Stolen Goods: A Secret Baby Romance (3 page)

4

The knock on the
door had Weslyn Moon freezing in place. After all, when a woman lived alone in
a motel room on that side of town, visitors didn’t just
drop in
. She’d
paid for the month, so she knew it couldn’t be management and there was no one
else with a reason to come calling.

The knock turned
into a bang.

She crept toward
the door, more aware of the flimsiness of the barrier than ever before. For the
pittance she paid every week to stay at the motel, however, she couldn’t expect
quality construction materials. Moving slow and steady, she carefully put her
fingertips against the painted plywood and lifted to her toes to peer out the
peep hole. Nothing. She eased back until her heels were on the floor.

Somebody was out
there. She could
feel
the stranger’s presence like a thunderstorm moving
in—her whole body tingled under an electric force that seemed to pressurize the
air in front of Weslyn’s face. Her heart pounded but she took deep breaths,
determined to make good use of the breathing techniques she’d learned at the
free classes she’d been taking. She rejected stress as an unwholesome and
unnecessary inconvenience.

The banging
stopped. Weslyn would have relaxed, but for the weighted premonition racing
down her spine and pulling her skin into an ugly rash of goose bumps. Without
thought, she stepped back and placed her hands over her navel. She held her
breath.

The door burst
inward with a loud crack.

The bottom hinge
popped off. The door swung open on the top fastening, with no dramatic shower
of wood to underscore the sudden terror rocketing up Weslyn’s throat on a
burning tide of acid. She flinched and staggered back, her hands firmly planted
on her belly.

Then she spun
around and tried to run. Reflex only, as there was nowhere she could hide in
the motel room. A huge, hot hand caught her elbow and yanked her to a stop. She
pulled and tugged, mindless and blind in her panic, kicking out and wriggling
to make it harder to hold on to her.

“Stop it!”

The command only
galvanized her. She twisted, but the man’s fingers tightened, and he shook her.
Realizing she’d closed them, Weslyn opened her eyes. And nearly threw up.

Donor A-00176. He
was as big as she’d thought, all those months ago when she’d picked his picture
from a book. She would know him anywhere, no matter that she’d never met him
before. How could she not know? She’d chosen him based on his looks, and had
dreamed of having a baby that, perhaps, would look just like him. She’d been
haunted by his eyes, his silver-green eyes that held a wealth of kindness and
laughter, though just then they were hard, cold and unforgiving.

Until his gaze
dropped to her stomach. Then his eyes softened to silver and the expression
within them warmed a hundred degrees. The panic racing through her morphed into
some tingling thing Weslyn couldn’t identify.

“Are you
pregnant?”

“What?” Weslyn
literally felt every drop of blood drain from her face.

The man flashed a
badge. Weslyn’s rioting innards bottomed out, then apparently bounced, choking
her with new fear. She struggled to breathe, even as she desperately wished the
man would let her go.

Didn’t she? Of
course, she wanted him to stop touching her. She didn’t like to be touched, and
the stranger’s—the donor’s—hand on her skin was making all the anxiety Weslyn
fought against ten times worse.

Her elbow was too
hot, with those strange tingles echoing out from the point of contact and
swirling down to numb her fingers. Her heart slammed against her breastbone and
spots were dancing in front of her eyes. Her lower belly felt too heavy.

“Weslyn Moon.” He
hauled her closer to his body, finally stilling her struggles with sheer
intimidation. And the scent of his subtle cologne. His eyes hardened to
emeralds. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Y-you have?” She
was surprised she could speak through the iron lock on her lungs.

“Four
fucking
months,” he snarled. “There isn’t a goddamned thing I don’t know about you,
except one. Are you pregnant with my child?”

Somehow, someway,
she managed to lift her chin, in spite of the agony moving through her. “No.”

His lip lifted.
“Then why the fuck do you have a box of baby clothes and diapers under your
bed?”

“I’d hoped…” she
stammered. “But…no.”

His eyes narrowed,
but before she could decode the emotion in his glare, he spun her around. Again
she struggled, and was quickly subdued in a textbook hold that pinned her arms
behind her back. He leaned against her spine, his chin digging into her
shoulder as he looked down her body. She heard him growl in her ear.

Weslyn bit off a
strangled scream and wriggled hopelessly as his hand swept down her torso. He
burrowed under her shirt and stroked back up, gentle against the smooth skin of
her flat belly.

A hot hand,
sensation streaking over the pathways of her long-deprived nerves. Weslyn held
her breath as the warmth traveled up her body in a wave that pulled at her
sensitive nipples. They pulsed, but she ignored them, choosing to pretend it
was fear that had gotten them so hard—poking out and throbbing painfully.

She had a harder
time dismissing the way the wave of sensation traveled lower, centering between
her legs until she squirmed. Her ass rubbed over the bulge pressing between her
cheeks and Weslyn fought to stand still.

“You’re so
goddamned skinny you’d probably be nine fucking months along before you started
showing,” the man rumbled harshly. “There’s no telling. But I’m going to find
out the truth, one way or another.”

Weslyn closed her
eyes, and prayed to a god she no longer believed in.

The pseudo-doctors
at the Express Emergency Clinic jumped into action at the first sight of the
donor’s badge. They scurried like ants in every direction, rushing Weslyn and
her unwanted escort into an empty room, then wheeling in a cart with all sorts
of gadgets and gizmos on it.

When a woman in a
white coat came in, the man produced his badge again. “I’m Agent Nolan Findley
with the FBI.”

“Oh, God,” Weslyn
groaned. It was the first she’d heard his name, or his place of employment, as
she hadn’t stopped to examine his credentials before. She started to lean
forward, but her hands were cuffed behind her and shifting them caused some
pain in her shoulders. She sat uncomfortably hunched—keeping as straight as
possible while trying to hide her face in her collar.

“She needs an
ultrasound to determine if she’s pregnant,” he continued. “This is connected to
a case.”

The P.A.’s mouth
worked for a minute, then she nodded. “Well, your, um… suspect… should be able
to lie down. So… the handcuffs have to come off.”

Weslyn held her
breath, but Agent Findley was not an easy dupe. He scanned their surroundings,
paying close attention to the exam table. Weslyn felt a vicious spurt of
amusement at the frustrated defeat that crossed his face—the table had nothing
to handcuff her to. But then Findley’s lips tilted up in a smile that sent a
nervous flutter through Weslyn’s stomach and he pulled the cuff key from his
pocket.

He was too close
as he released her. Once she was free, he only got closer—his hands smoothing
over her wrists and pulling them above her head, even as he pushed her back on
the table. He was practically lying on top of her, his body’s heat radiating
out to cover her like a blanket. Her nipples rose again, tightening under his
warmth in a way that seemed impossible considering the room’s air conditioning.

Weslyn couldn’t
breathe. Every nerve and muscle in her body went taut and seemed to rise up
toward the heat. Seeking contact. She stared up into silver-green eyes and
struggled to pull in oxygen through her parted lips. His nostrils flared and
the emotion in his stare sharpened, then his gaze dropped to her mouth.

“Why me, Moon?” he
whispered.

She rolled her
lips between her teeth and closed her eyes. A few heartbeats passed before his
fingers shifted, her arms were tugged a little straighter, and the soft click
of the handcuffs echoed in her ears. She opened her eyes and tilted her head
back—partly in relief as he moved away and partly in curiosity—to see that he’d
secured her to a piece of medical equipment that was fastened to the wall.

Findley took up a
position at her head that told Weslyn he wasn’t entirely certain the equipment
would hold her, but she wasn’t stupid. There was nowhere for her to run just
then, no way to get out before the physician’s assistant or Findley could grab
her. No, it was best to bide her time, and see what she could accomplish later,
when his guard was down.

The physician’s
assistant started fiddling with the box on the cart. “Have you had an
ultrasound before?”

Weslyn didn’t
answer. There was no need to make things easier for her captor.

“I need you to
unbutton your pants and pull up your shirt,” the woman said.

“How should I do
that?” Weslyn asked sweetly.

Findley grunted.
In a similarly honeyed tone of voice, he answered, “Here, let me help.”

Weslyn’s eyes flew
wide. “Shouldn’t she—”

“No.” He smiled.
“I’ll do it.”

Weslyn held very,
very still as Findley reached for her waistband. Hot fingers scalded her
stomach as he grabbed the material, his knuckles trailed over her skin as he
wrestled the button free. Her throat closed at the sound of her zipper rasping
down, the flow of cool air brushing over her as Findley separated the denim
flaps and adjusted her underwear accordingly. Weslyn was certain he tugged her
jeans a little lower just for spite.

Then he turned his
attention to her shirt. He could have grasped the fabric and simply pulled it
up, but instead he’d done as he had in her motel room. His palms flattened on
her lower belly with just a hint of pressure, and yet, when he stroked upward,
his touch was extremely gentle. And disconcerting.

The tension
between them thickened.

Heat surged and
her breath broke, but Weslyn managed not to arch her spine any more than it
already was. Findley’s eyes were silver, his lips taut. Weslyn looked past him
to focus all her attention on the P.A., but the woman was studiously bent over
the ultrasound machine. Though her cheeks blazed red, the physician’s assistant
made no move to stop Nolan from caressing his prisoner.

Finally the woman
cleared her throat and turned around. “All ready? Great. This might be a little
cold.”

The slick, thick
fluid plopped onto Weslyn’s belly, making her wince. Then the woman pressed the
probe to her stomach and the sound of her baby’s heartbeat filled the room. So
did Nolan’s gasp. Weslyn closed her eyes.

5

Nolan groped for
the edge of the exam table and slid onto it without looking down. He shook too
badly to remain standing and he refused to tear his eyes from the computer
screen attached to the ultrasound probe. His lungs felt as if they were turning
inside out, and yet his heart felt lighter than air.

The computer
screen showed nothing but some arching greenish lines, ever-changing as the
woman swept the wand over Moon’s stomach in slow passes. But the rapid
heartbeat of the baby filled Nolan’s ears, his mind, his gut… He gritted his
teeth and held on to his composure by his fingernails.

The woman found
the fetus quickly—a blob had never looked so miraculous to Nolan. He shuddered
and dragged in enough oxygen to keep from passing out, but he didn’t dare blink
in case he missed something. In the next moment, the physician’s assistant
moved her hand, and Nolan distinctly made out the head, the body of his child.
Another shift showed him the baby’s spine and leg bones.

“What—” He cleared
his throat. “What is that dark, fluttery thing?”

“The heart.”

“The heart,” he
repeated quietly. He covered his own as it picked up its pace. “Oh, hell.”

Another moment
went by in relative silence. The only sound was the magnified heartbeat of the
fetus, but Nolan drank it into his senses and held it close.

“Can you…” Moon
moved, making the handcuffs clink softly. “Um, can you tell if it’s a boy or a
girl?”

Nolan tensed, but
the woman shook her head. “It’s not in the right position to see the sex,” she
told them.

A splash of
disappointment quickly faded, as Nolan caught sight of the outline of a foot.
The little heart fluttered, the physician’s assistant indicated all the
measurements were normal, and also validated the timeline of conception, with a
due date perfectly in line with what Nolan had already estimated. All in all,
everything seemed as it should, and Nolan’s relief vastly outweighed his desire
to know if Moon carried his son or his daughter.

The woman moved
the probe again. “I think you should schedule an appointment for a transvaginal
ultrasound to make sure everything’s as it should be. We don’t have the
equipment here, we’re mostly looking at people’s runny noses, you know? But you
should call your GP or, um, the prison doctors and—”

“I’ve already had one,”
Moon mumbled. “I went to the South Shore Women’s Health Center when I was eight
weeks along. They told me we could schedule another ultrasound for later in my
pregnancy.”

“Women’s Health
Center… That’s how I found you.” Nolan finally tore his gaze away from the
computer screen and looked down at the criminal who had changed his entire
life. She was still staring at the image of their child, her unremarkable face
softened into a madonna’s rapture.

Beyond beautiful,
and it made him furious. “It took all this time to track you down after you
stole my baby. And it is mine, isn’t it, Moon?”

The physician’s
assistant looked up, her gaze bouncing between Nolan and Weslyn. Her eyebrows
lifted and her mouth worked. It seemed the woman had as much trouble breathing
as he did, then she tossed the exam equipment aside and jumped off her stool.
“I’ll just go get your…um…some paperwork.”

Nolan ignored the
woman as she fled, didn’t even flinch at the slamming of the door. He simply
leaned closer to Moon and glared into her eyes.

When he’d found
her in her dingy motel room, he’d been prepared for the quiet, cautious mouse.
He’d even been prepared for her to run or fight or lie. All survival skills he
was sure she’d learned at some point during her tragic childhood. It was no
wonder that she’d done her best to fade into the background—no makeup, few rash
movements, even fewer words. Her silence was carefully crafted to make him
forget about her.

She was
unforgettable. Even barring her theft of his semen sample, Nolan knew he would
never have been able to look past Moon, in any circumstance. He was compelled
to stand close, where her hidden energy seared his skin. She was more than he
ever expected. Quiet, yes. Cautious, certainly. Plain—only to a blind man.
Sweet, wholesome and standard for all-American prettiness, of course…but her
eyes glowed like an angel’s, all-knowing and all-watching.

He’d felt
sucker-punched the moment she’d turned those neon blue orbs up to him. Terror
shone from their depths. He hadn’t been able to see them clearly in any of the
video footage, and the photos didn’t come close to doing them justice. But, no
matter the emotion uppermost in them—and that had ranged from fear to wonder,
in the short time he’d been in her company—her eyes still held  a watchful
quality, as if she’d seen it all, hoped for better, but steeled herself against
further disappointment.

Long-seeing,
long-suffering eyes. Eyes Nolan felt certain no woman should ever have. They
stared down into his soul and twisted him up inside, making him want things he
refused to contemplate during the frustrating months he’d searched for her and
researched her. As a man, as a law enforcement agent, the secrets that made
Moon’s eyes glow formed a knife that slashed at his gut and his conscience.

Just then, her
glare rivaled robin’s eggs, under the overhead lights. She was trapped, at his
mercy, though Nolan wondered what would happen if she gave a good tug against
the equipment he’d secured her to. Her breathing, rather than speeding up,
remained slow and steady, her lips were pressed together tightly. But her eyes
were wide and expectant.

“Did my wife hire
you?”

The air exploded
from her mouth. “
Wife
?”

“Ex.” Nolan could
see from her expression that she’d had no thoughts of him being married. She
didn’t know his ex, wasn’t hired by her to be a surrogate for the child they
hadn’t been able to conceive together. Just as his ex-wife had maintained for
four, long months.

“Shit.” As
suddenly as it rose, Nolan’s anger fled. He dragged a hand over his face and
sat on the edge of the exam table again, lower this time, next to Moon’s hip.
He placed his hand to the side of her belly-button and breathed deep. “Why me?”

Her throat worked,
she answered in a thin, little voice that shook the slightest amount. “I liked
the way you looked.”

“The way I…” He
shook his head. “Why?”

“You had kindness
in your eyes. I’d like for my child to be kind.” Her lower lip trembled, but
she continued on gamely. “There’s enough ugly in the world.”

His heart
clenched. “Yeah, and you’ve seen it all, haven’t you? I’ve read your file,
Moon. Hell, I made your file.”

She closed her
eyes. “Mmm.”

“You were lonely,
weren’t you?” He couldn’t help but prod her. “And now you’re just another woman
looking for her last chance at being loved. You think a child will love you
unconditionally, filling all the holes your father created so long ago, right?”

She didn’t answer,
not that he expected her to.

“But why knock
over a sperm bank, Moon?
Why
? Why not just pick some guy up at a bar for
a one-night stand? The odds of conception would have been higher.”

“Nineteen percent
was enough,” she muttered. “Besides, I didn’t want to touch anyone.”

“Yeah, and now
look at you.” Nolan glanced down at her exposed stomach, and the blue-tinged
goop smeared across it. He reached out to snag a handful of paper towels from
the dispenser hung over the trash can across from the table. As gently as he
could, he cleaned her up, hoping to buy himself some time while he thought of
what he would do.

He had to take her
in. She was wanted, a fugitive. He couldn’t let her go. Besides, she’d have
access to better prenatal care locked up than she would as a free woman, and
the health of his miracle baby was very important to Nolan. But what to do
later, after she had it, stymied him. DNA tests to prove paternity, a round of
interviews with Child Protective Services to gain custody…

She’d gone through
an awful lot of trouble to conceive, but no way in hell would Nolan give up his
child. He traced a pale scar that edged around her side toward her back as he
tried to plot his next step.

Moon’s voice broke
into his thoughts. “You want this baby… Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you can’t
have it!” Her sweet, ordinary face became marred by a harsh expression of such
ferocity Nolan blinked. He hadn’t thought his little mouse could be so fierce.

Acting on impulse,
he bent over Moon and placed his ear against her belly. He couldn’t hear the
child within, but he imagined he could. Joy swept through him and he struggled
to tamp it down, blinking to clear the sudden moisture from his eyes. On the
heels of that, some new emotion gripped him—he didn’t know what, but it was
sharper than anger and harder than the protective instincts already kicking in.

“You’re mine, and
I will
never
let you go,” he breathed over her belly. But, in that
moment, as he raised his head to look up into the neon glare of his prisoner,
he wasn’t sure if he was talking to his baby, or to Weslyn Moon.