that horrific moment when she had realized that it was her home on the news, her apartment complex burning, flames reflecting off the shattered glass on the blackened lawn.
“I know there were injuries,” she said, “but I haven’t seen any follow-up reports to see if everyone recovered.”
That muscle twitched in his cheek again and he replied slowly, with reluctance, “Someone was killed....”
She sucked in a breath. “That’s two people,” she murmured. “Two people killed because of me....”
“Today two people were killed because of me.” He slid his hand from her wrist up her arm and squeezed her shoulder, offering comfort and sharing her guilt. “Two friends—two family men—lost their lives because someone wanted me dead.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. Long ago she had learned that crying was a waste of time. And she had never had anyone offer her a shoulder to cry on or arms to hold her. She had been left alone with swollen eyes and a red face.
“Why does someone want you dead?” he asked and then repeated his question again. “Who are you?”
“You have a copy of my license. You know who I am.”
He shook his head. “I know your name and your old address. But that doesn’t tell me why someone would want you dead. Are you involved with the wrong people?”
She hadn’t thought so...until now.
“Do you have a crazy boyfriend?” he asked, firing questions at her like bullets. “A dangerous career? Do you lead a life of crime?”
She laughed at the wild image he painted of her. It could not have been further from the truth. He had to have been kidding again like he had when he’d acted as if he would consider killing her for the money.
From the little time she had spent around his family, she had noticed that they teased each other as a way of communicating. But what did she know about family? She had never really had one.
“You think this is funny?” he asked, his voice gruff with disapproval.