Born in Mystery

by Susan Kearney

  “I’ve never had a police officer come looking for me. Instinct tells me he wants to speak to you.” Finally, he put her down but kept a firm grip on her arm as they walked down the stairs and through the foyer.

  Craig opened the door. “Come in.”

  A young, blue-eyed, blond-haired officer stepped inside. He grinned when he caught sight of her. “Sorry to disturb your day—”

  “It’s already been more than disturbed,” Craig muttered while she fought not to fidget.

  “Is the bike out front yours, sir?”

  Craig’s gray eyes drilled her with a piercing stare. “I believe the vehicle belongs to my wife.”

  The tension in Craig’s hand radiated disapproval up her arm, and she swallowed hard. She’d intended to ditch the bike or hide it in his garage. In retrospect, she shouldn’t have taken it. But she’d been running for her life. Returning to her car had been out of the question. What could she say?

  “Is that true, ma’am? Do you own that bike?”

  “Not exactly.” A sinking sensation roiled deep in her stomach as she suspected her limited knowledge of the law wasn’t enough to save her. But she couldn’t let them lock her up—not with her grandmother depending on Bianca’s visits.

  Craig raised his eyes to the ceiling in disgust at her evasive reply. “What’s the problem, Officer?”

  “I know you leave the country often, sir. I didn’t know you were back. When I saw a strange vehicle outside, I thought a robbery might be in progress. So I ran a make on the plates.”

  Craig gripped her tightly. “And?”

  “The bike’s stolen.”

  Chapter Two

  THE COP’S STATEMENT hit Craig like a sucker punch to the jaw. He’d suspected Bianca had secrets, perhaps a few unpaid parking tickets, but he hadn’t guessed the surrogate so carefully screened by his attorneys could be a thief. Reeling, he backed away, hoping the distance between them would help him understand. It didn’t.

  As he waited for her explanation, a denial, an excuse, the remaining heat where she’d cuddled against his chest slowly cooled. His temper didn’t.

  She remained silent, her face pale. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, either, but stared at a spot in the vicinity of his left shoulder.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come downtown, ma’am,” the officer told her.

  Unwilling to let her out of sight after this new revelation, Craig reached into his pocket for his car keys. “I’ll drive her.”

  “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’d like to change.” Bianca gestured to her black leather but directed her words at the cop. “My husband enjoys these kinds of games, but I should wear something more appropriate to court.”

  More likely she was going to jail.

  And that outfit had been strictly her idea. The conniving little witch was making him sound like some kind of pervert. He conveniently ignored the fact that he’d been alternately wildly furious and rashly attracted to her since she climbed off that bike. And that he’d never again inhale the scent of leather without thinking of her.

  She retrieved her duffel and walked past him with as much dignity as a woman dressed in black leather could muster. Her eyes still avoided his, and her bottom lip trembled.

  Yet she lifted her chin defiantly. “While you calm down, dear, I’ll change in the guest room.”

  Was that a not-so-subtle reminder that he needed at least to don a shirt? A hint that she’d moved in? Or her way of telling him she didn’t intend to share his room?

  For now.

  Conflicting emotions stirred inside him, and compassion rose to the surface. What was it about her that made him want to help her and protect her? Her courage? The vulnerability she tried to hide? Or maybe he was rationalizing away the truth. While she carried his children, he didn’t have a choice. Bianca had already caused him more problems in the past hour than his first wife had during their five-year marriage. Were the memories of the terrible accident and the aching loss finally beginning to fade?

  Of one thing he was certain. If Bianca lived here, he could afford to be patient because eventually he’d make love to her. As his thoughts kept cartwheeling, he clapped a hand on his forehead. He must be crazy.

  The birth mother of his children was a motorcycle mama. A thief. Even thinking of taking her to bed was out of the question. The shock of meeting Bianca Warren must have fried his brain.

  He had to get his act together. Pull some strings. Luckily, although his business profits had slipped during the years since he’d lost his wife, he was getting his company back on track. Besides, there wasn’t a judge in town who didn’t owe him a favor.

  No matter how badly his lawyers had misled him in their search for a suitable surrogate to bear his children, his kids would not lack for fresh air and sunshine while she went to jail. Not if he had anything to say about it.

  Planning on speaking to her, he bounded up the stairs three at a time but hesitated outside the guest room door. Bianca was talking, her voice low. “Gran, I may not be able to visit today. I’ve got to go downtown to the courthouse.”

  Ashamed that he’d been reduced to eavesdropping on her phone call, he strode down the hall and to his bedroom, kicked off his jeans and changed into business attire. He knotted his tie with automatic precision while his thoughts raced. At least today was a weekday, and he stood a chance of arranging her release. He combed his hair and wondered which judge was sitting on the bench.

  After returning downstairs, Craig gave the officer a soft drink while they waited for Bianca. At the click of a high heel, the cop glanced up and choked.

  Craig patted the man on the back then pivoted to look up. “Bianca?”

  “Yes.” The same throaty voice answered, but that was all he recognized, except for the incredibly long legs shown off by silk hose and heels. Shocked wide awake, he stared.

  The red mane of lioness hair was gone, replaced by a smooth, sophisticated honey gold ending just below her elegant diamond-studded earrings. She’d replaced the hot-red lipstick with a more natural color, exchanged the black leather for a soft gray-and-cream pin-striped power suit. Cream-colored lace peeked out of the vee of the jacket suitable for any attorney to wear to court. A delicate gold chain hung around her regal neck, an antique locket resting in the hollow of her throat.

  She must have sensed his astonishment. Her mouth turned up in a haunting smile. With the serenity of a celebrity about to take her bow after a stellar performance, she offered him the crook of her arm. “This outfit will be more appropriate.”

  BIANCA DIDN’T HAVE to read minds to know Craig Braddack’s famous temper was about to explode in her direction. The tense grip on her arm as he dragged her out of the courthouse and down the steps into the sunshine amid the five-o’clock crowd on the city sidewalks never eased.

  “That was some story you told the judge.”

  “I told the truth.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  She winced at his sarcastic tone. When the judge remanded her to her husband’s custody, Craig’s mouth had puckered as if he’d been chewing a bitter pill. Without glancing at her, he’d accepted the responsibility with a stiff nod. She couldn’t blame him for his disgust at having to take charge of a criminal, for feeling used and betrayed. No doubt if he could now choose another surrogate, he would do so—and to keep the babies safe, she’d gladly give them up. But that wasn’t possible.

  If the babies were to survive, they had to remain inside her. And she needed his assistance to stay alive.

  So where was the relief she’d expected to feel at attaining Craig’s help? Convinced that accepting his leashed anger and ill-concealed censure was easier than telling him the truth, she endured the anxiety and tension in silence. Still, the irony of her situation mocked her.

  If only she could run. But she c
ouldn’t leave Gran. So she was stuck with Craig Braddack and he with her.

  His expression cold and accusing, he turned to her at the foot of the courthouse steps. “Did you really expect Judge Thordale to believe your grandmother bought that stolen motorcycle?”

  “Gran’s a little senile,” she lied. The woman who’d raised her was shrewd and as sharp as a Stanford graduate. Fortunately, her grandmother was also skillful at extemporizing, claiming mental gymnastics put a bit of excitement in an otherwise dull existence. More importantly, she’d know what to say if any cops arrived at the nursing home to ask questions. Even better, Garden Grove, the town where Gran lived, had a different police department than Santa Del Ray.

  “Let’s pay your grandmother a visit.”

  “Why?”

  Craig didn’t reply. Instead, he tightened his grip on her as if he feared she’d escape. He led her through the crowd, and her thoughts churned. Gran was good, but could she fool his acute perceptiveness? Bianca had already learned Craig was adept at reading people. From his skeptical glances, she could clearly see she hadn’t allayed his suspicions.

  She and Gran would have to stay on guard, or he’d trip them up. She frowned. Since Bianca hadn’t had time to fully explain that the stalker had found her again, would Gran pick up her cues?

  At least Bianca no longer had to worry about going to jail.

  Because she had no prior record and because Craig had supported the judge’s last campaign, she was now a free woman. Sort of. For a split second, she had the crazy urge to turn and thank him for standing beside her in court. Then she risked a glance at Craig’s hard face and wondered if she’d have been better off in jail.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw, and she canceled her absurd notion. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked every inch the calm, cultured businessman, but the tight grip of his long fingers on her arm betrayed the fury seething beneath the controlled surface.

  Nothing was going the way she’d planned. She was supposed to be holed up at home, comfortably curled on a sofa with a good book and munching on carrot sticks—not hiding from a killer. Instead, she was stuck with a keeper who didn’t trust her, a husband who resented her, and a soon-to-swell belly. While her lies were tame compared to the truth, they were necessary to keep her safe.

  If she died, so would the precious lives inside her. Even if it meant lying and stealing, the babies had to come first. Craig might not approve of her methods, but she had to protect his children. Nonetheless, the unsettling image of his probable reaction when she finally told him the truth had her trembling.

  He marched her along the busy street, and she hurried to match his long stride, heels clicking madly to keep up. Men and women chattered as they exited office buildings. The crowds overflowed the sidewalks and spilled into the streets. As the throng rushed home to loved ones, Bianca imagined hearts brimming with happiness, welcoming hugs and home-cooked meals.

  In contrast, what probably awaited her was a lecture—that is, if he deigned to break his furious silence.

  After waiting for the light on the corner to turn green, Bianca and Craig stepped off the curb to cross Granville, a busy four-way intersection. From her right, a white Mercedes raced through a red light.

  The crowd scattered. A woman screamed. Brakes screeching, the car skidded and fishtailed her way.

  No.

  Her heart hammered. Her blood iced. He couldn’t be after her again, not twice in one day.

  Bianca froze.

  Craig’s fingers tightened on her upper arm, jerked her aside. Out of harm’s way. The car passed so close she could have touched the chrome bumper. At Craig’s fierce tug, she crashed into him and would have crumpled if he hadn’t cradled her against his chest.

  She clung to him, unable to stop the shudders that racked her. They could have been killed. Was no place safe?

  “Get the license number,” she gasped.

  Brakes squealed, and the sound of metal crunching drew her attention. She couldn’t see. Around them, people panicked, a dog barked, a child cried. A bicyclist rode by as if nothing unusual had happened.

  “Sorry. Too many people are in the way.”

  He stroked her back, comforting her. She should chase after the car, write down the license number. But she didn’t want to give up the protective strength of his arms. For the first time in a long while, someone was worried about her, and relaxing against his broad chest felt undeniably good.

  His former fury had been replaced by tight white lines of concern at the corners of his mouth. “Are you all right?”

  Shaking, she nodded, leaning against the solid strength of him to remain upright on wobbly legs. Would this never end?

  He led her to the corner bus stop and carefully lowered her to a bench, his tone gentle. “You’re pale. Put your head between your knees.”

  He nudged her head down, his warm hand cradling her neck with a tenderness she’d never suspected in him. She took deep, calming breaths until the lightheadedness ceased.

  As her fright eased, a sour taste rose up into her mouth. Surely the attacker in the park hadn’t already found her? How could he have picked up her trail when she hadn’t returned to her apartment or her car? Hadn’t used a credit card or cell phone? His spotting her on the sidewalk could just have been her bad luck. But these clothes were nothing like her normal attire. Neither was the blond wig.

  Damn it! She was supposed to have been protected and safe in this new identity.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  She shook her head, unwilling to remain alone, hating the lie of omission this time. While he believed the close call an accident, she knew better.

  Being unable to predict the stalker’s next move left her at a disadvantage, and she considered telling Craig the truth. In the face of his kindness, the burden of her secret had never weighed so heavily. But at the thought of facing the next eight months alone, her fear spiked, thoroughly stifling her desire to confess.

  “I’ll be okay. It’s my hormones overreacting,” she lied. “Just give me a minute.”

  Her nerves really were on edge. Yet Craig’s solicitous concern revealed a side of him she hadn’t known existed until now. Despite the fright, she liked his holding her close and fussing over her. Knowing his hands could comfort as well as suffuse her with heat jolted her to a painful awareness.

  His concern’s not for you but his children, the cynic in her scoffed.

  Her hand moved protectively to her stomach.

  “Are you okay?” Panic tinged his voice. “Should I find a doctor?”

  “I’m all right. The babies are fine.” Her hands trembled, and she clenched them.

  “You’re shaking.” Ignoring the dirt, he knelt on the sidewalk beside her, clasped her cold hands and rubbed them briskly between his warm ones. She wanted to hang on tight and never let go.

  Easy. Get a grip. I’m safe now. Surely her attacker wouldn’t try to run her over again right away.

  Dizzy, she sat up and peered through the throng of people on the sidewalk. The white Mercedes had jumped the curb and crashed into a brick wall. Hope surged at the possibility her attacker might have been injured and caught.

  She peered through the crowd gathered to gawk at the Mercedes. Unharmed thanks to an air bag, the driver was a woman!

  Disappointment haunted her.

  The driver wasn’t her stalker. There was no way her attacker in the park could have been a woman. The motorcyclist whose bike she’d taken had broad shoulders, a flat chest and thick arms. Whoever he was, wherever he was, he was alive and well. Discouragement, sharp and bitter, left Bianca even shakier.

  Her blood stilled, infusing her bones with ice. The cold horror would never be vanquished—not until the man who’d tried to kill her was caught. On the other hand, this sidewalk incident was a simple
accident. He hadn’t found her again.

  I’m safe. For the moment.

  Though the concern on Craig’s face was probably for his babies, his steady gray eyes searched hers with compassion. Obviously, he was a man capable of deep feelings. Powerful feelings.

  All of them for his first wife and the children she carried, she reminded herself.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “It’s the hormones. Ever since the doctors implanted the embryos, I’ve been emotional, a normal result of pregnancy,” she lied once more, unable to discern whether he believed her.

  He didn’t argue. Again she wished she could tell him the truth. She must be more shaken than she’d realized to consider confiding in him. Staying hidden was crucial, as much for her own safety as for his children’s.

  After her strength returned, he led her into the nearest coffee shop. The cheery red-and-white-checkered country decor derided her bleak mood. Her nerves jangled. Although she yearned for coffee, the caffeine wouldn’t be good for the twins, so she ordered cranberry juice with a tuna sandwich.

  Slowly, her nerves settled, and she munched absently. Opposite her, Craig’s observant dark eyes measured her every move. Clearly, he was full of questions, and just as clearly, he wouldn’t risk upsetting her.

  His scrutiny, as if he feared she was about to break apart at any moment, made her uneasy. “You don’t have to keep staring at me as if I’m going to fall apart. I’m stronger than I look.”

  “Sorry.”

  Fearing in her overwrought state, she might slip up, she didn’t want to answer questions about herself. Right now, she wanted assurance she’d done the right thing by trusting this man. He certainly seemed concerned about his babies. She brushed her fingers over her stomach. “These children must mean a lot to you.”

  He stared at his half-eaten burger. “They mean everything to me.”

  “Most men don’t choose to raise children alone. You must have loved your wife very much.”

  He nodded then sipped his coffee, his starkly chiseled face giving away nothing.