“Why would you risk your life to face a killer for me?”

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s only fair I tell you. I’m crazy about you, Megan. I tried to deny it, tried to pretend the feelings weren’t there, but they only grew stronger. Then last night when we kissed under the mistletoe, I had to face it. And unless I’m reading the signals wrong, you feel something for me.”

She felt a lot more than something, but she’d been determined to blame it on her pregnancy-induced hormonal imbalance. “Has this ever happened before?” she asked.

“You’re the very first. And for the record, it’s against every rule in the book to get hooked on the woman you’re required to protect.”

Dear Reader,

This holiday season, deck the halls with some of the most exciting names in romantic suspense: Anne Stuart and Gayle Wilson. These two award-winning authors have returned together to Harlequin Intrigue to reprise their much loved miniseries—CATSPAW and MEN OF MYSTERY—in a special 2-in-1 collection. Night and Day is a guaranteed keeper and the best stocking stuffer around!

Find out what happens when a single-dad secret agent has to protect a beautiful scientist as our MONTANA CONFIDENTIAL series continues with Licensed To Marry by Charlotte Douglas.

The stork is coming down the chimney this year, as Joanna Wayne begins a brand-new series of books set in the sultry South. Look for Another Woman’s Baby this month and more HIDDEN PASSIONS books to come in the near future.

Also available from Harlequin Intrigue is the second title in Susan Kearney’s HIDE AND SEEK trilogy. The search goes on in Hidden Hearts.

Happy holidays from all of us at Harlequin Intrigue.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

P.S.—Next month you can find another special holiday title—A Woman with a Mystery by B.J. Daniels

Another Woman’s Baby

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joanna Wayne lives with her husband just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heartwarming romance, she enjoys reading, golfing or playing with her grandchildren, and, of course, researching and plotting out her next novel.

Joanna loves to hear from readers. You can request a newsletter by writing her at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059-2851, or e-mail her at JoannaWayne@msn.com.

Books by Joanna Wayne

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

288—DEEP IN THE BAYOU

339—BEHIND THE MASK

389—EXTREME HEAT

444—FAMILY TIES*

471—JODIE’S LITTLE SECRETS

495—ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

505—LONE STAR LAWMAN

537—MEMORIES AT MIDNIGHT

569—THE SECOND SON*

573—THE STRANGER NEXT DOOR*

577—A MOTHER’S SECRETS*

593—THE OUTSIDER’S REDEMPTION

621—UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

639—ANOTHER WOMAN’S BABY†

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Megan Lancaster— A surrogate mother who wants only to keep the unborn baby safe.

Bart Cromwell— A stranger in the town of Orange Beach, but does he have a hidden agenda?

Ben and Jackie Brewster— Biological parents of the baby.

Marilyn Lancaster— Megan’s mother, a woman with secrets of her own.

Joshua Caraway— An escaped convict who’s promised revenge.

John Hardison— Megan’s co-worker and past lover, a man who may have more than one reason for seeing that Megan gives the baby up for adoption.

Mark Cox— A handyman who may have seen more than he’s telling.

Fenelda Shelby— Megan’s housekeeper. In and out of dozens of houses, she’s seen a lot and knows more than she should.

Leroy Shelby— He’s trying to overcome a drug problem, but his mother fears he’s losing the battle.

Roger Collier— A local cop and an old friend from high school who seems very glad that Megan is back in town.

Sandra Birney— A longtime friend of Megan’s mother, but does she hold a key to more than Pelican’s Roost?

Penny Drummonds— Megan’s friend and a lifelong resident of Orange Beach.

To everyone who loves to feel the warm sand between their toes, to build a sand castle at the water’s edge or just to curl up with a good book with the rhythmic melody of the surf for background.

And to Wayne always.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

December 4

Megan Lancaster turned onto the beach road the way she’d done hundreds of times before. Light gray clouds and patches of sunlight merged with the blue-green waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Swirling, heaving waves washed over white sand. Dozens of seagulls lined the bank. A light breeze danced through clusters of willowy sea oats.

Everything was the same as it had been so many times before when she’d escaped to the rambling beach house. Yet everything was different.

She shifted, trying to find a way to get comfortable behind the steering wheel of her new black sedan. It was useless, even though she’d splurged for the luxury model this time. Her bulging stomach prevented any kind of free movement and now she needed to go to the bathroom—again.

She pulled into a service station and reached for her brown loafers, which she’d shed after the last stop and thrown onto the passenger seat. There was no way she could bend far enough to reach her feet from behind the wheel, so she opened the car door and turned her body so that her legs hung out the open door. The shoes had fit perfectly when she’d shimmied behind the wheel four hours ago when she left her New Orleans town house, but now she had to struggle to force her feet into them. Swelling feet—another side effect of pregnancy that she’d been unprepared for.

Aching feet and cramped muscles notwithstanding, she waddled to the rest room inside the service station, took care of business, then purchased another bottle of spring-water. She stretched the kinks from her neck and shoulders before getting back into the car and switching on the ignition.

One more stop before she could climb the steps at Pelican’s Roost and collapse onto the inviting pillowed sofa. She hadn’t been to the beach house in months and the cupboards would be as bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s. And the only thing Megan did more often than go to the bathroom these days was eat. With that thought in mind, she reached her hand into the plastic bag on the passenger seat and pulled out a piece of dried fruit to munch on.

Twenty-three days until the baby was due. Twenty-three days with nothing to do but visit Dr. Brown, who’d already agreed to deliver the baby, and take life easy until she went into labor. With luck, she’d keep a low profile, avoid running into old friends with questions. Avoid having to explain the pregnancy when she wasn’t married, and since her breakup with John over a year ago, wasn’t even in an intimate relationship.

But she had her story ready, just in case. In fact she’d already shared it with Fenelda Shelby and Sandra Birney, the two women she couldn’t possibly avoid. Both had bought her explanation, a mixture of half truths and basic omissions.

Fenelda had been the housekeeper at Pelican’s Roost for years, staying on to keep a watch over the house for Megan after her grandmother’s death two years ago. Sandra Eloise Birney-Ramsey the third was her mother’s best friend in Orange Beach and had been a jewel about watching over Megan’s grandmother before her death. She’d never forgive Megan if she found out she was back at the beach house and didn’t let her know. And nothing went on around Orange Beach that Sandra didn’t find out about.

Driving slowly, Megan noticed another new high-rise condominium, one that had sprung up since her last visit, and a new restaurant as well. The growth in the area had been phenomenal over the last few years as more and more tourists discovered the emerald waters and sugar-white sands along Alabama’s southern coast. The condos, restaurants and shops would all be packed once spring made it’s grand appearance, but December was the off season. Before the snow birds arrived from the north to rent the condos for months at a time and after the summer tourists had returned to work and school.

Easing her foot onto the brake, she slowed and pulled into the parking lot of one of the new souvenir shops. She needed a pair of sandals to fit her swollen feet. The loafers were so tight that even shopping for basic supplies would seem like an endurance test.

She parked and pulled her cumbersome frame from beneath the wheel just as two lithe teenage girls exited the store, each with a large bag clasped in her hand. They moved so easily, almost as if they were floating on air, especially when compared to Megan’s awkward stride.

All because of a baby who grew inside her. The now-familiar feeling washed over her, suffocating her, as if the gray clouds had fallen from the sky and landed on top of her. The feeling was incredible, unidentifiable. A feeling that everything was wrong in a world that up until a month ago had seemed totally right. But the despair never lasted long. A new and precious life was growing inside her.

She held on to the door of the car for support as the baby gave a few hard kicks before resettling in her womb. Then she put on what her grandmother used to call her “company face” and walked inside the store. With any luck at all, she’d get out without running into anyone she knew.

“Megan Lancaster, is that you?”

So much for luck. Penny Drummonds pranced toward her, makeup perfect, hair blond, short and bouncey, her size-six body fitted into a pair of designer jeans and a soft teal sweater. “It is you, and you’re pregnant!”

“How’d you guess?”

“Oh, you,” she said as they exchanged hugs. “You’ll have to tell me everything. I didn’t know you were even married. Last I heard, you were a dedicated career woman.”

“I still am. How about you?”

“Same old stuff. Taking care of Tom and the kids. You’ll have to come over for a visit. Is your husband with you?”

“Actually, I don’t have a husband.” It was almost worth the aggravation of running into Penny just to see the look on her face now. There was an awkward silence while Penny removed her foot from her mouth.

“But you’re having a baby. That’s wonderful.”

“The baby’s not mine.”

Penny stared at her as if she wondered when Megan had escaped the loony bin.

“I’m a surrogate mother.”

“I see.”

Megan could tell from her expression that she didn’t. “Another woman’s fertilized egg was implanted in my uterus.”

Penny put a hand on Megan’s shoulder, her facial expression telegraphing her doubt. “Even if it was yours, Megan, it wouldn’t matter to me. Single women give birth all the time now. When’s it due?”

“December twenty-seventh.”

“A Christmas baby. You must be excited.”

Not the word Megan would have picked, but she chose not to correct Penny. The bell over the door clanged, signaling that another customer had entered the store.

She and Penny both turned as a man in jeans and a gray sweatshirt stepped inside. He was nice-looking in a rugged sort of way—mid-thirties, light brown hair peeking from under a faded baseball cap, about six feet tall, lean and muscled.

Penny eyed him appreciatively but waited until he’d rounded a rack of T-shirts before commenting. “He’d make a nice Christmas present. Something to cuddle up with under the tree.”

“Penny Drummonds, you have not changed a bit since high school.”

“Sure I have. Now I only look and lust.”

“I take it he’s not a resident.”

“I’ve never seen him around here before, and believe me, I would have noticed. He’s probably married with six kids. If not, you should think about reeling him in while you’re here on vacation.”

Megan patted her protruding stomach. “I don’t think I have the bait for that kind of catch.”

“And speaking of catches, I’d better get home and cook for mine. Anyway, we’ll have to get together for lunch one day. There’s a new restaurant that makes a divine spinach salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing. How long will you be in town?”

“A few weeks.”

“Super. I’ll call you.”

Penny headed over to the clearance rack to check out the bargains and the sexy guy. By the time Megan made it back to the table of beach shoes, she could hear Penny’s bubbling voice mingling with the man’s much deeper one. Obviously she could flirt as well as look and lust.

Megan tried on several pairs of shoes, finally finding a set that didn’t bind. She took the long way back to the checkout counter to keep from having to walk by Penny and risk having to answer more questions. It didn’t work. Penny called to her from across the store. “Megan, you’re not staying at your grandmother’s big old house all by yourself, are you? It’s so isolated and lonely on that part of the beach this time of year.”

“It’s home.”

“You’re much braver than me. I’d never stay by myself in that huge house.”

No, but, thank you, Penny, for announcing all the details to the stranger who had quit rummaging through the clearance items to stare at her. Add uneasiness to the myriad emotions that played hopscotch with her hormones these days, hitting and missing in no particular order.

But unless the man was a serial killer or had some bizarre fetish for wobbling pregnant women, he wouldn’t bother looking her up. Still, Penny had hit on a nerve. The last time she’d stayed in the beach house alone, when she was in the process of breaking up with John Hardison, she’d had trouble sleeping, had been wakened more than once by the creaking of the house and the whistling of the wind as it swept under the eaves.

All old houses have ghosts, her grandmother used to say. But only ghosts who harbor hidden secrets came back to haunt you. The rest of the ghosts just live within the happy memories held inside the walls of every home. If that was true, the ghosts at her grandmother’s house were probably sitting around thinking of her grandmother’s keylime pie and the wonderful days of summer and sand castles, lemonade and running in the surf.

So why did she suddenly feel so alone and vulnerable at the prospect of staying at the house she’d always loved?

BART CROMWELL STOOD just inside the door of the souvenir shop and watched the pregnant woman climb into her car. She was extremely attractive, a classic beauty with high cheekbones and a long, regal neck. Coal-black hair, short and thick with bangs that fell across her forehead and an exotic olive complexion with dark bedroom eyes and full lips. Her large, white shirt fell to her hips and flowed over the top of a pair of sleek black trousers. Sophisticated and most definitely pregnant.

She backed onto the highway and headed east. Not much traffic to worry about today, though he imagined the place swarmed with people from spring break through summer. He’d never been to this part of Alabama before, but now that he had, he’d come back. The sand was sugar white, and when the sun reflected off the water, it turned the Gulf into a brilliant rainbow of greens and blues. There were even dolphins, or so he’d heard. He’d check those out tomorrow.

Tonight, he’d check out a big, isolated house on the beach where a pregnant woman was going to be staying all by herself. Pushing through the door, he jumped into his nondescript sedan and gunned the engine to life. He caught up with the woman’s luxury car just as it turned into the supermarket parking lot. Perfect. He needed to pick up a few groceries himself.

Beaches always whet his appetite—for food and excitement. He expected to find plenty of both in Orange Beach.

Chapter Two

Megan fit the key into the lock and opened the front door of Pelican’s Roost, feeling better by the minute, even though she’d climbed the wide stairs with a bag of groceries in each hand. The bottom level of the house consisted of a spacious storage area large enough to hold enough beach furniture for at least two dozen guests, an assortment of life jackets, floats and other beach paraphernalia and a seldom-used catamaran. Behind that was parking for up to four cars. The wide steps to the second level were on the outside of the house, and they were the only way to reach the living area of the rambling structure.

Her grandmother had talked for years of adding an elevator to the place, one that carried you straight from the covered parking area into the interior of the house without your having to get out in all kinds of weather or carry shopping bags and groceries up the stairs. She’d never done it, decided in the end that climbing the steps kept her young. Right now, Megan would have loved to have the elevator.

She pushed through the door, and into the high-ceilinged family room. The room was chilly but welcoming all the same. Tomorrow she’d get someone to deliver wood so that she could build a fire in the massive brick fireplace that took up most of one wall. The opposite side of the room had three sets of sliding glass doors, creating a virtual wall of glass. The drapes were pulled, letting in the late-afternoon glow of the sun and giving the illusion that the Gulf rolled right up to the house itself. Already the sight of the water made her feel calmer. Coming here had been the right thing to do.

She shut the front door behind her and headed for the kitchen. Setting a bag of groceries on the counter, she looked around the room and had the distinct feeling her grandmother might walk in any second. The room was filled with memories…Baking cookies with her grandmother. Icing cupcakes and eating more of the gooey concoction than she put on the little cakes. Cutting strips of red and green construction paper and gluing them into chains to drape about the Christmas tree.

The jangling of the phone broke into her thoughts. She picked up the extension by the sink, wondering who’d be calling her so soon after she’d arrived. “Hello.”

“I see you made it.”

“John. I should have known it would be you. Don’t tell me there’s already an emergency. I was in the office this morning.”

“Rumblings in the merger deal. Boynton wants us to guarantee to keep seventy percent of their management-level people.”

“Stick to the fifty percent we offered them. If they weren’t so top heavy, they wouldn’t have to merge in the first place. Too many chiefs do not make for a good bottom line.”

“And if they won’t go along with that?”

“They will. Cullecci will make a fuss, but he has his orders. He’ll work with you. Play hardball with the retirement plan, too. What we have at Lannier is far more reasonable and fair then what they’ve provided. And, John, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m on leave.”

“How could I forget? Could this pregnancy come at a more inconvenient time?”

“I hope you’re not asking me that question.”

“Sorry. I know this is harder on you than on anyone else. Did you contact the adoption agency?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I’ll call them.”

“Good. I don’t want you to waste any more time on this than is absolutely necessary. We have too much on our plate. You keep doing the job you’ve been doing, and you’ll be the youngest vice president Lannier’s ever had.”

“Do you guarantee that?”

“No, but I can tell you that the new CEO is extremely impressed with you. I had dinner with him last night at Commander’s Palace, and he was singing your praises about the way you’re handling this acquisition.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back to work in January and the baby will be in her new home.”

“Then we’re on the same page. Now take care of yourself,” he said sincerely. “By the way, Lufkin called from the London office. He want’s to know if the meeting is still on for January 12.”

“It’s on. I already have my plane reservations.”

“Then just call me if you need anything.”

“Notice I am not offering you that same option.”

When she finally hung up, stabbing little pains had started building around her temples. She loved her job, but it was demanding and hectic and all-consuming. And working so closely with a man she’d practically left at the altar added an extra layer of tension to the job. She needed this break, needed time to think and to relax and to grieve for the mother of the baby she was carrying.

In all honesty, she’d had her doubts when her best friend had come to her and asked her to carry her child. But how could she say no when Jackie and Ben wanted the baby so desperately? Nine months of inconvenience for her, a lifetime of happiness and dreams come true for them.

Only now there was no Jackie. No Ben. No parents for the baby that kicked and slept and curled into a tiny ball just below her heart.

Her hands shook as she took the carton of eggs from the paper bag and placed them in the refrigerator. Cheese, crackers, canned soup, fruit juices, cereal. She put them away, sliding the canned goods into empty cupboards that would have been filled to overflowing if her grandmother were still alive.

The old house seemed to close in around her as she worked. As soon as she put the last item away, she opened one of the doors to the balcony and took a deep breath. The smell of saltwater filled her nostrils, and all of a sudden she couldn’t wait to walk down to the water’s edge and let the incoming surf wash over her feet and pull the shifting sand from beneath her toes.

It was almost dark, but if she hurried, she could watch the final plunge of the sun as it sank into the Gulf. At least that’s what it appeared to do, and when Megan was a child, her grandmother had had a difficult time convincing her otherwise. Pulling on a light jacket, she hurried down the front stairs in bare feet, moving faster than she had in days.

THE SUN SET in minutes, but Megan was not nearly ready to go back inside. Bending over, she rolled up the legs of her black pants so that she could walk at the water’s edge.

The beach seemed to belong to her tonight. She could see lights from some of the high-rise condos in the distance and the flickering beam of a fishing boat a mile or so out from the coast, but there was not another soul in sight.

That’s why she loved December at the beach. The sandy shores were isolated except for the few determined souls like her grandmother who lived here year-round and a few tourists who dribbled in.

Isolated. The word echoed in her mind, and for a second that same unsetting shudder she’d felt this afternoon in the souvenir shop rolled over her. She forced it away. This wasn’t the city, and she’d walked this beach alone day or night for as long as she could remember. Her grandmother did the same right up until her heart had given out at the age of eighty-eight.

The events of the past month played in her mind. A horrible accident. A deadly explosion. Jackie and her husband both killed instantly. She’d never forget where she was and what she’d been doing when she got the news. Never forget the shock and, finally, the cold hard realization that she would never see her friend again. The knowledge that the baby growing inside belonged to no one.

She turned back to the house, suddenly chilled and tired and ready to curl up with a cup of hot soup in hand. But she wasn’t alone anymore. A lone man was jogging along the beach in her direction, kicking up water and sand as he ran. He was only a few yards away now, and his body took shape. Lean, strong legs, short hair. Familiar. He slowed and her heart raced as she realized he was the man who’d come into the shop while she and Penny were talking.

“Nice night for the beach,” he said, stopping a few feet in front of her.

“Yes.” Her mouth was dry, but she was being ridiculous. The man had every bit as much right to be here as she did. It was the overactive hormones of pregnancy. “It’s warm for December.”

“I wondered about that. It’s my first time in this area.” His gaze traveled to her bulging stomach. “I noticed you in one of the shops this afternoon.”

She rested her hands on her stomach. “It would be hard not to notice me.”

“Is the baby due soon?”

“The end of the month.”

“Do you live here, or are you visiting, too?”

“I’m visiting.” That was about as vague as she could manage, short of telling him it was none of his business.

“I jogged by several private homes, but most of them looked dark. I guess a lot of people close up and go home for the winter. It seems a shame, if the winters are always this mild.”

“It gets cold sometimes. It just doesn’t stay cold.”

“It’s gorgeous now, but the place sure looks deserted.” He let his gaze settle on her face, but his feet shifted restlessly. “Look, if I’m out of line just tell me, but I overheard you tell your friend you were here by yourself. I am, too. Maybe we could have dinner together one night. You seem to know the area, I have no clue where to find the best food.”

“I’m very busy.” Her tone was sharper than she’d intended, but even if he wasn’t dangerous, the man was definitely overstepping his bounds.

“Oops. I offended you. Believe me, I was not trying to pick you up. I’ve never been good at that anyway. You can see why.” He extended a hand. “Let me start over. My name’s Bart Cromwell.”

She took his hand but didn’t offer her name.

“I’m staying just up the beach, so we’ll probably run into each other from time to time. If you change your mind about dinner, let me know. Otherwise, I promise not to bother you.”

“I hope you have an enjoyable stay.”

“You, too. I’ll see you around.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “Take care, and if you’re staying in a big old house all by yourself as your friend said, you need to lock your doors tight. This seems like a safe little area, but you just never know.”

Her thoughts exactly. She picked up her pace as she started back toward the house. A nice-looking man, on the beach alone in December, stopping to ask an extremely pregnant woman out to dinner. Something was seriously wrong with this picture. And he needn’t worry. She would lock and bolt every door tonight.

MEGAN STRETCHED OUT on a slip-covered lounge chair in an alcove that looked out over the Gulf. It was her favorite spot in the whole house, a small, cozy room with a large window that provided a marvelous view of the gulf. She had an avalanche of pillows behind her, a knitted throw pulled over her feet and a cup of hot herb tea on the table beside her. All the essentials for relaxing—only she wasn’t.

She’d walked every room of the rambling house, even climbed to the cupola above the third floor and checked the doors to the widow’s walk. Every door and window was locked tight, but still the uneasiness persisted.

Was it hormones, paranoia brought on by the recent tragedy, or reasonable caution that wouldn’t let her put the stranger on the beach out of her mind? A year ago she’d probably have been intrigued if the rugged, sexy man had tried to pick her up on the beach.

But a year ago it would have made a lot more sense. A year ago she’d been thirty, not pregnant and a perfect size eight. But maybe the guy was gay and didn’t care what she looked like. Or maybe he was hungry and only wanted to know where the best places were to eat. It could even be that he was lonely.

Or maybe not.

She walked to the kitchen and retrieved the phone book from the second drawer of the cabinet. It wouldn’t hurt to call the local police department and check to see if there had been any problems in the area in recent weeks.

She found the number and punched it in, using the wall phone in the kitchen. The woman who took the call put her on hold and then transferred her to someone else.

“Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?”

The Alabama drawl was unmistakable. Just the familiarity of it eased her fears a little. “I’m staying in a private home on the Gulf in the Orange Beach area.”

“Glad to have you. Are you having some kind of problem?”

“No, but I’m here alone, and I was just wondering how safe it is in this area.”

“Exactly where are you?”

“Are you familiar with the Lancaster house?”

“Pelican’s Roost? Sure am. Hey, is this Megan?”

“Yes. Do I know you?”

“I reckon you do. Class of ’88. Hey, hey, hey.”

“Roger Collier?”

“The one and only.”

Talk about a blast from the past. They had gone to high school together, but it had been two years since she’d seen or heard from Roger. He’d looked her up when he’d been job hunting in New Orleans, but she hadn’t been able to help him. Still, it was good to hear his voice now.

She’d had a terrific crush on him for most of her junior year, but he’d been going steady with Jackie at the time. She’d dated him for a while after he and Jackie broke up, but had broken up with him after a few dates. The only time she’d gone out with him after that had been to the senior prom, when neither of them were dating anyone steady. “How have you been?”

“Terrific. Still single and hanging easy. Will you be in town long?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Everybody’s been wondering what you were going to do with that place since your grandmother passed away. If you fixed it up a bit, you could probably sell it for a mint of money. Beach property’s like gold these days.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Anyway, good to have you back. Now, what’s this about trouble?”

“I ran into a man on the beach when I was out walking just after sunset and he stopped to talk to me. To make a long story short, he made me a little nervous.”

“Did he say something out of the way?”

“Not really.”

“Was he drunk?”

“No.”

“Just a ragged old beach bum, huh?”

“Not that either.” Now she felt foolish. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on. He just made me a little nervous and I thought I’d see if there had been any trouble in the area.”

“The usual stuff. Kids throwing bottles on the beach, getting loud and rowdy, but we haven’t even had a complaint of that since the summer crowd left.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Yeah. You know how it is on the beach. The setting breaks down barriers. People who wouldn’t speak to you in town stop and chat. I can send someone out to take a look around if you like, but if he was just out jogging, I doubt they’d find him.”

“No. I’m sure it’s nothing,” she repeated.

“Probably just a guy looking for a good time. Orange Beach is the safest place in the country. But I’ll be here all night. If you change your mind about having an officer come by and check out the house, just let me know.”

“I appreciate that.”

They talked a few more minutes about people they both knew from high school. It always surprised her that so many of her classmates still lived in Orange Beach. It had never occurred to her to settle here, but then this had never really been her home. No place had. She’d only lived here her last two years of high school while her mother lived in Spain with her third husband.

The baby kicked as she started up the stairs. So alive, so much a part of her and yet not a part of her at all. She’d carry it for one more month, and then…And then she’d give it up to strangers.

Pushing open the door, she stepped into the bedroom that had been hers for as long as she could remember. The bed was made, the coverlet pulled back to reveal crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows. All it had taken was one call to Fenelda and the house had been readied for her return. The furniture dusted, the cobwebs brushed from the corners, the wooden floors swept clean and the carpets vacuumed. And all six bathrooms had fresh towels on the racks.

Crossing the moss-colored carpet, she opened one of the sliding doors. When she’d been young, the sound of the surf had always served as an unending lullaby, soothing her to sleep almost before she had time to say her prayers. Tonight might be more of a challenge.

She turned off the light in the bedroom, and let the moonlight provide the illumination as she slipped out of her clothes. With the light off, she could see the outline of the thatched-roof gazebo that sat between the house and the beach, see the swing beneath it swaying in the wind. All peaceful.

The moon ducked behind a cloud. She looked away and took a robe from the closet. When she turned back, her heart slammed against her chest. Someone was out there, standing just past the gazebo. All she could see was the outline of a body, but she could picture the man she’d seen earlier on the beach, imagine him watching her house, knowing she was there alone.

A second later the figure headed off down the beach and out of sight. The baby picked that time to give her a swift kick. She splayed her hands across her stomach. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m not off the deep end, not yet anyway. Just a little paranoia playing games with my overwrought nerves.” Turning away from the balcony, she headed for her bath.

December 5

MEGAN WOKE to the jangle of bells, but it took her a few seconds to realize that it was actually the doorbell and not part of her weird dream. She’d been running across the sand, her feet sinking into it, slowing her down so that whatever she was chasing stayed just beyond her reach.

The bell chimed again. She stretched, kicked out from under the covers and eased her legs over the side of the bed, combing the carpet with her feet until she located her slippers. Grabbing her robe, she tied it around her loosely and headed down the steps, wondering who in the world would come calling this time of the morning.

One peek through the peephole and she breathed a sigh of relief. She should have known Sandra Birney would waste no time coming by to check on her.

She swung the door open, pushing her long dark bangs off her forehead as she did and realizing that she probably looked a total mess. “Come in.”

“I will, as soon as I get a look at you.” She scrutinized Megan from the top of her head to her toes. “My, you are pregnant.”

“I told you.”

“I know, but I just couldn’t picture it.” Sandra brushed past her and set a cloth-topped basket that smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg on the table, before she came back to offer a hug. Southern women always hugged.

“I want to hear everything about the pregnancy, especially how you let someone talk you into it. Will the biological parents be here for the birth?”

“No. I’m going to deliver all by myself—just me and Dr. Brown, and maybe Santa Claus.”

“And me. You know I’ll be there.”

“You like suffering, do you?”

“I don’t mind, as long as it’s not mine,” she teased. “And I love babies.”

Megan started the coffee while Sandra caught her up on news of the happenings in Orange Beach. The high-school football team had won the regional playoffs, the elementary-school principal had retired and the Baptist church was building a new sanctuary.

Megan excused herself to go to the bathroom and brush her teeth while the coffee finished perking. She ran a comb through her hair as well and washed her face. The questions would start as soon as they sat down to coffee and muffins, but everything was under control. She had her story down pat, the details worked out so that no one would suspect that the baby she carried belonged to Jackie Brewster, not even the intuitive Sandra Birney.

The delightfully plump and rosy-cheeked grandma was the same age as Megan’s mother. They’d gone all through school together, had both been cheerleaders and on the homecoming court. And that was where the similarities ended. Sandra had married her high-school sweetheart and was still married to the man. Her life centered around community events and her children and grandchildren, and she’d stayed close to Megan’s grandmother, done the things for her a daughter would have done, had her daughter ever been around. Megan’s mother marched to a totally different drummer.

By the time Megan returned to the kitchen, the coffee had been poured into crockery mugs and the muffins set in white dessert plates bordered with a seashell pattern.

Sandra stood at the open refrigerator. “Would you like butter and jam with your muffin?”

“I would love it, but I wouldn’t dare. I’ll never get down to my normal weight again as it is.”

“Then I’ll just pour us a little half-and-half for the coffee.” She joined Megan at the table with the sugar bowl and a pitcher of milk in hand. “Now, I can’t wait to hear all about this baby. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“It’s a girl.” That was the easy question.

“Who are the lucky parents? They must be very dear friends.”

“They are. The mother is a woman I work with. Medical problems prevented her from carrying her own child, and since she wanted a baby so desperately, I agreed to do this for her.”

Megan’s mind wandered back to the moment when Jackie had first come to her. She’d said no at first, but the look of disappointment in Jackie’s face had nearly killed her. It was as if Megan had taken her friend’s dreams and stamped them into the ground.

Jackie had already had three miscarriages and the doctor had told her that to try again would be exceedingly dangerous due to her increasingly serious problems with diabetes. Yet Megan had feared that if she said no, Jackie would have gotten pregnant in spite of the doctor’s warnings. As it turned out, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

Sandra swallowed a bite of muffin. “So when the baby’s born, you’ll just give it to its real parents?”

“That’s the plan.” Or at least it had been. This was the part she couldn’t share with Sandra. Talking about it was painful. Even thinking about it seemed traitorous and cruel, as if she was considering throwing away a part of herself and all that was left of Jackie.

Sandra reached over and took her hand and squeezed it. “I always said you had a heart the size of the gulf. You proved me right again. What does Marilyn think of this?”

“Mother doesn’t know. I haven’t seen her since I made the decision to have the baby.”

“And you didn’t want her input. You are wise as well as big-hearted. Where is your mother now?”

“Living in an oceanfront estate in Acapulco with a new husband, a man who owns a chain of luxury resorts. She insists I come down for a visit. I haven’t made it yet.”

“Is this the man she was telling me about when she came to your grandmother’s funeral?”

“That’s the one.”

“She showed me his picture. He’s very handsome.”

“And rich.”

Sandra sighed. “Of course. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stood a chance with her. She learned her lesson when Bob Gilbert stuck her with all his debts.”

“Husband number three was definitely an eye-opener for her,” Megan agreed.

“She might as well hook up with rich men since she can get anyone she wants. I don’t know how she manages it, but she’s still as beautiful as the day she was crowned Miss Alabama. We all threaten to lock up our husbands when she comes to town.”

“That’s my mom.”

“Does this make husband number five?”

“Six, I think. You probably missed the French diplomat. He only lasted about six months.”

Sandra shook her head, but a smile curled her lips. “That woman. She never fit into Orange Beach. I miss her, though. I still remember when she danced in that play on Broadway. A bunch of us flew up to see her and she got us front-row seats and took us to a cast party. Even in that crowd, she stood out. She was always bigger than life.”

Megan nodded but kept her thoughts on that to herself. Her mother was all those things, and if Megan hadn’t been her daughter, she might have appreciated it the way Sandra did. But it had never been easy being the daughter of a woman who was bigger than life.

They finished the coffee and muffins, and Sandra left after exacting a promise from Megan that she’d come over for dinner soon. Thankfully, there had been no more questions about the baby. Evidently, Sandra had picked up on her hesitancy to talk about it. But it was better that at least that much was out in the open. It would keep the locals from going nuts trying to find out who had knocked her up.

IT WAS ONE-THIRTY in the afternoon when Megan pulled into the parking lot of the Pink Pony. After Sandra had left that morning, she’d dressed and gone for a long walk on the beach. The sun was bright, the sand warm and the water had sparkled like diamonds. It was the perfect cure for the tinges of fear that had coiled around her last night. And there had been no sign of Bart Cromwell.

Now she was starving, craving an oyster po’ boy. Most of the time she tried to eat healthy for the sake of the baby and to curb her weight gain, but the first full day back in town she simply had to have fried oysters.

She took a seat by a window overlooking the Gulf. A couple of young lovers were walking hand in hand along the beach and a man and golden retriever were wading in the water. She didn’t bother looking at a menu. She knew what she wanted.

The door opened and a man walked in alone. She recognized him before he even turned around. The broad shoulders, the easy swagger, the faded baseball cap.

When he turned and saw her, his blue eyes lit up and his lips spread into a broad grin, as if they were old friends.

The troubled, anxious feeling that she’d experienced last night hit again, this time with overwhelming force. The man was following her, and there was no logical, innocuous reason for his doing so.

He walked over and tipped his hat. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. But since we did, mind if I join you? I hate eating alone.”

Chapter Three

The man stood by her table, cap in hand. “If you don’t want company, I’ll understand.”

Her gut instinct was to tell him to keep moving, but she knew that talking to him might be the best way to put aside any irrational fears she had about him. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks. I went to the tourist center like you suggested. Loaded up on maps, booklets, even money-saving coupons. This place was highly recommended for lunch. I understand they have good gumbo here.”

“I haven’t tried it, but I’m sure it’s good.”

He gazed out the large bay window. “It’s a great view.”

“Did you say that this was your first trip to this area?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So what made you decide to come now, especially in the off-season?”

“I came down from Nashville to go to my sister’s wedding in Mobile. My new brother-in-law suggested I come down here and enjoy some beach bumming and fishing since I had some vacation time left that I needed to use before the end of the year. So here I am.”

Here he most definitely was. So far she’d run into him three times in two days. Now she was sitting across the table from him and still she was picking up strange vibes. Maybe it was because his manner and his motives didn’t really match.

His appearance and demeanor suggested an easygoing personality, but when he looked at her, his gaze was intense, as if he was studying her. He had a magnetism about him, a kind of rugged masculinity that would have gone better with a leather motorcycle jacket than the windbreaker he was wearing.

The waitress came and took their order, then returned a minute later with draft beer for him and a glass of milk for Megan. He lifted his glass in a toast.

“To sun, sand and catching fish,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. “And to an easy birth and a healthy baby.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“So when’s the little rug rat due?”

“December 27.”

“Wow. Hope that stork doesn’t get run over by eight tiny reindeer. You must be getting excited with the date so close. Is this your first child?”

“It’s my first pregnancy.” It was much easier to stick to the truth minus unnecessary facts.

“Well, you look great. I guess it’s true what they say about women glowing when they’re carrying a child.”

It was an idle compliment, the kind she hated. She didn’t look great. She looked like a beached whale, and having some stranger tell her differently didn’t make her feel any better. But it did bother her that he felt he had to offer compliments, as if he was on the make and she was his prospective pick-up.

He took another long draw on his beer, then drummed his fingers on the table. “Are you always this quiet,” he asked, “or is it the company?”

“I’m quiet. And it’s the company. I don’t ordinarily have lunch with strangers.”

“I appreciate your making an exception this time, though I guess I kind of forced it on you. To tell you the truth, I expected you to say no.”

“I considered it.”

“I can still move to another table if you want, but I’d like to stay.”

“Why?”

“I told you, I don’t like to eat alone.” He fingered the edge of the napkin. “And you look as if you could use someone to talk to. I imagine it’s tough being all by yourself when you’re pregnant, wandering around that big old house all alone. There’s not even another house close enough that someone would hear you if you called for help, you know…if you fell or went into labor or something. You should get a dog, a big one for protection, or do you have one already?”

Apprehension swelled inside her. “How do you know which I’m staying in?”

“I was on the beach this morning. I saw you climbing the steps to go inside.”

“I can take care of myself. Besides, I won’t be alone after today. My husband is coming in tonight.” A baldaced lie, but it made her seem far less vulnerable.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He dropped the subject, but she had the idea he didn’t believe her. The waitress appeared with the food and she ate hers quickly, forcing it down though her appetite had vanished. As soon as she finished, she took a ten-dollar bill from her billfold and dropped it to the table.

“This should take care of my part of the bill. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment and I don’t want to be late.”

He stood, a smile on his lips that softened his features and made him look more mischievous than sinister. “I did it again. I don’t know how I manage to upset you every time we talk, but I do. It’s that old foot-in-mouth disease. I have a terminal case.”

“No. It’s just that I have a feeling that you’re following me, and if you keep it up, I’ll notify the police.” She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she’d had enough of him. If he was just a friendly tourist, he could think what he wanted about her. If he was dangerous, she’d let him know she wasn’t as vulnerable as she seemed.

She felt his gaze on her as she turned and walked away, but she didn’t turn back to see. Her hands were trembling by the time she got to her car and tears burned at the back of her eyelids. She blinked repeatedly, determined to keep them at bay. The last time she’d cried had been at Jackie’s funeral, and she wouldn’t give in to tears just because—because her life seemed to be falling apart and she didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with all of it.

Bart Cromwell. Her job. John. Dealing with the HMO. Thoughts of her mother. Memories of her grandmother. The baby that grew inside her and belonged to no one, certainly not to her.

So why did she feel such an overwhelming bond to the baby growing inside her? Why did the thought of giving her up for adoption seem to equate with having someone reach inside her chest and rip out her heart?

She climbed into the car, lay her head on the steering wheel and cried.

THE MINUTE SHE WALKED through the door at Pelican’s Roost, Megan knew that someone had been there while she was gone. She sensed it the way a woman knows when someone else has cooked in her kitchen or borrowed her makeup. It was the little things, the ones she never thought of when everything was in place but that became conspicuous when they were moved.

The rug by the back door was twisted and scrunched up in the middle instead of lying flat and straight. She always pushed the chair back beneath the table when she got up, but one of the chairs in the breakfast nook was pushed back and sitting at an angle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and fear crawled the corners of her mind and skittered along her nerve endings.

But the anxiety she’d been feeling the past two days didn’t mesh with the kind of security she’d always felt in the rambling old house. She took a deep breath and forced her mind to consider the possibilities. The housekeeper had a key. Most likely she’d come by and dropped something off or finished a cleaning task she hadn’t gotten to before Megan arrived. That had to be it. She was certain the door had been locked when she left and it was locked when she returned. So, whoever had come in had used a key.

Breathing easier, she walked to the phone and punched in Fenelda Shelby’s number. While it rang, she pulled a butcher knife from the block on the counter. She ran her thumb and index finger along the edge, wondering if she’d have the nerve or the presence of mine to use it if a stranger appeared. If he were there even now, watching and waiting. A man like Bart Cromwell.

Only she couldn’t blame this on him. He had still been inside the restaurant when she’d driven home. Unless he’d come out while she was crying, and she hadn’t noticed. No, she was being macabre. The house had basically been empty for two years and no one had so much as broken a window.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Fenelda, this is Megan.”

“You sound upset. Is something wrong?”

“No.” She struggled to steady her voice. She didn’t want the whole town thinking she was going nuts, though she was beginning to consider the possibility herself. “I was out for a while and I got the impression someone was in the house while I was gone. I was just wandering if it was you.”

“It wasn’t me. Is anything missing?”

“No, nothing like that. Do you know if anyone else has a key to this place?”

“Oh, honey, knowing your grandmother, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the town has a key. She was always lending the place out to vacationing relatives of the locals when she took off on one of her trips. That woman was salt of the earth, bless her heart, one of the most generous souls in the world. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Has anyone stayed here since Grandmother died?”

“Not that I know of. No one but you. I’ve kept watch over the place like I told you I would, but I don’t go by there every day. I know I haven’t told anyone they could use it. I wouldn’t do that without your okay.”

“I didn’t think so. I was just concerned when I realized someone had been here.”

“I don’t know nothing about it, hon. It’s probably just one of your grandma’s friends going by to check on the place. But if you’re worried, why don’t I send my son over? Leroy will check everything out for you.”

“Are you sure he wouldn’t mind?”

“I’m positive. He’s not doing anything but hanging out in his room with music blaring on the stereo anyway. Was everything okay when you got there? I spent a whole day cleaning. I would have stocked a few groceries, but I had no idea what you’d like.”

“Everything was fine, spotless, in fact. And I stopped at the store on the way in and picked up a few essential grocery items.”

“Okay, you take it easy, honey. Leroy will be there in a few minutes.”

Megan felt better about the situation when she hung up the phone, but the knife was still in her hand. She glanced around the kitchen, then walked into the hall and looked up the imposing staircase. Two levels of living space, and on top of it all a cupola used mostly for storage and to gain access to the widow’s walk and the marvelous view it provided. The west side provided a magnificent expanse of the Gulf of Mexico for as far as the eye could see.

A huge house with a million places to hide if someone had reason to. In the dusky aura of sunset, Pelican’s Roost took on the appearance of a haunted castle. Shadows climbed the walls of the narrow halls, and the screaming of the wind and creaking and groaning of the floorboards sounded as if the place were inhabited by a family of ghosts.

But it was the bright sunlight of midafternoon now. And she was in Orange Beach, not New Orleans. Still, someone had been inside the house, and she wouldn’t truly rest until someone had walked through every room and made sure there were no surprise guests. Her pulse slowed to near normal, but, knife in hand, she decided to go outside and wait for Leroy’s arrival.

That’s when she noticed a basket of muffins on the table in the breakfast nook. Fenelda must have been right, one of her grandmother’s friends had stopped in to welcome her home. Still, she’d feel better if Leroy took a look around.

MEGAN WAITED on the second-floor balcony while Leroy roamed the house. She would have gone with him, but she’d have only slowed him down. He climbed a full flight in the time it took her to maneuver a half-dozen steps. He’d promised to check every closet and under every bed, even to climb to the cupola and make sure no one was hiding among the stacks of storage boxes and old metal trunks.

He had his work cut out for him. Besides the family room and kitchen, there was a dining room, a library, a sewing room, a small office, two bathrooms and a couple of sunny alcoves on the second floor. The third floor consisted of six large bedrooms and four more baths. The house rambled and curved and twisted, giving a beach view and access to a balcony to as many rooms as possible.

In fact, Leroy was gone so long, she would have become worried had it not been for the fact that he sang along constantly to the music from the radio headset that seemed glued to his ears. He’d been polite and didn’t seem to mind going through the house, but he obviously didn’t think she had a thing to worry about. In fact, he’d laughed when he saw the knife she was holding and assured her he didn’t need a weapon.

She dropped to one of the lounge chairs on the balcony, leaned back and closed her eyes as the sun beat down on her and warmed her through and through. The baby shifted and gave a few reassuring kicks. “I know you’re still there, sweetie. I couldn’t forget you if I wanted to. What do you think of the beach house? When you’re older, you can play in the water and build sand castles with moats and crocodiles, and we can buy plastic knights to do battle with the enemies.”

Damn. What was she thinking? This baby would never come to Pelican’s Roost. Never play with her in the surf or on the sand. Never be a part of her life at all. She closed her eyes and wished that it was January and that everything was over and done with.

Taking deep breaths, she forced herself to clear her mind of thoughts of the baby and think only of the water, constant, eternal, forever moving with the tides.

“All safe and sound.”

She jumped at the voice, her head jerking from the back of the lounge chair.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Leroy said, stepping between her and the edge of the balcony.

“I must have fallen asleep.”

“No problem. I just wanted to let you know that I checked the house from top to bottom. You got a leak in one of the faucets upstairs. I’ll come back and fix it for you one day next week if you like. It won’t take much.”

“I’d appreciate that, as long as you let me pay you.”

“I’m not opposed to taking cash.” He leaned against the balcony, his shaggy blond hair blowing into his face. “Mama says you’re having another woman’s baby for her. That’s pretty weird, isn’t it? I mean, not a lot of people do that, do they?”

“More than you’d think.”

He nodded. “Still seems strange. I guess I’ll be going, unless you need something else while I’m here.”

“I’d like to pay you for your time and trouble,” she said, expecting him to say no.

“Whatever.”

She walked to the kitchen and retrieved her wallet. “Is ten dollars enough?”

“Whatever.”

She handed him a five and a ten and walked him to the door. He had Fenelda’s coloring, but the deep-set eyes and sunken cheeks must have come from his dad. She barely remembered the man, but she was sure she’d met him a time or two over the years. She’d met Leroy, too, but he was much thinner than she’d remembered, with a kind of raunchy look about him that she hadn’t expected in Fenelda’s son. She wasn’t sure how old he was, near thirty, she’d guess.

Still, he’d done what she asked and she’d rest better for it tonight. She felt a little foolish, but at this point in time, damaged pride was much better than lost sleep.

But she was going to have to get a grip on herself and not let a tall, dark and sexy stranger destroy the level of safety she’d always enjoyed at Pelican’s Roost. It was the hormones, she told herself again. What else could it be? She was probably in the safest place in the world.

December 8

MEGAN HUGGED her jacket around her as she strolled along the beach. The day had been warm, but the air had turned cold as the sun set, and now the wind had picked up. It whipped her hair around her face and sent the waves crashing against the sand. But the sky was clear, and the stars seemed so near she felt she could reach up and grab a few to save for a time when she knew what to wish for.

Fortunately there had been no sign of the man she’d come to think of as her dark stranger since he’d joined her for lunch three days ago, though she found herself looking for him everywhere she went. At times, she even felt as if someone was watching her and she always imagined it was him.

One night she’d even dreamed about him, a nightmare that had turned erotic. That was what happened to a woman who hadn’t had sex in so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Desire had returned full force in the dream, and after she’d wakened, she’d lain awake for over an hour, imagining what it would be like to make love with the rugged stranger, her body reacting as if his hands were actually on her, caressing and touching her most intimate parts.

There was no accounting for dreams, but in reality, her life in Orange Beach settled into a comfortable routine. A walk in the morning, lunch in some out-of-the-way restaurant, an afternoon spent relaxing and reading, and sunset on the beach.

“The wind’s picking up, little one. We’ll have howling and whining to entertain us tonight while we sleep. Old fishermen crying about the ones that got away. That’s what Grandma used to tell me when I’d complain of the noise.”

Standing at the edge of the water, she took a few steps out, stepping into a low wave. She slipped her hand under her loose blouse and stroked her stomach. She was growing larger every day.

Her first appointment with Dr. Brown would be tomorrow, but he already had her records from her doctor in New Orleans. “I guess we better start back, little one. I’m getting hungry.”

A bowl of hot soup would taste good tonight. She looked out at the Gulf one last time. The steady cresting and falling was almost hypnotic.

It rocked her into a state where she let herself imagine holding a baby girl in her arms and letting it nurse from her breasts, singing her a lullaby and then tucking her into a white crib.

She was so lost in the thoughts that at first she didn’t hear the footfalls on the sand behind her. When she did, she spun around just as someone grabbed her wrists and started dragging her farther into the water. She tried to see who it was, but the man’s body was black and his face was covered by a ski mask.

All she knew was that he was strong and she couldn’t resist his pull. The cold water rose to her waist and stung her skin, made her breath burn in her lungs. She tried to scream, but he shoved her face into the water.

The salt burned her eyes and throat. She had to get to the surface, had to get air, but he pushed her deeper and deeper. She could hear him cursing now, screaming obscenities. Finally the pressure on her neck and head gave way and she floated to the top. She opened her eyes.

The mask was gone. She could see the man’s face in the moonlight. It was him. The dark stranger. She’d been right all along. He’d come to kill her and the baby.

Chapter Four

“Megan. Hold on. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

The brute was dragging her again. She managed one kick. Her feet scraped against the sand. They were going back to shore, but he was holding her head out of the water. She choked and spit out a stream of water.

“That’s the way. Clear your lungs. Here. Let me help.” He supported her forehead with his hands while she coughed and sputtered and spit up water. Air rushed into her lungs in a sweeping, caustic sensation, and she grew so dizzy that the man’s face blurred and became two.

“Why are you following me? Why are you doing this to me?” The words came out chopped and hoarse. She tried to pull away, but he held her against him.

“Listen, Megan. It wasn’t me who tried to kill you, and you better be glad I’ve been following you. If I hadn’t been, you’d be sleeping with the fishes tonight.”

“Get away from me. Now.” She tried to scream. He stifled her with a broad hand over her mouth.

“Would you just pipe down and listen. I’m an FBI agent and I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to keep someone else from doing it. I almost slipped up, big-time.”

He was crazy. No one wanted to kill her except this lunatic. She was weak and her head was pounding, but she had to get away from this man.

“I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth, but don’t scream.”

She begin to cough again, the taste of seawater making her sick. When she finally stopped coughing, she pushed at him again, only she was trembling and so weak the effort was useless. “Get away from me. Please. Leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She tried to scream, but again he cut off her cries with his hand over her mouth. “Megan, you have got to listen. I’m not lying. I’m with the FBI. You have to trust me.”

He pulled her against his chest and kept her wrapped in his arms. His mouth was at her ear. “You’re Megan Lancaster. You work at Lannier. Your supervisor is John Hardison. The baby you’re carrying belongs to Jackie Sellers Brewster.”

“How do you know these things.” She was stunned.

“Because I’m who I say I am.”

“Why would you be investigating me?”

“I’m not. I’m investigating the explosion that caused Ben and Jackie Brewster’s deaths.”

“Please, just let me go back to my house.”

“I’ll take you back.”

Her head was spinning. Nothing he said made sense. She couldn’t trust him. He’d tried to kill her. Yet everything he said was true, everything except the part about Jackie and Ben. The explosion had been an accident.

“Just try to relax. I’m going to carry you back to the house and put you to bed. If you need a doctor, we’ll call one. But you can’t tell anyone that I’m from the FBI or why I’m with you.”

“You can’t carry me. I’m huge.”

“I’ll worry about that.” He scooped her up in his arms without groaning once. “Now, just relax. You’ll be home before you know it.”

Relax? Fat chance. She was having a nightmare. She’d wake up in a minute and the dark, strong stranger who knew everything about her would evaporate like the steam from her teakettle.

But, for now, she was so tired and still dizzy and a little nauseous. She rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled of seawater and musk. Her hair was dripping wet. So was his. Drops of water rolled down his neck and chest. The wind whipped though her wet clothes, but she was too numb to feel the cold. Or maybe a person didn’t feel the effects of weather in a nightmare.

He stopped at the front door of Pelican’s Roost. “I’m going to put you on your feet. Hold on to me if you feel weak or dizzy, and give me your key so that I can unlock the door.”

She dug deep in her pockets. The key was missing. “I must have lost it in the water.”

“Do you have another one hidden somewhere?”

“No.”

“I can break a window.”

“Don’t you dare. Get my cell phone from my car. I’ll call the housekeeper and have her come over and unlock the door.”

“And then we’ll have to come up with a story to explain our being soaking wet.”

“You can get out of sight while she’s here. I’ll tell her I was wading in the surf and fell. As awkward as I am with this body, she’ll believe it.”

“Let’s see if you get her before we work out the details. Breaking the window is no problem, and I can fix it tomorrow.”

Only she didn’t want him around tomorrow. She leaned against the door as he bounded down the steps and retrieved the phone. A minute later she had Fenelda on the phone.

She said hello but interrupted Fenelda’s usual string of small talk. “I lost my key while I was on the beach. I thought maybe you or Leroy would run one over to me.”

“No use to do that. There’s a key taped under the third step. Your grandmother put it there after she locked herself out a time or two. Check there, and if you don’t find one, I’ll get Leroy to bring you mine.”

She held her hand over the speaker end of the phone and repeated the instructions to Bart. She was shivering now, the cold finally seeping through the shock. Bart showed no signs of the recent ordeal. He bounded down the steps, bent and ran his hand beneath the third step. When he stood up, the key was in his hand, and he gave her the thumbs-up sign.

All her worry about who had a key and there had been one beneath the step all the time. If half the town had a key to this house, the other half probably knew where to find the spare. She’d have the locks changed first thing in the morning.

Bart turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. When he tried to help her inside, she pulled away from him. “I’m okay.”

“I think you should call your doctor, tell him you fell in the surf. See if he thinks you need to go to a hospital and get checked.”

“He’ll think I need to have my head checked for walking in the surf at eight months pregnant.”

“I agree with him, but I’ve seen you out there, wading almost knee deep.”

The man had been watching her every move, following her, just as she’d thought. She’d have to learn to trust her instincts more. At least it was nice to know she wasn’t losing it, falling into a state of stress-induced paranoia.

He held on to her as he walked her to a chair. “How do you feel? Are you having any kind of pains in your stomach?”

“I feel as if I was run over by a truck.” She touched her hand to her stomach. “But I’m not having any contractions or unusual stomach pains. And I felt a couple of good strong kicks when you were carrying me back to the house.”

“The water probably acted as a support for your body.”

“Lucky me.”

“You are lucky. You’re alive.”

Which is more than she could say for Jackie and Ben. The impact of Bart’s words finally sank in. She dropped to the wooden rocker in front of the fireplace, the horror and pain she’d felt at hearing of Jackie’s death overtaking her as if it had happened all over again. “Why do you think someone murdered my friends?”

“First you need to get out of those wet clothes.”

She looked at the stairs and moaned. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to climb them.

“Are your clothes upstairs?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you stay in the chair and let me get you a robe?”

And then she’d be forced to entertain the dark stranger in just a robe. Only the wet clothes she had on now were no better. They clung to her, outlining the baby paunch and the tips of her nipples.

“It’s in the bathroom—the third door on the right,” she said, choosing the lesser of two evils. “It’s blue. You can’t miss it.”

He climbed the steps two at a time, probably afraid to be gone long, worried that she’d call the police. Part of her wanted to, but the man’s words were taking root in her mind and were starting to make sense. If it had been him who was trying to kill her on the beach a few minutes ago, he’d have had no reason to back off. And if he wasn’t with the FBI, how did he know that she was carrying Jackie’s baby?

Still, she had lots of questions. And she wanted answers.

“BART.”

He looked up from the fireplace and the logs he was lighting as Megan came back into the huge family room. She’d tied a towel around her hair, turban style, and exchanged her wet clothes for the fuzzy blue robe. It stretched over her stomach and fell into loose folds around her ankles.

“I thought I’d build a fire, if that’s all right,” he said.

“It’s perfect. You should change out of your wet clothes, too.”

“I’m six feet two inches. I doubt you’d have anything to fit me. Besides, these shorts will dry fast.” And he’d already shed his T-shirt to reveal a magnificent chest.

“At least you were dressed for the occasion.”

“I’m just glad I had my binoculars on you at the exact moment he attacked.”

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Standing in a cluster of sea oats just past your gazebo.”

“Do you watch me every time I leave the house?”

“I try,” he admitted.

“That’s all you do—just watch me?”

“I’ve had worse jobs, and in a lot worse places. Besides, you’ve made it fairly easy lately, going to lunch at the same time every day, walking at the same times.”

“I’m a creature of habit.”

“Most folks are,” he added. “The decent ones and the criminals. That’s how we trap a lot of them.”

“So you followed me here to Orange Beach because you expected someone would try to kill me?”

“We thought it was possible.”

“We meaning the FBI?”

“Right.” He raked the windblown hair away from his face.

Megan took the towel from her head and began to rub it over the ends of her hair. It looked darker when it was wet, black and shiny. It struck him again how pretty she was and how vulnerable she looked. He’d never guarded a pregnant woman before, never realized that it would affect him the way it had.

A few minutes ago, when he’d seen her fighting for her life, the usual surge of adrenaline had been fueled by a fury he seldom felt anymore. What kind of monster would attack a pregnant woman? A foolish question. He knew this monster and nothing was beyond him.

But pregnant or not, Megan Lancaster was no pushover. She’d fought like a wild woman in that water, and he had the feeling he was going to have a hard time getting her to let him call the shots from here on out. But nobody loved a challenge more than he did.

The sputtering logs caught in a burst of flame, sending fingers of fire up the chimney. He closed the screen and backed away. “That should chase away the chill.”

She was standing behind him with a beach blanket. “This might help, too, especially until your clothes dry.”

“Great idea.” He wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Did you get a good look at the man who tried to kill me?”

“I couldn’t be sure. It was dark, and it happened so fast. Once I pulled him off you, he took off before I had a chance to yank that stupid mask from his face.”

“Why didn’t you go after him?”

“If I had, you would have drowned.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Now we need to think about food. Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch.”

“Good. Neither have I.”

The phone rang. She jumped up to get it, but he caught her arm. “Let it ring.”

“It’s probably my boss. He’ll keep calling until I answer.”

“John Hardison?”

“Yes.”

“Then answer, but don’t say anything about what’s happened.” He read the questions in her eyes, mixed with a tinge of suspicion. That was the one thing he hated about this job—innocent people got caught up in the actions of hardened criminals. “Trust me, Megan. I’ll protect you and the baby. You won’t get hurt again, but you have to do what I say. Just answer the phone and act as if nothing’s wrong.”

He listened to her end of the conversation while he rummaged in her cabinets for food. She was eating for two, and he was hungry himself, but his culinary talents were extremely limited. After they ate they’d work out a plan. No more trying to guard a woman in a secluded old beach house. She wouldn’t like it, but he was going to stick to her every second of the day and night until the man he was after was behind bars.

Even if it took him right into the delivery room.

MEGAN SAT at the kitchen table, using her spoon to make swirls in the remains of her tomato soup. Bart was on his second bowl and he’d eaten every bite of the BLT sandwich he’d made. She’d only managed to get down half of hers and a few sips of the soup.

It seemed strange to be sitting across the table from the man she’d seen as sinister and frightening up until an hour ago. Now she was buying into his story even though she’d still seen no real proof of who he was.

“I’d like to see your badge,” she said, not that she’d know the difference if it was a fake.

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll give you a number at the bureau. But in the meantime, I’ll need to pick up some clothes over at my condo. As big as this place is, I’m sure you have lots of extra bedrooms.”

“You can’t stay here.”

“It’s the best solution.”

“Not for me.”

“You have a short memory, Megan.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “A little over an hour ago, you were fighting for your life. The man ran off, but he’s still out there somewhere waiting for his chance to attack again. I’m not planning to leave you alone—not for a second.”

“I’ll decide that after I have proof you are who you say you are.”

He wiped his mouth with the flowered cotton napkin. “Are you always this suspicious?”

“I work in the world of big business. I learned long ago not to trust anything but verifiable facts.”

“Good. I’m not a particularly trusting man myself. Now, why don’t you call your doctor and then we’ll make a little trip to my condo to pack my suitcase.”

“You won’t need much for one night.”

He shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you? I will be with you every second of the day and night from now until the man who tried to kill you is apprehended.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve had enough of the good life. I’m driving back to New Orleans first thing in the morning.” She wasn’t sure when she’d made that decision, but right now she couldn’t wait to leave Pelican’s Roost.

“No. You’re staying here.”

She stood and glared at him across the table. “FBI or not, Bart Cromwell, you will not tell me what to do and where to live. I’m a citizen, not a criminal.”

“Okay.” He spread his hands on the table. “I’m not telling you. I’m suggesting that you stay in Orange Beach.”

“Why? To make it easier for some lunatic to drown me?”

“You’re out here in an isolated setting. It’s much easier for me to protect you. Besides, this is a small town. We have a much better chance of finding your would-be killer before he has a chance to strike again.”

“Why would this man have killed Ben and Jackie, and why would he want to kill me?”

“We don’t know. We only suspect that the explosion was rigged and thought the man might follow up by killing their unborn child.”

“You don’t know more or you’re not saying more?”

“I’ve told you what I can.”

This couldn’t have anything to do with Jackie. It had to involve Ben. He’d seemed such a nice guy, not that she knew him all that well. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure Jackie knew him all that well either. She’d fallen in love with him on a vacation to some island in the Caribbean. They eloped a few months later. She’d never heard her mention Ben’s family.

“So you think the man is not after me but after the baby?”

“We think it’s possible. That’s why I’m here.”

Her heart plunged to her stomach. This madman, whoever he was, planned to kill the baby. The ultimate pay-back to Ben for whatever sin he’d committed in this man’s eyes. He’d kill not only Ben, but his wife and his unborn child.

She was exhausted, so tired she could barely stand, and yet something pushed and hardened inside her, a protective surge that was so strong it nullified the fear. Her fingers clutched the back of the chair and she faced Bart. “Tell me what I have to do.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to stay in Orange Beach?”

“It means I’ll sleep on the sand in a hurricane if that’s what it takes to stop this lunatic and protect the baby.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“We need to go to your condo and pick up your things. I want to see your badge and I want to talk to your supervisor. But if this checks out, you just got yourself a partner.”

December 9

MEGAN WOKE to the smells of frying bacon, freshly brewed coffee and salty air. She stretched, then groaned as the ache in her arms and legs clamored for attention. She moved slower this time and ran her hand along her stomach.

“Good morning, little one. I smell food. I’m assuming that means our guest is cooking. He’s the same dark stranger I told you about, but I checked all his credentials last night. Apparently he’s a real FBI agent and he’s here to protect us. The cooking is a bonus. So even though someone roughed us up a little last evening, you don’t need to worry about a thing, not until you get ready to come kicking into the world. I hear that’s a bumpy ride.”

She, on the other hand, had a few things to worry about. She’d talked to the doctor last night, told him partial truths, and he’d said she was probably fine as long as she didn’t have any bleeding or contractions. Still, she was glad she had an appointment scheduled for this afternoon.

And somehow she’d have to deal with living with a man in the house. She was about to slide her feet over the side of the bed when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. So she pulled the sheet up to her neck and waited for Bart to appear. When he stopped at her door, he had a wicker breakfast tray in hand.

“Don’t tell me that’s for me,” she said.

“I figured you deserved it after last night.”

“Are you going to join me?”

“Do you want company?”

“Why not? I think we need to talk about how I’m going to explain your living here for a few days.”

“I have that all worked out.”

He narrowed his eyes and his mouth stretched to the left side. She had the feeling he was about to hit her with something she wasn’t going to like, and she didn’t want bad news to spoil her appetite again. The baby needed nourishment. “Have your breakfast before it gets cold. The plans can wait until after we eat.”

She picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled on the end of it as he went downstairs to fix a tray for himself. The bacon was crunchy, just the way she liked it. She washed it down with coffee. For the first three months of the pregnancy, she hadn’t been able to drink coffee without getting nauseous, but now it tasted better than ever. Still, she limited herself to one cup a day. Too much caffeine was not good for the baby.

Neither was having a killer chase her. And she had an idea that Bart’s plan wouldn’t make her feel any better. She’d find out soon enough. In the meantime, she took another sip of coffee and tried to find a way to get close enough to the tray not to spill food all over herself. “No offense, baby, but you do take up a lot of space.”

After a few minutes, Bart appeared at the door, and she tried to ready her mind for the next round of surprises from the stranger with a badge.

Chapter Five

Bart set his tray on the table by the window. “This is some layout you have here. The closest I’ve ever been to living the life of the rich and famous.”

“My grandfather built it for my grandmother years ago. He wanted her to have her dream house. She designed it herself, down to the gingerbread trim. It could use some restoration, but it suits me fine the way it is.”

“This is a beautiful stretch of land and there are no high-rises nearby to block the view.”

“My grandmother said the land was practically worthless back then, nothing but miles of sand. No one ever expected this stretch of beach to build up the way it has.”

“I can see why it did. It rivals the Caribbean for sheer beauty.”

“Is this really your first trip to the area?”

“It is. You actually caught me in the truth.”

“So what do I believe about you? Is Bart Cromwell even your real name?”

“It is for now, and that’s about as real as it gets for me. Every assignment I’m a different person with a different background, a different personality. Right now I’m Bart Cromwell, a used-car salesman from Nashville. I can fix you up in a great little low-mileage sedan for less than two hundred dollars a month. Don’t worry about your debt. Everybody’s credit’s good with me.”

“Hey, you are good,” she said. “Makes me want to go out and kick some tires and peek under a hood.” But in other words, there was no use bothering to get to know him. He would never be who or what he claimed. She spread a layer of orange marmalade on her buttered toast. Whoever he was, he made a good breakfast.

He forked a bite of egg. “There’s got to be a dozen rooms in this place.”

“I’ve never counted them, but let’s see. There are six bedrooms, countless baths, the big family room where we sat by the fire last night, the kitchen, a library, that little cubbyhole at the top of the stairs on the third floor. There’s a treadmill in there in case it’s too wet to walk on the beach. And then there’s the cupola. It’s used mostly for storage now, but when I was a teenager, it was where Jackie and I went to giggle and talk about boys.”

“You and Jackie Brewster. As close as two people could be.”

“Only she was Jackie Sellers back then.”

“Right. Daughter of Janelle and Lane Sellers. But back to the subject of Pelican’s Roost. Your grandmother must have known you loved the place when she left it to you free and clear.”

“You do know everything about me.”

The conversation died as they ate. Bart finished first even though he’d had twice as much on his plate. He didn’t appear to have an inch of fat on him, yet his appetite was ravenous. She’d like to find out his secret.

After he drained his coffee, he turned from the window and fastened his piercing blue eyes on her. “Actually, I don’t know everything about you, Megan. I only know facts that are in a computer somewhere or that are common knowledge.”

“What else is there to know?”

“Tell me about your relationship with John Hardison.”

“He’s my associate. We’re heading up a merger team together at the present time.”

“But you were engaged at one time.”

“You didn’t leave a stone unturned, did you? Want to tell me how many times we slept together or did that not make it into anybody’s data bank?”

“None that I have access to.” He leaned in closer. “I’m not into voyeurism, Megan. But my job right now is keeping you safe, and the more I know about you, the easier that will be.”

She sighed and stared out the glass door, focusing on the morning sun rays that sent sparkling sprays along the surface of the Gulf. She’d always been a very private person, and knowing that this stranger knew almost as much about her as she did about herself made her extremely uncomfortable. But not nearly as uncomfortable as she’d been last night in the hands of a killer. That left her no choice but to cooperate.

“John and I were engaged, but we broke up over a year ago. Now we’re friends and co-workers.”

“That must be awkward.”

“We’re adults. We handle it.”

“Is he planning to visit you here at the beach?”

“No. He wasn’t invited, not that he would have come anyway. Spending time with a pregnant woman is not his idea of fun.”

“Then that’s one less person we have to worry about. There’s no reason for him to know anything more than what we tell your friends around Orange Beach. Do you plan to stay here until the baby’s born?”

“That was my original plan. You seem to be setting up my agenda now.”

“Having the baby here will work out fine. Hopefully, this will all be over long before the birth.”

“I should certainly think so. That’s two and a half weeks from now.” She pushed the tray away. “Now, tell me about this plan that you have.”

He exhaled sharply as he gave her his undivided attention. “You, Megan Lancaster, are about to knock a man right off his feet and into your bed.”

“You, Bart Cromwell, must have crumbled hallucinatory drugs into your eggs.”

“No. This is pure genius.”

“I assume the guy’s blind.”

“Twenty-twenty vision. You’re looking at him. We’ll laugh and hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes at local restaurants. We might even be spotted dancing cheek to cheek at one of the clubs.”

“Oh, no!” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You may only exist in this one moment in time, but I don’t. I know people in this town, and I’m not going to become a spectacle. You can be a friend, a renter, or a relative, but I will not pretend to be your lover, not with this body.”

He walked over and stood beside her. “What happened to your promise to do whatever it takes to catch the killer.”

“Look at me.” She stood and clasped her hands beneath her bulging belly. “Even if I agreed to do this, who would believe you’re attracted to me? I’m eight months pregnant. I look like a blimp.”

“That’s only in your mind.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve thought this through. I need to be with you every time we leave the house, and we have to make our being together look as natural as possible. If it looks like a setup, the man will bide his time. He’ll be out there waiting for me to slip up. Waiting to strike again. And neither you nor the baby will be safe.”

She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as terror set up camp in her chest and wrapped around her heart. These feelings weren’t good for the baby. She had to get hold of herself and stay in control. No one would hurt her baby. Bart wouldn’t let them. She wouldn’t let them.

Her baby. A blunder of the mind. But she couldn’t let it happen again. She opened her eyes and concentrated on taking smooth, even breaths. “We’ll do this your way, Bart, but I’m warning you. Don’t push it too far. A few laughs. A little hand-holding. You can even look into my eyes as if we’re lovers. But this is only for show. When we come back into this house, it’s strictly business.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Now, when do the games begin?”

“I’d say over lunch. We have to sell the act as quickly as possible.”

“And once we’ve convinced the people around here that we’re lovers, do we just wait for this madman to strike again?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Hardly.” She raked her long bangs behind her ear, her mind still struggling with the problems his plan encompassed. “It’s not going to work, Bart. No one will believe you came here on vacation and hooked up with a pregnant woman.”

“Actually, we’re going to spread the word that I’m an old boyfriend who came here to visit and the sparks just started flying again.”

She shook her head. “They’ll never buy it.”

“Sure they will. I am very good at what I do.”

“I am too, and this isn’t it.” She stepped around him and walked to the door. “I’m going to shower and get dressed.”

He smiled. “Wear something sexy. You’ve got to knock my socks off.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.