Читать книгу Her Baby's Father - Rebecca York, Rebecca York - Страница 10

Sara pulled away and kept her head down, because looking at him might make her reveal what she knew about their past and their future. “I didn’t mean to say that,” she said. “It just slipped out.”

“I don’t have any right to pry,” he answered in a gruff voice, and she knew he was wondering about what she could possibly have meant.

She dragged in a breath and let it out, fighting panic. What was she going to say now? It had to be something that made sense, but her mind stayed blank until she heard words coming out of her mouth.

“I was in love with someone. It was a very intense relationship. We were going to get married. Then he died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was very difficult for me to deal with.”

“I understand,” he said, and she knew he must be trying to imagine what that must have been like for her.

She went on quickly. “I’ve been kind of closed off since it happened. I guess you can say I threw myself into my work.”

“I understand,” he said again.

“When that gunman came at you, all I could think of was protecting you,” she admitted.

He reached for her again, holding her close, and she was overwhelmed by how much she was feeling—hope, turmoil, confusion, overlayed with panic that the past would repeat itself, after all. The urge to explain it all to him was like steam pressure building up inside her. But she knew she couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t believe her. She had hardly believed it herself when she’d woken up in the car outside the mansion. But it had gone on too long for her to doubt the truth.

If she couldn’t speak, she could allow herself the joy of holding on to him for a little while longer. Her hands crept around his back, and they clung together.

Finally, she knew that if she stayed any longer, she was going to end up in his bed.

“I should leave.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“We’ll see each other soon. You wanted me to look at that new building.” She made a snorting sound. “And we’re forgetting that we agreed to a romantic meeting at police headquarters to look at mug shots.”

“Funny how that slipped my mind.”

“It’s not exactly a fun expedition.”

“Yeah. But I can pick you up, and we can kill two birds with one stone. If that’s okay?”

“That’s fine. I don’t have any urgent jobs. I’ll be at the warehouse.”

“Okay.”

She fished one of her cards out of her purse and gave it to him. Then they both exited the car. He walked toward his front door and stayed there as she climbed behind the wheel, closed the door and backed up, before turning to wave at him.

Then she left, wondering if she had made a mess of everything.

Since the attack by the gunman, her mind had been spinning as she tried to weigh every word before speaking. Which wasn’t a good idea because that was going to make her sound like she was hiding something. Which she was.

She had told him that she’d loved someone, and he had died. That was Jack, of course.

And she couldn’t tell him that.

So what if he asked about her dead lover? Was she going to make up a name for him? Or was she going to say it was just too painful to talk about?

Hopefully the latter, if she could get away with it, because she hated lying. And she’d done it over and over all evening. Starting with her story about the hill on 108. When she’d realized where she was, she’d been terrified. She’d distracted Jack, and a car had almost plowed into them. The past meeting the present. Or the future meeting the present.

Her mind was half in tonight’s reality and half in the former one as she reached Route 144, where she waited for a truck to rumble past.

Her head was pounding from the details of the evening.

The man who had come at Jack was the same guy who had tried to kill him last time. Only in a different restaurant in a different town.

How had he even known where to find Jack? Or had he followed them from the house? Which would mean he’d known where Jack would be.

And then there was the big difference. Last time she hadn’t hit the man with her purse. Last time someone had come out of the parking lot and shouted at the gunman. The distraction had been enough for Jack to leap on the guy, like he did tonight. And after that, the outcome had been the same. The man had pushed Jack down and run away.

But tonight she’d been prepared with the pocketbook because it was later and she’d assumed nobody would be on the street.

She’d go to the police station with Jack, but they weren’t going to see the guy’s picture. At least she didn’t think so because she couldn’t be certain how things were going to work out this time.

Like, for example, Patrick hadn’t been there to make the call last time. A different police officer had shown up. And she certainly hadn’t ended up telling Jack that she’d had a lover who’d died.

That could turn out to blow up in her face. But it had seemed like the only way to keep from looking like a nut.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering what she should have said and done.

It was useless to keep second-guessing herself. She was just going to have to act as normal as possible. Normal for a woman who’d just met a man who interested her. Not normal for a woman who was meeting the father of her child. A man she thought was dead.

Only there was no baby. Not yet. That was in the future.

Could she keep from getting pregnant? That was a leading question.

Did she want to keep from getting pregnant?

In the darkness of the car, she shook her head. If Jack got killed again, she wanted to have his child.

“Stop it,” she almost shouted, then spoke more calmly. “He’s not going to get killed. That’s why you’re here. To stop it from happening.”

She wished she could be sure of that.

The problem wasn’t the guy with the gun. It was whoever had sent him.

At least she was pretty sure they wouldn’t try the same method again. Because they wanted Jack’s death to look like an accident or a random act of violence where he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Which meant two different robbery attempts wouldn’t seem like chance.

Or would they?

She gripped the wheel, wishing she could stop her mind from going in circles like a hamster running on an exercise wheel.

She turned into the industrial park where she lived. Not one of the country’s upscale areas, but the low rent was a big inducement for the tenants.

There were no cars in the lot, only a few trucks, and she was suddenly aware of how isolated the location was. Hers was one of a long row of warehouses with varying purposes. Most were rented by businesses that didn’t feel the need for showy premises. The man who owned the space next to hers sold garden furniture there, although his primary job was insurance agent. A few doors down was a carpet company. Next to that was a dealer in pinball machines and other old arcade games. Beyond him was a co-op artists’ studio with stained glass and pottery.

The industrial park was busy during the day. But she was the only tenant who lived here, and usually she was the only person around at night.

She pulled around so that her car was facing outward, toward the strip of trees that bordered the other side of the parking lot. She’d always liked the way it gave a woodsy feel to an area that was otherwise devoid of charm. Tonight she peered into the darkness under the trees and shivered. As she imagined someone standing in the shadows, watching her.

The attack in Ellicott City had been aimed at Jack, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was safe.

She’d played a part in saving Jack tonight. Would the man with the gun report her involvement to the person who had hired him? Or would he want to skip over the news that a woman had slammed a pocketbook into his face?

Maybe she’d just directed the killer’s attention toward herself by getting personally involved, and maybe that meant she was in danger. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get a gun—and learn how to use it.

Lord, what if this time around she was the one who got killed and Jack survived?

As that new idea took hold, she shuddered. Quickly she got out of the car and crossed to the steps that led up to the loading dock. At one side was the door she used when she wasn’t emptying or loading the truck.

The security light didn’t go on, and she remembered that she needed to change the bulb. Better not put that off, she told herself, as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

In the warehouse, another wave of unfamiliarity hit her. She’d been living here when she met Jack, but after he’d died and she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d started looking for another place to live, because she couldn’t raise a child in a warehouse.

Tonight she was back here. And Jack was going to pick her up here tomorrow. She switched on a light, trying to see the place from his point of view. This part of the building was filled with furniture that she used as needed at display houses. The sideboards, desks, armoires and tables tended to be older pieces that she’d found at garage sales and auctions, and refinished or refurbished. The chairs and sofas were mostly modern, since she wanted them to be comfortable. Along one wall were shelves of knickknacks and other small items that she used to create a homey feel at each property.

At the moment, there was something she needed to check.

She’d told Jack that she could go with him tomorrow to see the new Morgan offices because that was what had happened last time.

Was it still true that she had the day free?

She hurried to the back of the building and stepped through the door that separated her living quarters from the furniture storage.

Inside she’d made herself a cozy little efficiency apartment, if one ignored the industrial cinder-block walls and the high ceiling with the ductwork overhead. Her bed was on one wall, with an Indian spread and pillows that made it look like a couch. Several easy chairs came from her warehouse stock. Her computer was on an old library table. And she’d kept several cabinet pieces that she loved, a Victorian dresser and a chest of drawers. The clothing she needed to hang up was in a vintage armoire. At the end of the bed were open shelves where she stored her decorating books and some of the small items that might go out to various model houses.

The kitchen was along the wall opposite the bed. It had a small sink, an under-counter refrigerator, a two-burner stove and a microwave. The small bathroom was next to it. There was no tub, but a previous tenant had put in a shower.

After booting her computer, she quickly checked her calendar and was relieved to find she actually was free for tomorrow.

She was just checking her email when her cell phone rang. There was no landline in the warehouse, which had worked okay because she did a lot of her business through email.

She tensed, until she saw the caller ID. Jack.

How could she have forgotten that he’d called that evening to make sure she was okay?

Pressing the Receive icon, she raised the phone to her ear.

“Hi,” she said, thinking that she probably sounded a little breathy.

“I wanted to make sure you got home okay. And—you didn’t get my number.”

“Right. I was kind of scattered.”

“Understandable.”

He gave her his home and cell numbers, and she wrote them down, although she already knew them by heart.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“Still a little spooked.”

“Likewise.” He waited a beat before asking, “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

“What’s convenient for you?”

“How about ten? We can do the police station bit, then look at the office spaces, then have some lunch.”

“That sounds good.”

There wasn’t much more to add to the conversation. Well, there was a whole lot more she wanted to say, but she knew none of it was appropriate at this stage in their relationship.

“Do you own a gun?” he suddenly asked.

She drew in a quick breath. She’d been thinking about that.

“No.”

“You should probably get one.”

“I’ve thought about it. Actually, my mom had one at the shop. And when I was a teenager, I took shooting lessons. So I know how to handle one.”

“But you don’t have one now?”