Her Baby's Father

by Rebecca York

  She had almost reached safety when he heard a sound behind him in the building.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The killer must have been coming back, doing a more thorough job of looking. And perhaps he’d remembered that there was a balcony outside Bill Morgan’s office.

  Leaning over the railing, Jack looked to see that Sara was almost to the ground. But not quite. Still, he had no choice but to swing his leg over and start lowering himself.

  With both their weights on the makeshift rope, he could feel the knot he’d tied loosening. All he could do was keep going.

  Below him Sara had landed in a bed of decorative rocks.

  He followed as fast as he could, but the knot in the tablecloth finally slipped, and he fell the last six feet to the lumpy surface.

  One thing he’d learned in his physical-therapy training was how to land without hurting himself. He rolled with the fall, righting himself quickly.

  “Jack,” Sara gasped. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he answered automatically, climbing to his feet and wavering dangerously as his bad leg protested the abuse.

  Sara grabbed his hand to steady him, and they swayed together for a few seconds until he was steadier.

  Above him, he heard the sliding glass door open. The guy was up there. Looking for them.

  Stifling the impulse to run, he pulled Sara back into the shadows along the edge of the building under the balcony.

  Maybe it was a good thing that the tablecloth had fallen, because it didn’t mark the spot where they’d climbed down. But it was still lying on the ground.

  Taking a chance that he had a few seconds left to act, he reached out and pulled it back under the balcony, then faded into the shadows with Sara.

  Just in time, because he heard footsteps above them.

  They both pressed back against the wall, keeping their breath shallow.

  Long seconds passed before he heard the sliding glass door above them close again.

  “Run for it,” he whispered as he balled up the tablecloth.

  Sara started to run, and he followed, carrying the wadded cloth and heading for the line of trees. He was about halfway there when his bad leg buckled, and he went down.

  His cry of surprise made her turn and start back.

  “Go,” he shouted.

  “No.” She reached his side, bending to help him up. He staggered to his feet, cursing the damn leg.

  “Get out of here,” he muttered.

  “Not without you.”

  She scooped up the tablecloth, and he leaned heavily on her as they made their way to the line of trees. He wanted to tell her to leave him, but he knew she wouldn’t do it.

  They had almost reached the shelter of the branches when he heard a bullet whiz past his head.

  Reflexively, he pulled Sara down and lay with his leg throbbing. “Keep going.”

  “With you.” She reached for his hand, linking her fingers with his, and he forced himself to ignore the pain in his leg as they crawled forward. The pain made him want to curl into a ball, but he kept going because he knew that if he didn’t get away, neither would she.

  Another shot hit the ground behind them, but they had made it to cover. The question was, would the shooter try to leap down from the balcony, or would he have to take the stairs to get out back?

  It was too far to jump, Jack told himself. Unless the shooter was a trained athlete.

  Although he kept expecting another bullet, the guy must not have been able to see them now, because he held his fire.

  * * *

  JACK’S NEMESIS CURSED. Following Jack and that nosy blonde tonight had seemed like a good idea. And their breaking into Morgan Enterprises had provided a golden opportunity.

  If they’d gotten shot, it could all be explained as a terrible accident. And nobody would know who had done it. Nemesis had planned to be long gone when somebody discovered the bodies in the morning.

  But once again, nothing had worked out quite right. Starting with the damn stupid robber. How hard was it to shoot somebody in a robbery attempt, then split?

  It would have worked except for Sara’s trick with the purse.

  Now there was the present mess. It should have been easy to eliminate Jack and Sara.

  Instead they’d hidden somewhere in the building, then escaped from the balcony. Could Jack have gotten away by himself?

  Probably not with that mangled leg of his. But on his own, he probably wouldn’t have thought of visiting Morgan Enterprises after hours. Sara must have suggested it. But why the hell was she sticking her nose into Jack’s business? Did she know something, or did she just have a bad feeling about that robbery and the well?

  Whatever the reason, she was becoming too big of a liability.

  Maybe the thing to do was get her out of the picture first.

  Yeah, that made sense. If she was dead, Jack would be distracted and vulnerable.

  * * *

  JACK AND SARA MADE IT to the parking lot on the other side of the trees.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. But he knew they weren’t in the clear yet. The guy with the gun could still follow them.

  When Jack started to open the driver’s door, Sara stopped him.

  “You’re not in any shape to drive.”

  With anyone else, he might have gotten angry. He didn’t like people suggesting that his physical disabilities were holding him back. But with Sara, he felt differently. He knew that she totally accepted him as he was. And that she knew he’d hurt himself falling to the rocks, as they tried to get away.

  Without protesting, he let her lift the keys out of his hand. As soon as the doors were unlocked, he collapsed into the passenger seat and sat leaning heavily against the headrest.

  “Get us out of here,” he said.

  She pulled out of the parking space, then headed for the access road, looking around for cars.

  He did the same, spotting no vehicles in the darkened lots. Whoever had been in the Morgan Enterprises building didn’t want to be seen.

  When Sara drove to the rear of a convenience store, he shot her a questioning look.

  “I don’t think we should keep the tablecloth. And I think we should get rid of it somewhere that’s not near your house, or mine.”

  “That’s probably right.”

  She reached into the backseat, pulled it out and crossed to the store’s Dumpster, where she pitched the wadded-up tablecloth inside.

  The remainder of the drive to the warehouse was silent. But when Sara pulled up by the loading dock, he covered her hand with his.

  “We’ll go in, and you can pack a bag. You’re spending the night at my house.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not leaving you alone. It’s too dangerous. He knows where you live. If he came after you at Morgan Enterprises, he can come after you here, too.”

  “He knows where you live, too.”

  “Yeah, but you never bought a gun, and I have one. Besides, in all honesty, I don’t think he’s going to make a direct attack on my house.”

  “Why?”

  He heaved in a breath and let it out. “Because everything that’s happened has been set up to look like an accident. I mean, even if we got shot at Morgan Enterprises headquarters, it could simply be a horrible mistake.”

  She kept her gaze fixed on him. “So you admit I’m not a paranoid nut.”

  “It’s not paranoid when it’s really happening.”

  “Jack!” She reached for him, pulling him into her arms, and they clung together awkwardly across the console.

  He wanted to keep holding her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were sitting ducks in the car. “Bad idea to let our guard down out here.”

  She nodded against his shoulder and eased away.

  “Let’s get your stuff.”

  They both climbed out of the car, and he made an effort to walk normally when his leg was thrumming like a banjo out of tune.

 
; As she started to step inside, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “Wait.”

  He went in first, looking around the darkened warehouse, thinking that it was a good place for an ambush. Behind him, she flipped a row of switches, flooding the space with light, making it feel less threatening.

  “I won’t be long,” she said. She hurried to the apartment in the back, where she pulled a carry-on from under the bed and started opening drawers. She packed some clothing, then went into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later with a little bag of makeup and toilet articles.

  “You travel light.”

  She laughed. “I don’t have a lot of stuff.”

  They were back outside in fifteen minutes.

  “How’s your leg?” she asked.

  “Not fantastic,” he said, as they climbed back into his car and left.

  * * *

  IN THE WOODS ACROSS FROM the parking lot, Nemesis uttered a low curse. Sara Carter wasn’t staying home tonight. Smart move on her part. Because she’d just avoided getting killed.

  Too bad, because she was getting to be a pain in the ass. Nemesis made an angry sound. This whole Jack Morgan episode needed to be brought to a conclusion, and quickly, before somebody else discovered what was going on.

  But not tonight, apparently.

  The watcher hurried back to the car parked on the other side of the wooded area and climbed in, thinking that all this following the happy couple around was getting to be a drag. But it was probably a good idea to make sure they were both going to Jack’s house.

  Then it would be time to go on to plan B.

  * * *

  SARA’S NERVES WERE JANGLING as she turned into the driveway that led to the modest ranch house where Jack was living. When she pulled up at the front door, she watched him scan the woods before climbing out.

  “Come on. Let’s not stay outside.”

  As she followed him to the front door, she was thinking that once again, she had something to worry about. For a whole new set of reasons. She’d been here many times. She knew where he kept the dishwasher detergent and which side of the bed he liked to sleep on. She knew that the water temperature in the shower was set very hot, and she shouldn’t turn it all the way up. She knew where her clothes would be hanging in his closet when they decided to move in together.

  Inside, he turned on a light, and she knew where the switch was, too.

  When he pivoted back to her, he winced.

  “Your leg is hurting.”

  “I guess I’m not hiding that too well.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Habit.”

  And pride, she thought.

  “I can massage it for you,” she offered.

  “Where did you pick up that skill?”

  She hadn’t been here more than two minutes, and she’d already slipped up.

  Improvising, she answered, “I learned in a course I took.”

  “I didn’t know you were interested in health sciences.”

  “It was one of several possibilities I explored in college. I mean, I knew I was going to have to make a living, and I wanted to do something that I’d enjoy.”

  “And you didn’t want to be a medical assistant.”

  “I liked it, but the background was so dry. It was too technical for someone who likes decorating rooms.”

  He nodded. “I want to do something first.”

  “What?”

  He brought his mouth close to her ear and spoke in a barely audible voice.

  “Look for bugs.”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean listening devices?” she whispered back. “You think there are any here?”

  He gave her a grim look, then went to the kitchen and pulled a pad of paper out of a drawer. On it he wrote, “Looks like somebody knows what I’m doing, almost as soon as I decide to do it.”

  “But you don’t talk to yourself, do you?” she couldn’t help writing.

  “I talk on the phone.”

  “Where?”

  “Most likely the exercise room. The bedroom. The kitchen.”

  She wrote, “You have an exercise room?”

  He nodded, then said aloud, “It saves time to do my physical therapy at home.”

  “I’ll help you look. For what exactly?” she whispered.

  Again he used the pencil and paper to say, “Anything not right. Like a little hole in the wall that’s not supposed to be there.”

  With a sick feeling, she watched him begin a careful examination of the living room, starting at the walls. When she saw him moving objects in the bookshelves, she did the same. Next he ran his hands over the walls, moving pictures as he went.

  He found nothing in the living room. But when he got to the bedroom, he made an angry sound.

  She hurried over to see him pointing to a small hole in the wall, just above the baseboard. Near the phone jack. He left the room and returned with a screwdriver. He used it to dig into the wall, and came out with a small black object.

  His expression was a mixture of anger and triumph as he held it up.

  As she started to speak, he pressed a finger to his lips, and she nodded.

  When he took the thing into the bathroom to examine it under the light, she followed. He gave it to her, and she turned the device in her hand. It was dark metal, about the size of a pencil eraser, but with perforations in the top.

  After she passed it back, he dropped it on the floor, then crushed it under the heel of his shoe.

  “What was it, exactly?” she asked.

  “A little wireless mike. Technology is wonderful.”

  “Oh, Lord. I never thought someone would go that far.”

  “Yeah. They must have broken into the house to install it.”

  “Do you think there are any more?”

  “I don’t know. But like I said, we should check the gym and the kitchen.”

  They didn’t find anything in the kitchen. But there was another one of the little devices in the drop ceiling over Jack’s exercise bike.

  He gave it the same treatment as the first one.

  She saw the anger reflected on his face.

  “Won’t they know the thing’s not transmitting anymore?”

  “I guess they will.”

  “They’ll know you found them. Or—that you were looking for them.”

  His expression hardened. “Whoever it is also knows that we were at Morgan Enterprises tonight. And we have to assume it’s the same person.”

  “That’s logical.”

  “All of which means I’ll have to bring this to a quick conclusion.”

  Below the anger on his face, she also saw pain, physical and mental. He’d accepted that someone he knew wanted him out of the picture. He’d pushed himself hard, and the extreme activity was taking its toll.

  “Let me see what I can do for your leg,” she offered.

  He looked torn.

  “Would you rather take some pain medication?” she asked, knowing he hated giving in to meds.

  He shook his head. “Okay. I’ll put on a pair of gym shorts.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom off the rec room and came out wearing a T-shirt and the shorts. At one corner of the room was a large padded table about the size of a double bed that he used for some of his physical-therapy routine.

  He put a bolster near one end and lay down with his leg over it, but Sara saw the tension in his posture.

  She went into the bathroom and got the bottle of lotion from the medicine cabinet.

  When she came back, he eyed the bottle. “How do you know where I keep that?”

  “An educated guess,” she lied. Of course she knew where he kept it. She’d used it before, but she was so off-balance that she kept slipping up.

  She struggled for calm as she scooped up some of the massage cream, but this whole night was setting her teeth on edge. It wasn’t just that they’d gone to Morgan Enterprises and someone with a gun had chased them around the building. It
was also the realization that none of this had happened before. She was off the charts, flying blind. Yet that was a good thing, she told herself. If so much had already changed, she had a chance to affect the big change. A chance to alter Jack’s destiny.

  He placed a pillow under his head and closed his eyes. She flexed her fingers. Even with him wearing the shorts, her touch on his thigh was going to feel intimate, and they both knew it.

  She started by rubbing some of the massage cream on his skin, her fingers stroking over the scars that would always mar his flesh. They were too deep and too extensive to ever disappear. As she worked, she kept her gaze down in case he opened his eyes and saw the emotions on her face.

  She would never get over the joy of touching him. And if she could ease the pain in his leg while she was doing it, so much the better.

  She worked in the cream and began to massage his injured muscles and ligaments, feeling the scar tissue and knots of tension below the skin.

  He made a low sound.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “A little, but I know that’s part of what works.”

  “I hate that it hurts.”

  “You’re doing the right thing.”

  The words held a wealth of meaning, and she wanted to know exactly what he was thinking, but she didn’t ask.

  Still, his husky voice told her that he was reacting to her touch in a way he wouldn’t with his physical therapist.

  Maybe talking about the suspects would distract them both from the intimacy of her fingers stroking and kneading his thigh. As she worked on a particularly tense place, she asked, “Who do you think was trying to kill us tonight?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “It could be someone in the company. Or hired help.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You think someone meant to lock you out of the computer? Or you just didn’t get the memo about the password change?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s one question I’m going to ask tomorrow.”

  “Ask who?” She kept working on his leg, her focus on the injuries.

  “My father.”

  “Be careful.” She dragged in a breath and let it out as she massaged a knot of tense muscles. “He’s not making all the decisions anymore, is he?”

  “No.”

  “Who is?”

  “My brother. I came back to find out he’s consolidating power in the company.”