Indestructible

Cassie Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Copyright

About the Author

Though born in Chicago and raised in L.A., CASSIE MILES has lived in Colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk Creek with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Post.

After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Ceviche, anyone? She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. A lot of wine. When she’s not plotting Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.

To the brilliant, imaginative Melissa Jeglinski.

And, as always, to Rick …

Chapter One

For as long as he could remember, Drew Kincaid knew he was different. Some people called him crazy. Some said he was the luckiest man on the planet. And there were those who wanted to lock him up and throw away the key.

Since the day he turned eighteen, he’d been on the run from a faceless, nameless enemy. Today, ten years later, his luck might have run out.

Before dawn, he slipped through the back door of the rustic, seaside hotel outside Naples, Italy. Making his way toward the south end of town, he hid in the shadows on narrow streets. Light shone through some of the windows; the fishermen awakened early.

Behind a stucco house with a painted orange door, he found the bicycle he’d stashed yesterday. He would have preferred an Italian, carbon-frame racing bike like the ones used for the Giro d’Italia, but this three-speed was serviceable. It would do.

His tires hummed on the cobblestone road. As he rode toward the edge of town, he heard the pitched barking of a dog, the cries of gulls, the slamming of a car door. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw no one on the road behind him.

Within a half hour, he was in open countryside, climbing a steep, curving road that led to the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. He pedaled hard, sweating under his thermal windbreaker. His backpack held only the essentials: a change of clothes, bottled water and his laptop. He kept his flash drive, passport and cell phone in his pockets.

His stories for this assignment had already been filed electronically with World Sport Magazine, the New York–based publication that financed this three-week trip to Europe to cover the extreme skiing competition in the Alps and the bicycle marathons in Spain and Italy—an incredible range of sports, considering that it was only March.

Drew wasn’t employed by World Sport. Though he remained doggedly freelance, he sure as hell wasn’t opposed to taking an assignment like this one. An expenses-paid trip to Europe? An insider’s pass to interview elite athletes? A chance to try his hand at extreme skiing? Oh, yeah, he loved his work.

A week ago in Verbier—a ski resort in the Swiss Alps—he noticed that he was being followed. In spite of his evasive maneuvers, they’d been coming closer. Drew needed to get back to Sioux Falls. When he came face-to-face with these guys, he wanted home field advantage.

The problem was getting out of Europe in one piece. He arranged to meet up with a Cessna pilot in Sorrento. From there, they’d fly to Rome, where Drew would make his connections back to the States.

At a high point on the Amalfi cliffs, he pulled onto the shoulder. This seemed like a good place for cell phone reception, and he wanted to check with his pilot. Standing beside a cypress tree at the edge of a forty-foot precipice, he looked down at the sea. White froth roiled and rushed against the jagged rocks below him. In the opposite direction, the sun was rising over Mount Vesuvius.

There was a text message from Melinda Winston.

As soon as he saw her name, he grinned. Though Drew never had a place he considered home, being with Melinda gave him a warm, cozy, comfortable feeling. He liked almost everything about her—from the way her auburn curls fell softly past her shoulders to the slender curve of her waist to her delicate ankles and pink toes. She was always quick to laugh at his jokes, and he never had the sense that she was playing games or trying to manipulate him. There was nothing phony about her. A librarian, she was a solid, Midwestern woman with solid, Midwestern values. Except when they made love. He’d been lucky to find her, living in the apartment directly under his.

Her text said, “Home on Wed? Dinner at my place?”

His first impulse was to call her back so he could hear her voice, but the time difference meant it would be the middle of the night where she was. He texted: “I’m there. Six p.m.”

He almost added the word love, but it wouldn’t be right. As soon as he returned to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, he needed to move. Now that his enemies knew his identity, they’d be coming after him. His dinner with Melinda might be the last time he saw her. Regret tugged at his heart. If his life hadn’t been so damned crazy, there might have been a chance for something more between them.

He called the pilot and verified that he’d be there within half an hour.

Back on the bike, he rode steadily on the cliff-side road. Thoughts of Melinda occupied his mind. He’d bought her a present while he was in Switzerland—a souvenir to remember him by when he left her.

He heard the engine of a car behind him, turned his head to look. A black sedan. Coming right at him. He veered off the road. The car followed.

Nowhere to go. They were too close. This bike wasn’t made for off-road maneuvers.

The car aimed directly at him. Abandoning the bike, he ran through the shrubs and grasses that separated him from the brink of the steep, white cliff.

Car doors slammed. He heard yelling. Two voices. Two of them and one of him.

No time for finesse.

Running as hard and fast as he could, he leaped over the edge. For a moment, he flew. His arms churned, grabbing at the air, fighting for distance. He hoped to jump wide of the rocks at the base of the cliff. He almost made it.

Feet first, he landed on a sharp outcropping. His left leg crumbled, and he sprawled. His left arm jolted. His hands scraped against the jagged stone. Pain shot through him.

Still, he managed to push himself into the sea. The temperate Mediterranean waters were cold against his overheated body. He swam underwater as far as he could.

When his head broke the surface, he saw two men standing on the cliff. Even at this distance, he recognized something familiar about the shorter man with white hair. The other had a shaved head. He was holding binoculars.

Drew dove under the water again. His left leg was virtually useless, but he managed to get beyond a spit of land, out of sight from the cliff. He climbed onto the rocks.

Ignoring the pain, he inspected the injury to his leg. The bone wasn’t visibly broken, but there was already swelling around his ankle. His hands looked worse, as thick blood oozed from the abrasions. The little finger on his left hand bent at a weird angle.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart. Injuries never stopped him.

As a kid, he’d been quick to heal. As he got older, he learned to focus the healing. His body needed little direction or encouragement. His blood surged toward his injuries. His muscles repaired themselves at a cellular level. His torn flesh knitted.

In a matter of minutes, he was healed.

His head throbbed from the strain. Later, he’d need a long nap. Exhaustion and a headache were the downside to his miraculous talent—the ability that made him a freak.

MELINDA WINSTON stared at the big, round, old-fashioned clock that hung on the kitchen wall in her one-bedroom apartment. In slow motion, the second hand ticked down. Four minutes and forty-five seconds until six o’clock.

She knew that Drew was home from his travels; she’d heard him climbing the stairs to the third-floor apartment just above hers. Though he’d texted an acceptance to her dinner invitation, she halfway expected him to call and cancel. Any normal person would need a rest after a three-week assignment in Europe. As if Drew Kincaid was normal? Not hardly!

His job as a freelance reporter for sporting events had to be the most fantastic occupation she could imagine. On a moment’s notice, he’d be on a plane to Aspen or Hawaii or Alaska. She’d never even heard of some of the extreme sports he covered; most of them weren’t available on basic cable. All of which made it rather bizarre that he chose Sioux Falls as his home base. Even more strange was the fact that he was living here in a plain, old, three-story brick apartment building not far from the Augustana College campus where she worked in the library. Most preposterous of all? They were dating.

Why would an exciting, handsome, incredible man like Drew be interested in her? Not that she suffered from low self-esteem, not much anyway. But Melinda faced facts. She wasn’t stylish, gorgeous or even athletic. From the first time he’d kissed her, she’d told herself that this relationship wouldn’t last. When they’d fallen into bed together after watching an evening performance by the Augustana Madrigal Choir, she allowed herself to be swept away by fierce passions unlike anything she’d experienced in her twenty-six years. He’d made her feel like a truly exotic creature, elevated far above the realm of dull reality. Golly darn, it was amazing. She’d felt beautiful and remarkable, capable of conquering the world, climbing Mount Everest, racing a Ferrari.

When the afterglow had faded, she’d put on her glasses and looked in the mirror. Other than her thick, curly, light auburn hair, which was definitely her best feature, she considered herself to be pretty much average. Her mouth was too big, but her teeth were straight and white. Drew said that when she laughed, it looked as if she was taking a bite out of life. A very tactful compliment because she tended to snort when she really got to chuckling.

Nobody in their right mind would confuse her with a fashionista jet-setter. She’d never even been to Manhattan, much less Paris or Madrid. Her only major travel came when she was in junior high and made it to the finals of the National Spelling Bee in Washington, D.C., where she’d bombed out in the third round after misspelling cataclysm.

The wall clock ticked down to one minute and fifteen seconds. Hoping to quiet the excited thumping of her heart, she inhaled a deep breath and smelled the aromas of roast beef, mashed rutabaga and a freshly baked apple pie. She never attempted fancy cuisine when she cooked for Drew. He’d tasted the real thing.

She centered the silver candlesticks that had once belonged to her grandmother on the small round table in the dining area adjacent to the kitchen. Was this the atmosphere she wanted? Candlelit romance? Probably not. She had important news for Drew. She took the candlesticks back to their place of honor on her knickknack shelves.

Maybe she could wait to tell him after they’d made love. Just one more time. It was possible that she’d misjudged his probable reaction. He might be happy. He might surprise her and—

She heard his knock on the door and ran to open it. He looked even better than she remembered. The light from an antique-looking sconce in the wainscoted hallway picked out sunny highlights in his light brown hair. His complexion was tanned from being outdoors, and his deep-set green eyes shone with a warm, sexy light. Though he was wearing a simple black sweater and jeans, he had an air of casual elegance and absolute confidence.

He held out a bottle of wine. “I’d like to say that I bought this in Naples, but it’s from the duty-free shop at JFK.”

“That’s fancy enough for me.”

When he entered her apartment, the plain white walls and bland Scandinavian furniture seemed special and dramatic. The glow of his personal charisma lit up her boring bookshelves, making her collection of mysteries and spy thrillers look like esoteric tomes.

He set down the wine bottle on the table, caught hold of her hand and gave a tug. Offering zero resistance, she flowed into his embrace. Her body fit perfectly with his. She was a little over average height at five feet nine inches, but he stood over six feet and easily dominated her. Her head tilted back, welcoming his kiss. When his lips pressed firmly against hers, her internal temperature shot up to a thousand degrees. Her blood was hotter than molten lava.

No one had ever affected her like this. She hated to think of what her life would be like without him.

He ended the kiss with a gentle caress that slid down her back and finished with a light swat on her bottom.

“I brought you a present,” he said. “Direct from Switzerland.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t have wrapping paper.” He reached into his back pocket and held up a wristwatch. “There was a bit of an accident. It got wet but seems to be working okay.”

She held the watch in her hand. A plain beige leather band and a silvery face with the red Swiss cross as a logo. “It’s beautiful. And practical.”

“Like you.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was this or a Swiss Army knife. I liked the watch better.”

She peeled off her old watch, replaced it with his gift and held up her wrist. “I’ll never be tardy again.”

He sniffed the air. “Do I smell pot roast?”

“And potatoes and buttery rutabaga. We can start with a salad.”

“I’d rather start with the meat.”

Not surprising. Drew was definitely a carnivore. He trailed her into the kitchen, opened the drawer beside the sink and found the corkscrew. It pleased her that he knew his way around her apartment.

“Tell me about Switzerland,” she said.

“I was covering competitions in extreme skiing. Off-piste is what they call it. These skiers go way out of bounds on glacier ridges with sheer vertical drops. I gave it a try on a snowboard and almost got caught in an avalanche.”

“Geez Louise, Drew.” She gaped. “Why would you take that kind of risk? Why would anybody?”

“For the rush.” He pulled the cork out of the wine. “And the views are pretty damn spectacular. Nothing but snow and sky and mountains. In Zermatt, I could see the Matterhorn.”

“I’d be just as happy to look at a postcard,” she said as she served up the salad.

“That’s because you haven’t tried the real thing. There’s a thrill that comes from challenging yourself, pushing the limits.”

While she set the salad plates on the table, he went back into the kitchen. She watched as he reached up to the top shelf in her cabinet for the wineglasses. His broad shoulders tapered to a lean torso and a tight butt. Talk about a spectacular view!

“The way you live,” she said, “it’s like you’re on a continuous roller coaster. I’m more of a carousel person.”

He poured two glasses and handed one to her. His head cocked to one side as he studied her. “There’s something different about you. New hairstyle?”

She shrugged. “Nope.”

“Your glasses,” he said. “You aren’t wearing your glasses.”

She reached up to adjust the frames that weren’t there. “I guess I’m not. That’s odd. My vision seems okay without them.”

“I like it.” He clinked his wineglass against hers. “Let’s drink to your eyes.”

As soon as the glass touched her lips, she remembered. She shouldn’t be drinking. She lowered the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She could have made up an excuse, but she’d never been good at lying. Her lips pinched together. She didn’t want to tell him. Not yet. “Golly, I just don’t—”

“Come on, Melinda. Take a sip. Are you afraid that you’ll get drunk and lose control?”

“Don’t tease.” She wasn’t in the mood for banter.

“I promise not to ravish you until after dinner. Have some duty-free wine.”

“I can’t,” she blurted. “I’m pregnant.”

The look on his face was one of sheer panic.

Chapter Two

Drew drained his wineglass in one gulp. He made his living with words, describing athletic feats with precision and flair, but he couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.

His plan for tonight had been to see Melinda one last time before he faced the impending threat to his life. He had no choice but to leave her. If he stayed, she’d be in danger.

He hadn’t wanted their goodbye to be final. Someday, she could be part of his life. But not now. Not while she was carrying his child.

“Are you …” His voice strangled in his throat. “Are you …sure?”

“I’ve taken five pregnancy tests. The result is always positive.”

“But you haven’t been to the doctor.”

“I’m sure,” she said angrily. “My periods are as regular as this Swiss watch you gave me. When you left on your assignment, I was a week late. Ten more days after that, I faced facts, peed on a stick and voila!”

Dumbfounded, he couldn’t help but stare at her stomach. “How did this happen?”

“Good question. I’m on the pill, and it’s supposed to be ninety-nine percent effective.”

For a moment, he considered that his seed was as invulnerable as the rest of him. But that couldn’t be. He’d been to bed with plenty of women who hadn’t turned up pregnant. It had only happened once before. “But I used condoms.”

“Except for that one time,” she said. “There’s no point in second-guessing what we should have done or who was at fault. Spilt milk, you know. No use in crying over it. And it’s pretty clear how you feel about this.”

“Give me a minute. I’m not sure how I feel.”

“I’d like for you to leave.”

He gazed down at her delicate face. The beautiful eyes he’d toasted only a moment ago flared with righteous anger. He couldn’t blame her; he wasn’t handling this well. “I’m not going to abandon you. Whatever you decide is—”

“Spare me the phony nobility, okay? I’m going to have the baby, and I have no intention of roping you into support payments or anything else.”

He started to object, to tell her that he wasn’t the kind of man who cut and run. But that was exactly his plan: to leave her until there was no possibility of danger, which might take a long time. Hell, it might never happen. “Let me explain.”

“No explanation necessary. I told you about my pregnancy because it was the right thing to do. You deserve to know. That’s the end of it.” She went to the door and held it open. “Please go.”

Hostility crackled around her in a ring of fire. Still, he reached toward her, hoping to connect. “I’m glad you told me.”

“Don’t touch me.” She had never looked so beautiful, so powerful. “At least show me the respect of doing as I ask.”

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, the door slammed with absolute finality. Slowly, he trudged up the wooden staircase to his third-floor apartment, fitted the key in the lock and went inside. The halogen lamp on his desk shone down on his battered laptop, which probably wasn’t going to survive immersion in the Mediterranean—the dunking that had taken place when he was being chased by dangerous men who wanted to do him harm. How the hell could he explain that to Melinda? How could he tell her that he was a superhealing machine, and a dark, faceless enemy was after him? He never shared his secrets. If anyone else knew, they might also be targeted. No way could he drag Melinda into the maelstrom of his life.

Stretched out on the leather sofa, he stared up at the high ceiling with the old-fashioned, frosted glass fixture. He’d chosen this old, brick apartment building because of the prewar charm and the fact that the landlord was willing to issue his lease to one of Drew’s fake identities. None of his mail came here; it was delivered to a P.O. box in Manhattan. He paid his bills online. This apartment was untraceable—a safe haven where he could hide while he dug into his past and found out what had happened to him when he was growing up in South Dakota.

And that was exactly what he should continue to do: find the answers. He should take Melinda’s advice. Leave her alone. Let her have her own life.

As a rule, he kept his relationships short-term and uncommitted. He hadn’t expected to get involved with Melinda, hadn’t expected to care so much about her.

But he did care. He wanted her in his life. And their baby. My God, I’m going to be a daddy.

An incurable ache squeezed his heart. He’d suffered a lot of injuries in his life, but losing Melinda and his unborn child was a scar that his miraculous, regenerative blood couldn’t heal.

MELINDA GLARED angrily at the ceiling. As far as she was concerned, Drew Kincaid could go straight to hell. She’d never forget the look of terror on his face when she told him. What happened to the daredevil who skied down an avalanche? Was he scared of a baby?

Apparently, yes.

She needed to burn off some of this anger. Though it was chilly and dark outside, she’d go for a run. In the bedroom, she peeled off her clothes, threw on her sweats and jammed her feet into well-worn running shoes.

Before she left, she decided to put away the dinner she’d prepared for him so she wouldn’t have to face it when she came home.

She picked up the unused china from the table. Her mother had given her the delicate Wedgewood blue-patterned plates for her hope chest. They were supposed to be for after she got married. That wasn’t likely to happen now. Melinda was seven months away from becoming a single mother.

This wasn’t the way her life was supposed to work out, but she wasn’t totally miserable about the prospect. She wanted children, and she had to admit—though she was furious at Drew—that he was an excellent sperm donor: healthy enough to tackle all those extreme sports he seemed to love. Smart enough to be a decent reporter. Motivated enough to make a success of his life. I could have done worse.

A heavy sigh pushed through her lips. Drew’s flaw was his inability to make a commitment. A man like him didn’t want to be tied down, and it wasn’t as if he’d made her any promises.

Neither of them had ever declared their love. Do I love him? The word had been poised at the tip of her tongue once or twice. But she hadn’t actually said it.

With the plates put away, she surveyed the massive dinner. All this food would go to waste; she didn’t have the appetite to sit down and eat.

But Drew probably did. He must be starving and wouldn’t have food in his house after being away for three weeks.

On a paper plate, she put together helpings of pot roast and rutabagas. Might as well give him the entire apple pie. Being pregnant meant she ought to concentrate on healthy foods that would nourish the baby. And, of course, she should return his wine.

With both hands full, she climbed the stairs to his apartment, intending to place the food outside his door then return to her apartment, call and tell him dinner was served.

As she approached his door, it opened.

She held out the plates. “You might as well have this food. I’m not hungry.”

He took her by the arm and pulled her forward. “We need to talk.”

“Be careful. I don’t want to spill.” She allowed herself to be led into his apartment, where she set down the plate, the pie and the wine on the kitchen counter. “I invited you for dinner. And here it is.”

He closed the door to his apartment, folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned against the door. “A long time ago, I made myself a promise. If I was ever so blessed as to become a father, my child would have a better life than I did in foster care.”

She didn’t know he’d been raised in foster care. Drew never spoke of his childhood, and she’d assumed that he came from a privileged background. With all his jetting around the globe, he seemed like a trust-funder. “What happened to your birth parents?”

“They’re dead. I have no family.”

He spoke with such harsh finality that she couldn’t bear to look at him. Her gaze darted around the room. Though Drew had lived here for almost four months, his apartment still looked unsettled. There was a desk, a huge leather sofa with a coffee table in front of it, a television, two straight-back chairs and not much else. No pictures on the walls. His reference books and magazines were stacked around his desk in piles.

“Melinda, I want to do the right thing.”

“Don’t worry. I would never cut you out of your child’s life.”

“Our child,” he said. “This baby belongs to both of us.”

This simple, obvious declaration sank deep into her consciousness. No matter what she did for the rest of her life, she’d be connected to Drew through their child. “Why do I feel like I should apologize? I didn’t get pregnant by myself, you know.”

“I haven’t forgotten one minute of our lovemaking.”

Neither had she. When he took a step toward her, she retreated. “You just stay over there.”

“That’s not what you really want. Tell me how you’re feeling, Melinda.”

“I’m confused.” She felt an incongruous smile sneak onto her face. “And I’m excited. I love babies, and I’ve always wanted children. Single motherhood is a difficult prospect, but I know my parents will be supportive. They always are.”

“How do you feel about us?”

“Well, I can’t help wishing things were different.”

“I’m not good with relationships,” he admitted.

“Ooooh, big surprise.”

“Sarcasm? That’s the coward’s way out.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you because I don’t know you.” When they talked, he told her about his adventures and the exotic places he’d been. She knew nothing about who he really was. “I didn’t even know you were a foster kid.”

“You want a biography? Fine. I bounced around in foster care until I was ten. Then I was placed with Belle and Harlan Anderson in Lead. That’s a little town in the Black Hills near Rapid City. I was a loner, but I had a girlfriend in high school. My first love. She died in a car accident.”

Though the tone of his voice remained steady, she heard an echo of sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

“On my eighteenth birthday, I went to New York. It’s a good place to disappear, and that’s what I did. I was too busy trying to survive to make friends. I managed to get to my senior year in journalism school while working a regular job and an unpaid internship at a sports magazine. I fell in love.”

Melinda was glad to know these sketchy details about his past. Even if Drew wasn’t destined to be part of her life, their child should know something about his father. “What happened with that relationship?”

“She left me.”

As he moved toward her, she could see the tension in the set of his jaw. When he talked about his first love, he’d been almost wistful. Now, he was angry.

“There’s more to that story,” she said.

“Her name was Pamela Forbes. She got a job offer in Europe and didn’t want to settle down.”

He stood directly in front of her. The magnetism she always felt when she was close to him arced between them, but she resisted. She hadn’t come upstairs to fall into bed with him.

She wanted to understand him. If there was a possibility of a relationship, she didn’t want to close that door. She owed it to herself and to her unborn child to figure out what role Drew would play in both their lives.

“Sounds like you were furious with Pamela.”

He shrugged, trying to dispel his tension. “What was it you said? Spilt milk? There’s no point in looking backward.”

“You can learn a whole lot from past mistakes.”

“I found out that Pamela was pregnant. She wasn’t honest like you, didn’t step up and tell me. But I found out. And when I heard, I was happy. I saw a chance for a normal life. Married with children. It was too much to hope for.”

Gosh, he was cynical. Why shouldn’t he expect a normal life? Instead of understanding him better, she was even more confused.

He continued, “I bought a diamond ring in a pawn shop and went down on one knee to propose. That’s when she told me she’d been dating other men, her company was sending her to Paris and she’d already made an appointment for an abortion. I never saw her again.”

“You haven’t had much luck with commitments.” She was beginning to understand why he’d gone into shock when she told him about the baby.

“As long as I’m being honest,” he said, “I was going to tell you tonight that I’m leaving Sioux Falls. It’s necessary for me to be out of touch for a while.”

“What does that mean? Out of touch?”

“I won’t be able to communicate with you.”

“Wait a minute.” Before she came upstairs to his apartment, she’d been adjusting to the idea that Drew wouldn’t be in her life. But this was too abrupt. “Wherever you go, there are going to be phones.”

“As soon as possible, I’ll contact you. Until then, is there anything you need? Is your insurance in order? Do you need money for a doctor?”

“I don’t believe this.” A raging fury exploded behind her eyes. “You’re trying to buy me off.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You expect to write me a check, pat me on the butt and send me on my way.” She dodged around him and made a beeline for the door. “No, thanks. I don’t need or want your money.”

She stormed into the hall, raced down the stairs to her apartment and slammed the door. The nerve of him! Sure, he’d had a rough life and bad luck with relationships, but that didn’t excuse the way he’d treated her.

She paced furiously. To the bedroom. Back to the front room. Into the kitchen. Her apartment was too small to contain her anger. How dare he offer me money! She stamped her running shoe on the hardwood floor. Who in the blazes did he think he was?

When she heard the knock on her door, she figured it was Drew again. “Go away. I don’t want to see your face.”

Another knock. More insistent.

She flung open the door. Before she could speak or react, a bright flash of light blinded her. Then everything went dark.

She crumpled to the floor.

Chapter Three

Standing over the sink, Drew jabbed a spoon into the center of the apple pie and dug out a bite, hoping that the sugar rush would help him feel less like an ass.

The pie tasted great. Sweet, tart apples perfectly complemented by a flaky crust that crumbled on his tongue. Homemade, of course. Probably a recipe passed down from her dear old granny. Melinda’s family tree went back for generations. No way should she be involved with a rootless loner like him.

He shoveled in another bite of pie.

From downstairs, he heard a crash. Apparently, Melinda hadn’t gone for a run even though she’d been dressed for jogging in her smooth black pants with a white stripe and matching sweatshirt. There was another loud thud. It sounded like she was tearing apart her apartment, throwing things, breaking furniture. Terrific. He’d managed to drive a completely rational woman to the brink of madness.

He saw two options: he could close his ears, pretend nothing was wrong, leave in the morning and never look back. Or he could stand and fight for her. Damn it, he wanted Melinda in his life. He needed to make her understand that he had enemies and there was a very real threat. Unfortunately, that meant he’d have to tell her the whole truth.

Not yet. More pie.

He licked the back of the spoon and listened. The sudden quiet from downstairs felt ominous, like a vacuum had sucked the air from her apartment. Was she sitting in the dark, cursing him under her breath? Did she own a gun?

He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and headed for the door. Moving fast so he wouldn’t change his mind, he went down the staircase.

When he knocked on her door, it pushed open. She’d left it slightly ajar. “Melinda?”

He stepped inside. An end table lay on its side. Books scattered across the floor. Her sofa had been shoved out of place. Her apartment had been trashed.

This can’t be. He didn’t want to believe the evidence that lay before him. Someone had been here. His enemies had gone after her.

Cold night air blasted through the window that opened onto the fire escape. He rushed toward the long, beige curtains that were flapping in the breeze and peered down at the asphalt parking lot behind the building. A vehicle pulled away from a spot beside the Dumpster. A dark sedan.

Had they taken her?

Desperately, he called out, “Melinda, where are you?”

The sound of a whimper drew him toward the arched hallway. She was in the bathroom, sprawled beside the claw-foot tub. A thick smear of red blood marked the black-and-white tiled floor.

As she propped herself up on her arms, she winced in pain. Her zippered sweatshirt had been torn off. From the waist up, she wore only a gray sports bra. There were welts on her arms. She was still bleeding from a puncture on the inside of her elbow.

He knelt beside her, gathered her into his arms. He had to get her away from here before they came back.

She looked up at him. Her pupils were dilated. “Drew?”

“I’m here,” he whispered. “Do you think you can stand up?”

“How did I get into the bathroom? What happened?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“I opened the door.” She licked her lips. “And there was a flash. A blinding light.”

He’d seen that flash. Hundreds of times when he was growing up. There was a burst of light, and he’d black out. Sometimes, he’d be awake within an hour. Other times, it was days. “I have to get you to safety.”

Gamely, she struggled to stand up. Her legs were unable to support her weight. She collapsed against him. “What’s wrong with me?”

He checked the darkening bruise on the inside of her arm at the vein and made an educated guess. “I’d say you’ve lost some blood.”

“I need a doctor.”

“Come with me.” He needed to get her away from here before they came back.

Leaning heavily against him, she stumbled into her living room. “What happened in here? Was I robbed?”

Explanations were going to take a while—time they didn’t have. He lifted her off her feet and carried her toward the door, where he came face-to-face with a uniformed policeman holding a gun.

“Freeze,” the officer ordered.

Standing behind him was Melinda’s neighbor from across the hall—a gray-haired woman who taught anthropology at Augustana. “It’s all right,” she said to the policeman. “He lives in the building.”

“Put her down on the sofa.” The cop’s gun didn’t waver. “Do it now.”

Though Drew knew he was capable of disarming the cop, he did as ordered. It was never wise to assault an officer.

The professor rushed to Melinda’s side. “Are you okay?”

She nodded slowly.

The neighbor smoothed Melinda’s hair off her forehead. “I heard crashing and peeked into the hall. Your door was partly open, and I saw a man inside. I called the police.”

“Can you describe the man?” Drew asked.

“I didn’t get a good look.” The professor’s cheeks were flushed. Beneath her gray bangs, her forehead furrowed. “He was Caucasian. Definitely mesomorphic.”

“What’s that?” the cop asked.

“Large, muscular body structure,” she said. “And he had a shaved head.”

Any doubt Drew might have had about the identity of the intruder vanished. Melinda’s attacker was the same man who had been after him in Italy.

LESS THAN AN HOUR later, Melinda walked through the door of the health services clinic at the college with Drew at her side. He’d insisted on driving and now hovered close to her.

“Are you sure you want to go here?” he asked.

“I hate hospital emergency rooms.” The shock of being attacked in her own home made her want to seek the safe and familiar. “I know the people here.”

Physically, she didn’t feel too terribly bad. Her injuries had been far worse after a Rollerblade accident. But the memory loss was worrisome. It didn’t seem like her head had been injured. What else could cause a blackout?

Holding her arm, he directed her into the room. Slate-blue chairs lined the walls in the small waiting area, and two students huddled in the corner. Both were coughing and sniffling. The woman in pink scrubs who sat behind the counter looked up from the book she was reading. Melinda recognized her; she was a frequent patron of the library.

“Melinda,” the nurse said. “What happened?”

Drew answered for her. “She was assaulted. We need to see the doctor right away.”

His intensity must have impressed the nurse because she quickly escorted them to a small room with an examination table and the typical medical paraphernalia arrayed on a countertop beside a sink. She turned to Drew and said, “You can wait outside.”

“I’m staying here.”

The nurse helped Melinda onto the table. “You’re in luck, hon. Dr. Lynn is on duty tonight until nine, and she’s the best.”

“Thanks, Ruth.” Her recall of the nurse’s name was somewhat reassuring. Her long-term memory seemed to be unaffected by the assault. Only the few moments after the flash remained blank. “You didn’t really have to rush us in here. It looks like other people were waiting.”

“No problem.” She patted Melinda’s hand. “You sit tight, hon. You’re going to be okay.”

When she left, Drew came closer again. “Do you want to lie down? Should I get you some water?”

“Give me some space, okay?”

He backed off one pace. “How’s this?”

“That extra eight inches is really swell.” He didn’t take his eyes off her for a second. She couldn’t help but comment on his change in attitude. “I thought you were in a big hurry to leave town.”

“Not anymore,” he said. “I’m staying with you.”

“What if I don’t want you around?”

“You’ll get used to having a bodyguard.”

A bit overprotective, but she liked being taken care of. The attack upset her. That kind of violence wasn’t supposed to happen to people like her. She’d always lived a very quiet, very safe, very average life.

Doctor Bethany Lynn entered. In spite of her horn-rimmed glasses and blond hair pulled back in a severe bun, she looked like a teenager. Melinda knew that Doctor Lynn was in her late twenties and she liked to read Jane Austen.

After the doctor introduced herself to Drew and shook his hand, she focused on Melinda. “Tell me what happened.”

“I wish I could. I was alone in my apartment. I opened the door and got hit by a bright flash of light. After that my mind is blank until Drew came into the bathroom and found me lying on the floor.”

The doctor shot a vaguely suspicious glance toward Drew. “Why did you go to her apartment?”

“I’m Melinda’s upstairs neighbor. I heard crashing.”

“And the woman who lives across the hall from me also heard the noises and called the police. She saw a strange man inside my apartment.”

“Was it a burglary?” the doctor asked. “Was anything taken?”

“Not even my purse,” Melinda said. “The police think Drew scared him off before he could take anything.”

“Take off your sweatshirt, and I’ll get started.” Dr. Lynn continued to ask simple questions while she examined Melinda’s bruises, paying particular attention to the wound on the inside of her arm. “This is on the vein. Was there a lot of blood?”

“Just a few smears,” Melinda said.

She wrapped a cuff around the uninjured arm to test blood pressure. “Any vomiting?”

“No.”

“Ringing in the ears? Dizziness?”

“I’m really tired. Kind of weak in the knees.”

The doctor ran through a couple more tests. “Your blood pressure is a little low, and you’re slightly anemic. The bruising appears to be superficial. Mostly defensive.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your arm was grabbed with force, and you were dragged. While you were trying to fight off your attacker, you bumped into things, which caused the crashing noises.” The doctor gave her a reassuring smile. “I’d like to ask some personal questions. It might be best if we were alone.”

“I’m not leaving,” Drew said. When he folded his arms across his chest, it looked like they’d need a bulldozer to remove him from the examination room.

“It’s okay with me if he stays,” Melinda said.

Dr. Lynn didn’t look pleased, but she continued, “Were you sexually molested?”

“Golly, no.” If she’d been raped, Melinda would have felt it. “I still had my pants on.”

“I was downstairs pretty quickly,” Drew said. “Five or six minutes after I heard the first crash.”

Ignoring him, the doctor examined Melinda’s eyes. “You don’t appear to have a concussion, but your amnesia concerns me. I’d suggest you go to the hospital for a CAT scan.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have a head injury. What else would cause a blackout?”

“You might have been drugged. I should take a blood sample and run tests to find out.”

She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that possibility. “Drugs might be a problem. I’m pregnant.”

Behind her glasses, the doctor’s eyes widened. Of course, she’d be surprised. She knew Melinda was single. “Well, congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Drew said.

His fierce protectiveness was softened by a proud smile. If he’d given her that kind of warmth when she first told him, she would have been elated.

Not anymore. She was leery of Drew.

After they left the clinic, her suspicions deepened when he drove past the turn leading to their apartment building. “Where are we going?”

“Not home,” he said. “That’s for damn sure.”

Exhaustion crept over her. Too tired to argue, she leaned back in the passenger seat and groaned. “I need to go to sleep. In my own bed.”

“You can sleep in the car. I have a cabin that isn’t too far from here.”

“Absolutely not.” She mustered just enough strength to resist his ridiculous idea. “Tomorrow I have work.”

“Being assaulted qualifies you for a sick day.”

Taking time off wasn’t a problem in terms of her employment, but she was concerned about the people she worked with. “If I don’t show up at the library tomorrow, everybody is going to worry. They’ll be calling to make sure I’m all right and bringing over casseroles. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

And how would she explain that she was running off to a secluded cabin with Drew? She’d mentioned to Heather and Lily Rhoades, the head librarian, that she was dating, but that was a far cry from spending a weekend at his cabin. Or being pregnant with his child.

This was all too much. She groaned again. “Please just take me home.”

After checking the rearview mirror, he pulled over to the side of the road and parked his SUV. He turned to her and took her hand. “I know a little something about danger. We can’t go back. It’s not safe.”

She had the terrible feeling that he might be right.

Chapter Four

“Take me home,” Melinda said. “Or I’ll scream.”

If Drew could have forcibly abducted her, he would have done so. The danger was right here, in her face, undeniable. She’d been assaulted in her own home.

“Be reasonable, Melinda. We have to get out of here before they come back.”

“They?”

“You’re in danger.”

“You’re making too much of this,” she said. “Like the policeman said, this was an attempted robbery. I’m not surprised. There’s really no security in our apartment building. The lock on the front door opens right up if you shake it hard enough.”

“This wasn’t a run-of-the-mill robbery. He dragged you into the bathroom and drew blood.”

“We can’t be sure that happened.”

A streetlight outside the window shone on her cheekbone and jaw. Her quiet beauty disarmed him, and he felt guilty for sucking her into the peril he’d lived with for most of his life.

He couldn’t expect this very normal woman to grasp what it was like to live on the razor’s edge, and he didn’t know how to explain without sounding like a lunatic.

His truth wasn’t easy. He’d have to break it to her gently. “At least, let me take you a hotel tonight.”

“Oh, gosh, no. I can’t let you go to all that trouble and expense. I’m fine, Drew. The best thing we can do is leave the investigating to the police and get on with our lives.”

“It’s not just your safety,” he said. “You have to think about the baby.”

She rubbed at her forehead. “I’m getting a headache.”

“You can’t close your eyes and pretend this didn’t happen. Nobody likes to think they’re in peril, but—”

“You do,” she said. “You go looking for danger. Extreme danger.”

“That’s my job.”

“And I’m a librarian. That’s my job, and I want to go to work tomorrow. That’s final.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“With most people, I’m the very soul of cooperation. You bring out the worst in me.” She yanked down on the door handle and swung it open. “If you won’t take me home, I’ll walk.”

“Close the door.”

“We’re going home?”

“Fine.”

Maybe she was right. He’d taken precautions. In case of this very situation, his apartment was set up like a fortress.

On the short drive back to their building, Drew kept an eye on the rearview mirror, making sure they weren’t being followed. The streets of Sioux Falls, bathed in moonlight, were as quiet and serene as a Norman Rockwell painting. He told himself that they’d be safe for tonight.

When he parked in the lot near the entrance, he flipped open his glove compartment and took out his .32 Beretta Tomcat—an efficient and accurate pocket-size handgun.

She gaped. “That gun better not be loaded.”

As if he’d carry an unloaded weapon? “The man who attacked you wasn’t playing games. We need to take precautions.”

“Like what?”

“Like going to my cabin.”

She shook her head and winced. The doctor had inspected her scalp for head wounds and found nothing, but she seemed to be in pain. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then stay close beside me. Do exactly as I tell you. We’re going to my apartment first.”

They managed to get inside the building and up the stairs without incident. Coming here wasn’t the best option, but Drew felt relatively safe in his one-bedroom apartment. He’d armed the place like a fortress with three locks on the door, bulletproof glass on the windows and surveillance cameras. After he prowled down the hall and looked into the closets to make sure they were alone, he set his Beretta down on the coffee table. There were three other guns hidden around his apartment.

Melinda had collapsed onto the sofa with her eyes closed. The lamplight shimmered on the strands of gold in her long, curly auburn hair. Utterly peaceful and untroubled, she didn’t look like someone who had been violently attacked less than two hours ago.

When he attempted to lift her so he could carry her to bed, she pushed him away. After a huge yawn, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed.”

“I’ve got a headache.” Her lips spread in a sleepy grin. “I never expected to hear myself say that to you. Going to bed with you is, well, it’s …” She yawned again. “It’s amazing.”

Though he hadn’t been thinking of sex, her suggestion aroused him. Making love to her had been his number one priority tonight. This evening should have been a “welcome home” celebration—a home-cooked meal followed by hours of mind-blowing passion.

“I want you to sleep here tonight,” he said. “In my bed.”

“Oh, I hate to be a bother.” She pulled a frown. “I’m fine right here on the sofa.”

Enough politeness! He tucked one arm under her knees and wrapped the other around her back. With a quick jerk, he lifted her off the sofa. “Whether you like it or not, you’re going to be comfortable tonight.”

In her pale greenish eyes, he saw a battle between exhaustion and stubbornness. “But I—”

“Hush, Melinda.” He gave her a little kiss on the tip of her nose. “Let me take care of you.”

With a sigh, she relaxed and nuzzled against his neck. “I’m too tired to say no.”

He carried her down the short hallway to his bedroom and settled her against the pillows. By the time he pulled off her running shoes, took off her sweatshirt and tucked her under the down comforter, she was asleep.

Though sorely tempted to join her in bed and hold her against him, Drew had to figure out what to do next.

He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of the wine she’d returned without drinking a drop. In the living room, he perched on the edge of the sofa and turned on the flat-screen television. Using the remote, he tuned to the channel that displayed the view from three strategically placed surveillance cameras. One showed the hallway outside his apartment. Another focused on the building’s entrance from the parking lot. The third camera looked down from the roof and showed the fire escape outside his window. Nothing was moving. Not even a squirrel in the trees.

His instincts told him to put miles between himself and the men who had pursued him all the way from Europe. But he couldn’t leave her unprotected. He swirled the wine in his glass and took a sip. Why had they gone after her?

He shoved off the sofa and went to the closet by the front door. Behind the suitcase he always kept ready for a quick escape was a rifle that he’d placed by the door for easy access. On the top shelf, he found a case filled with electronic equipment, including a bug sweeper.

He’d been gone for three weeks with the sensor alarms turned off. It was possible his pursuers had breached his security. In a matter of minutes, he located a listening device attached to the frame of the window that opened onto the fire escape.

They were listening. They’d overheard his conversation with Melinda when she came to his apartment, and they knew she was important to him. Their plan must have been to grab her and use her for leverage to make him do what they wanted.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Not to her. Or to their baby.

THE NEXT MORNING, Melinda awoke with the uneasy sense of a nightmare that had already faded into the back of her mind. She opened her eyes. Where was she? Not at home, that much was obvious. Though the layout of the bedroom matched hers, none of her things were here. No knickknacks on the dresser. No family photos hung on the wall.

This bedroom was Spartan and plain. Drew’s apartment. He stretched out beside her on the king-size bed, lying on his back. The comforter covered him from the waist down. His chest was bare.

Her gaze lingered. The sight of him was certainly enough to change a nightmare into a dream. His body was long and lean. Not overly muscle-bound, he was built for speed. A sprinkling of hair on his chest arrowed down his torso. His right arm curled above his head. In repose, he looked younger than his twenty-eight years. More innocent. Less troubled.

She reached toward him, trying to remember why she was mad at him. Oh, yeah, he wanted to dump me as soon as I mentioned the baby. But he had kind of apologized. And he’d stuck with her last night.

As soon as her hand touched his cheek, he exploded awake. Launching himself off the bed into a crouch, he snatched a gun off the bedside table and aimed at the bedroom door. His green eyes glittered. He was one hundred percent alert.

“Light sleeper?” she asked.

Without a word, he strode from the bedroom into the hallway. His snug black undershorts outlined his tight butt. She would have appreciated the view a whole lot more if he hadn’t been stalking.

In spite of his insistence that they flee the city and hide out in a cabin, she didn’t really believe they were in desperate peril. Last night’s robbery was nothing more than a random event. And she felt much better this morning.

Her headache was gone, thank goodness. As she propped herself up on the pillows, she didn’t feel achy or sore at all. Nothing to worry about. She was going to be all right.

Drew returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed beside her. “How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly good.”

He reached for her arm. “Let’s take a look at that bruise.”

When he peeled off the bandage, the dark black-and-blue area inside her arm had faded back to an almost normal skin color. How could that be? Automatically, she reached for her glasses, then remembered that she hadn’t been wearing them, didn’t need them. Vaguely, she remembered hearing that a woman’s vision improved when she was pregnant. She’d always thought that was an old wives’ tale. But maybe not.

Drew leaned down and kissed the spot on her arm that had been injured. “Looks good.”

“I can’t believe I’m better already. Guess I wasn’t hurt that badly.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m a fast healer myself.”

Waking up together, even if they hadn’t made love last night, felt sweet, and she was tempted to carry their easy intimacy to the next level with a kiss. Would it be so bad to make love to him one more time? The answer, unfortunately, was yes.

If she let her guard down, she’d only be hurt. There was no way they could be together. He had his globe-trotting profession. She had her cozy lifestyle. And never the twain would meet. She cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose you have coffee.”

“I didn’t, but I took the liberty of raiding your apartment last night and taking your coffee. It’s brewing. I also grabbed some bread and butter for toast.” He paused. “And I packed a suitcase with things I thought you’d need.”

“Why?”

“We can’t stay here, Melinda. Last night, I found a bug outside the window.”

She was pretty sure that he wasn’t talking about an insect. “A listening device? Like in the spy novels?”

“My enemies overheard us talking last night. They know you’re important to me, and they want to use you to get to me.”

“Let’s do a reality check.” She pulled her arm from his grasp and hiked up the comforter to cover her sports bra. “We’re in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. In a plain, old apartment building. I’m a librarian, for pity’s sake. Nothing exotic ever happens to a person like me.”

“Brace yourself.” He rose from the bed. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. I owe you an explanation.”

In his bathroom, she found the toiletries she generally used in the morning. He’d packed her bags? He wanted to whisk her away to his secret cabin?

She splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. When she first hooked up with Drew, she knew he was too good to be true. Handsome, smart and funny. Now she knew the downside. He was nuts, delusional. Or was he? Was his job as a globe-trotting journalist a cover for a more dangerous occupation?

She put on her zippered sweatshirt and went to the front room, where he sat on the sofa drinking coffee from a Sioux Falls souvenir mug. “If you’re a spy,” she said, “who do you work for?”

“I’m freelance.” He leaned back on the sofa, and his bathrobe gaped open, showing a sexy glimpse of chest hair. “You know that.”

“You’re not CIA? Not part of some mysterious undercover network?”

“I’m not a spy.” He rose and went toward the bathroom. “Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be back in a minute.”

When he left the room, she glanced around. Her baby blue suitcase on the end of the sofa was the only bright touch in an otherwise unadorned, masculine room. The window shades were still drawn. A rifle leaned against the wall by the front door. There was some kind of electronic equipment on the table, along with night goggles. On the television, she saw three inset pictures that seemed to be from cameras monitoring the hallway and the outside of the building. Where was she? The bat cave?

On the kitchen counter by the coffeemaker was his Beretta. She poured coffee and made two pieces of toast.

What if Drew’s paranoia had some basis in fact? Last night had been scary. That was for sure. She’d never been attacked before. If she could have remembered what happened, she undoubtedly would have been more freaked out. During her struggle, her apartment was trashed. It must have been violent. But was it purposeful? Had Drew’s “enemy” targeted her? Why? It just didn’t make sense.

When the toast popped up, she slathered on the butter. Thus far, Melinda hadn’t had a moment of morning sickness. Her mom said that she’d never been sick while pregnant, and she’d delivered four babies, all girls with Melinda being the eldest. Her baby would be the first grandchild.

As she finished off her toast and washed it down with coffee, she found herself hoping that Drew’s paranoia wasn’t an inherited trait that might be passed on.

He came into the kitchen and snagged the second piece of toast before she could claim it.

“Hey,” she protested. “I made that for me.”

“Fine. I wanted pie, anyway.”

She’d forgotten about the apple pie. Not exactly a healthy breakfast, but it did contain fruit. “I’ll have some of that.”

They dished up pie and settled on the sofa since he didn’t have a dining table. With her fork, she pointed to the three pictures on the television screen. “Is all this security really necessary?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “And it’s also entertaining. See that? On the camera that shows the parking lot? It’s the anthropology professor who lives across the hall from you.”

“Her name is Katherine Bidwell.” Melinda watched the spry elderly woman whose gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Bustling to her car, she juggled a plastic water bottle and a satchel of books. “Some people say she’s a genius.”

“She was smart enough to call 911 last night.”

He’d gotten dressed while he was in the bedroom. In his white T-shirt, worn jeans and running shoes, he looked sane and normal. But he was still cuckoo. The evidence was all around. Her packed suitcase. The guns. The surveillance equipment.

She finished off her pie and considered licking the plate, but decided she was full. Leaning back on the sofa, she studied his classically handsome profile. “You said it was smart for Professor Bidwell to call the police. Why can’t you do the same thing? Tell the police about your enemies.”

“They’d never believe me.”

“So you know that your story sounds a little bit, um, crazy.”

“But true.”

If he really wanted her to run away with him to a cabin in the woods, he needed to give her a far more thorough explanation. “Convince me.”

“It all started when I was ten years old. A couple of months after I moved in with Belle and Harlan Anderson …”

Chapter Five

Never before had Drew told anyone about what happened to him while he was growing up. As a rule, he avoided close relationships, a lesson he’d learned as a foster kid. If you don’t have friends, you won’t be hurt.

But now there was Melinda. And a baby. He had to prove to her that he was trustworthy, and that meant telling the truth.

“At the Andersons’ house, I was the only kid.” Before that, he’d been in group situations. “I had my own bedroom. A place where I could close the door and be by myself.”

“Did you like being alone?” she asked.

Though he was capable of spinning a convincing lie to make himself sound like Johnny Normal, he stuck to the truth. “I was pretty much a loner.”

An encouraging smile lit her face, and he decided that she was especially pretty in the morning. “Tell me about this room of your own.”

“The privacy was exactly what I wanted. I had secrets.”

“Like what?”

“Even when I was ten, I liked writing.” He composed pages and pages of dorky poetry about trees and sky and the parents he barely remembered and how they’d come back one day. “I had to hide my poems and my beat-up copy of The Little Prince.”

“I love that book,” she said. “Why would you hide it?”

“It’s okay for a girl to like a book like that. But a guy? No way. With my own room, I didn’t have to be so careful.”

Still, he kept his book and the spiral notebook filled with his scribbles hidden behind a drawer in his kneehole desk. He didn’t trust the Andersons. The rumor was that they’d lost their own children, three boys. If so, they never told him about it, never talked about themselves and they never showed him family photos.

Sometimes, he caught Belle looking at him with a strange longing in her eyes. Mostly, she was cold. Sparing in her conversation, she regulated his day with terse commands. Get up. Supper. Bedtime.

Harlan was a better companion, but his job as a salesman meant he was on the road a lot. On weekends, they’d watch sports on TV. Drew started memorizing baseball stats, and Harlan would test him. That was when his interest in sports started.

“It was an okay setup. I had food, clean clothes and a roof over my head. The house was on the outskirts of town, next to a forest. I’d pack a sandwich for lunch and spend the whole day tromping through the trees.” He remembered long afternoons when he lay on his back and stared up at the peaceful clouds as they rolled across the sky.

“All in all, life was pretty good, until a Saturday near the end of May. I woke up and got dressed. The next thing I remember was the sun going down while I walked back to the house. The entire day was a blank.”

“You had amnesia?”

“I don’t want to put a label on what happened.” Not yet, anyway. “It was like the daylight hours got erased. I wasn’t hurt so I didn’t say anything about it. Pushed the whole incident out of my head and didn’t think about it until it happened again during summer vacation. That time, it was two days.”

“Did you tell your foster parents?”

“Yeah.” The look on Belle’s face was sheer disgust. For a minute, he thought she was going to throw him out, and he didn’t want to leave. He liked his private bedroom and watching baseball with Harlan. “They didn’t believe me. Told me I was there at home and ate dinner, just like I always did.”

Her forehead wrinkled with concern. “You should have seen a doctor.”

“Harlan took me to a specialist in Rapid City. The guy ran tests and told me that I had a form of epilepsy that caused blackouts. He gave me pills.”

“Did that help?”

“The blackouts stopped. Harlan warned me not to tell anyone about my illness. If the foster care people found out, they’d send me away to a hospital.”

In one of her few lengthy conversations, Belle had described the horrors of a place she referred to as the “asylum.” She made it sound like a dungeon where he’d be locked up in a cage. The authorities couldn’t let crazy people like Drew run around loose. He might hurt someone.

So he kept his mouth shut. “When I was fifteen, the blackouts came more frequently. Sometimes, they’d last for a day. Sometimes, just for a couple of hours. Since I never knew when they’d happen, I missed a couple of practice sessions for the football team. Rather than explaining, I dropped out.”

“What position did you play?”

“Running back, and I was pretty damn good. But team sports weren’t for me. I started skateboarding, running, riding my bike off-road.” He cast a sidelong glance in her direction. “Are you with me so far?”

She nodded. “Everything you’ve said makes sense, and I’m glad to know about the epilepsy. It’s something to watch for in the baby.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve had tests run. I’m not epileptic.”

She left the sofa and went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. “What caused the blackouts?”

“I don’t know.” With his own cup in hand, he followed her. “One of the reasons I moved back to South Dakota was to do research. I hoped to find answers.”

“What have you found out?”

“Not much.” It was frustrating as hell. He was a journalist—not necessarily an investigative whiz but he knew how to fact-find. “There’s no rational way to explain what happened to me. Or the results.”

“Results?”

“My physical abilities. Or disabilities. I’m not sure which word applies.”

“Stop.” She held up her palm like a crossing guard.

He froze with the coffeepot in one hand and his mug in the other. “What?”

“Disabilities? I’m pretty well acquainted with your physical attributes, and I’ve never noticed anything wrong with you.”

“Maybe you haven’t explored thoroughly.”

“Oh, but I have.” She looked him up and down. “I’ve been all over your personal terrain, from the top of your head to, um, all the other parts.”

He placed his full coffee mug on the counter. “I like what you do to all my parts.”

She gave him a reluctant smile. “Ditto.”

“Your terrain is a lot more interesting than mine.” He slid his hands down her torso. “All these nice curves.” He reached behind to squeeze her butt. “And this round, firm, sexy bottom.”

She subtly shifted position, arching toward him. Her chin lifted, and he knew she wanted to respond to his caresses with the sensuality that was an integral part of her nature.

“You’re distracting me,” she said.

“That’s the idea.”

He didn’t know how to tell the rest of his story. His theory, developed over the years, was that he’d been experimented on during those blackouts. Whatever they’d done to him changed his blood and gave him the regenerative capabilities that allowed him to heal in a matter of minutes. If he announced to her that he was, in a way, invincible, she’d run like hell. And he wouldn’t blame her for thinking he was some kind of nut-job.

Lacking the words to explain, he did what came naturally. A light kiss. The taste of apple pie sweetened her lips.

He whispered, “Have I mentioned that I’m crazy about you?”

“Crazy being the operative word.” She used both hands to push him away, then stepped back and leaned against the counter. “Are you going to tell me about this physical thing you have?”

The most obvious way to prove his case would be to take a butcher knife from the drawer by the sink and cut a vein. He could show her his ability. But self-healing took a toll. Today, for their escape, he needed to have all his faculties intact.

“Come away with me, Melinda.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She shook her head, and her auburn curls flopped across her forehead. “You’re not going to leave me with a cliff-hanger. What caused your blackouts? Do you still have them?”

“They went away after I left the Andersons’ house when I was eighteen.” He had timed his escape for the moment when he aged out of the foster system. He was an adult. No one would be searching for him.

“So, you have a clean bill of health,” she said. “No serious illness or injury.”

“Nothing serious.”

She seemed relieved, and he knew her concern wasn’t about him or his health. She was worried about the tiny life growing inside her womb. One of her hands rested on her belly as if she could shelter the baby from harm.

He had the same instinct. Protective. Paternal. He had to keep them all safe. He came toward her, rested his palm on top of hers. “We need time alone, Melinda. To talk.”

“You could be right about that.”

As he looked down into her greenish-gray eyes, he saw her attitude change. She was no longer wary.

When he was doing interviews with athletes who generally weren’t anywhere as articulate as Melinda, he learned to recognize the pivotal moment when they were ready to open up. That’s what he saw in her. She was coming around to his way of thinking. She didn’t want facts; she needed an emotional reason to believe in him.

“Last night, when you told me about the baby, I didn’t know how to handle it. I ran. That’s what I’ve always done.” He closed the distance between them to a matter of inches. “But I want this time to be different. I want to talk, to plan our future.”

“Our future? Together?”

Was it possible? Could he settle down and build a normal life with her? Daring to hope, he kissed her.

As their lips joined, he felt her resistance fade. Her slim, supple body molded to his and her arms encircled him. Her lips parted, and he eagerly deepened the kiss with his tongue.

A sensual energy spread through him. With every beat of his heart, his blood rushed. Holding her felt so right, so good. They’d made love often enough that he knew where she liked to be touched and vice versa. She trailed her fingernails down his back, and the teasing pressure aroused him.

He pulled her tight, wanting to feel her heartbeat synchronized with his, wanting to be a part of her, joined. Was it safe to make love to her now? Could he allow himself to let down his guard? Probably not.

He loosened his grasp. Though he’d disposed of the bug, his enemies were nearby and ready to attack, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

He nuzzled her earlobe and whispered, “You’re going to like my cabin. It’s secluded.”

She pulled away from him. “I need to make a few phone calls first.”

Though the urge to make love to her was nearly irresistible, his number one priority was to get her to a safe location. “Make the calls on your cell. Let’s go. Right now.”

THOUGH MELINDA really didn’t understand his need to hurry, she changed quickly into a well-worn pair of jeans, a blue cotton sweater and a burgundy winter jacket. The weather in Sioux Falls had been pleasantly warm, but there might be snow at his cabin in the Black Hills.

When she turned on her cell phone, there were half a dozen messages. One was from Ruth, the nurse at the clinic. How odd! Surely, it was too early for any results on her blood tests. And the call-back number was Ruth’s personal phone.

Drew had already stowed her suitcase in the car. He hovered beside her. “Ready?”

“One minute. I want to return this call.”

She ignored the impatient grumbling noises he made. The way she figured, he had no room to complain. He was lucky that she’d agreed to this trip at all. That whole story about his blackouts when he was a kid didn’t mesh with his current paranoid state. Just because he had a lousy childhood, it didn’t mean people were chasing him.

But she wanted this time alone with him to talk about the baby. Even if she raised the child alone, Drew was still the father.

He took a position near the door, arms folded across his chest. Though she couldn’t see the gun hidden under his black leather jacket, she knew he was armed. He looked dangerous and very, very sexy. Which was the other reason she wanted to run away with him. Crazy or not, Drew was hot.

She called Ruth’s number. Her message had said “as soon as possible,” so Melinda didn’t worry that it might be too early for someone who worked the evening shift.

Ruth answered quickly. “I was hoping I’d catch you last night.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Something happened at the clinic.” Her tone was high-pitched and excited. “We got robbed.”

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