Their Second-Chance Baby
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Tara Taylor Quinn
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Chapter One
âLieutenant, I just...thank you...â
Annie Morgan looked into the tearful eyes of the woman whoâd stopped her in a police headquarters hallway and felt her heart lurch strongly.
âMrs. Milkin.â She took Bonnieâs outstretched hand. âWeâre grateful to you for your willingness to come speak so candidly with those on the runaway youth task force. It has to cost you more than I can even imagine, reliving all the stages of losing your son. But I promise you, the insights youâve shared, the little signs that so often go unnoticed along the way...youâre helping to save lives.â
Annie could have added a whole lot moreâthat this joint task force encompassed eleven police programs in Southern California, that it was committed to identifying, helping and protecting these childrenâbut it had all been said, minutes before, in the morning seminar.
She had another appointment to get to in San Diego that August morning. One she was anticipating with great dread. And hope. It wouldnât be easy, seeing her ex-husband for the first time in ten years. But the end result...
But appointment aside, sheâd take time for Bonnie. Running fingers through her short blond hair, she said, âYour dedication to your son, evident in all the ways you tried to intervene, all the various areas of help you sought on his behalf, your constant, unconditional love in the face of an addiction that wouldnât let go of him, even this today, honoring his legacy after his death by helping others in his situation... These are all examples to me of the kind of parent I want to be...â
âYou donât have children, then?â Bonnie asked, starting slowly toward the elevator again. Annieâs stomach reacted to the question. Jumped and flipped. Slipping into the white cardigan sweater sheâd worn into work with black dress pants, and a black tank shirt, adjusting the sweater to cover the gun at her waist, Annie kept step with Bonnie.
âNot yet,â she answered. Not yet, but...soon?
âIâm surprised,â Bonnie said. âYouâre so...nurturing.â
Annie glanced over at her again. As a copâfirst in the military, then working up to detective in Los Angeles, and finally to lieutenant in the smaller Marie Cove communityâAnnie had been called many things, but couldnât recall ânurturingâ being among them. She cared. She just showed it in different ways.
Before sheâd turned to police work, had her heart broken, and her faith shaken in a way sheâd never thought it could be, maybe sheâd been...nurturing. After all, sheâd once thought that her lifeâs purpose was first and foremost to be a parent.
âIâm...actually on my way to a meeting regarding in vitro implantation,â she suddenly confided. That was something that no one but her doctor and the employees at The Parent Portal knew. But Bonnie had just laid her heart bare to a roomful of strangers. Sheâd talked about her own struggle to have a child. And about how she now lived for other peopleâs children, wanting to do all she could to help them. Her openness had brought a rawness to the situation that seemed to call for the same from others. âAnd thereâs no cause to worry,â Annie inserted quickly. âI spearheaded this task force, but there are many others who are as committed to its success as I am.â
âI wasnât worried,â Bonnie said. âYouâre entitled to your own life, Lieutenant.â
Annie was a bit stunned by Bonnieâs astuteness, by the fact that Bonnie seemed to understand that, while Annie felt she was on the right track, personally, she still felt guilty in terms of the job sheâd put first for so long. But before she could say anything, Bonnie continued on. âAre you being implanted here in San Diego? This morning?â Her eyes lit up with joy in spite of her own sad ending.
Annie shook her head. âNo, just checking on the embryos.â
âWell, just in case youâre wondering, Iâd do it all over again in a heartbeat,â Bonnie said. âMy boy, he had his challenges, and his life was far too short, but the love he brought to my world...it was real and deep and lives inside me every day. Thereâs nothing like it.â
There was nothing like it. Thatâs what she knew. What her heart had been telling her. Sheâd wanted so many things out of life, but being a parent had been absolutely top of the list. And with all of the seedy side she saw of life, she wanted to be a part of the healthy and happy and good parts, too. Because she knew they existed. In greater numbers than the bad.
Her plan was healthy. She had no reason to feel guilty. And yet, as the elevator door binged, her stomach lurched again. She was going to see Seth. The man sheâd once thought was the other half of her soul. Someone sheâd trusted implicitly to have her back. Someone for whom sheâd gladly postponed her own advancement. Sheâd been a bit off her game that morning, coming close to having to pull off the freeway and collect herself during the drive down to San Diego from Marie Cove. Work had taken her out of her own anxieties and then, as soon as the seminar had ended, tension had besieged her once again.
And before panic could take root, weaken her, Bonnie Milkin had been there, giving her a positive response to her having a child of her own. Exactly what sheâd needed to hear.
A stranger whoâd had no way of knowing...
There couldnât be a mistake about that.
The universe had given her a sign that she was on the right course.
Seth had no reason to deny her. She wasnât asking for anything he wanted. His okay and a signatureâwere all it would cost him.
Pressing her brown leather satchel tightly against her side, she moved forward with the rest of the people entering the elevator doors. Inside was the paperwork that, once signed and notarized, would allow her to finally start a family of her own.
Sheâd faced down murderers and won. No way a little thing like a signature was going to scare her off.
And seeing Seth again?
Well, that was no more than just part of the job at hand. Like facing the internal affairs bureau at work after a good shoot. You didnât like it. You did it. You got through it.
And doing so allowed you to live the life you loved.
Judge Advocate General attorney Seth Morgan knew he was powerful enough, strong enough to have faced hardened criminals, and fought and won intricate and powerful battles in courts all over the world. But on that August day, he felt more like the unassuming, blond-haired, blue-eyed nice guy his appearance made him out to be.
In his white navy uniform, everything about him as pristine as it had ever been, he could do no more to prepare for the event ahead than tend to his appearance. He had absolutely no idea what the upcoming meeting with his first ex-wife could be about. Theyâd split amicably ten years before. Had emailed on occasion, through the years, as some piece of paperwork or whatnot had warranted. Heâd written to tell her he was getting remarried seven years before. Had seemed the decent thing to do when sitting alone late one night, wistfully remembering his first wedding. Sheâd written a note of sympathy when, two years later, heâd sent an email telling her that that marriage had also failed.
But though theyâd lived just an hour and a half apart for much of the past decade, neither had ever reached out for any physical contact. So why would she want to see him now?
Could be she was working a case with a sailor involved. He worked military justice. One of his guys could have gotten into trouble up in Marie Cove. Not a stretch to think that navy sailors would choose to spend off time in the small, elite beach community, with its upscale dining and entertainment choices and without the touristy crowds.
If sheâd had a case, an email, orâworst-case scenarioâa phone call, would have sufficed. At least initially.
He didnât like going into meetings cold. Without an ability to prepare responses.
How could he plan for the meetingâs success without knowing the other sideâs goal? Or complaint?
Without knowing the charges?
Clearly, something was wrong. No way Annie would just stop by because she was in the area.
Adjusting the computer screen fixed to his desk, moving the mounting arm and tilting the screen, he sat back. Looked at the news page that was on his monitor and moved both pieces of the apparatus back to their original positioning.
Maybe she was getting married. His gut tightened at the thought. At the reminder of how bad heâd been at that age-old institution. Twice. And, okay, he felt some twinges at the thought of another man being able to give her what he could not. But he wanted her to be happy. They wanted each otherâs happiness. Hence the divorce.
He quickly dismissed the marriage possibility, anyway. Sheâd send the announcement by email, if she bothered to inform him at all.
Fifteen minutes before they were due to meet, he left base to head to the small office heâd been allotted at the local community center where he helped the homeless pro bono.
The officeâprivate for the sake of clients who might not come to see him otherwiseâwas kept locked, and he opened it up. He turned on the overhead light and ran a cloth over the scarred pressboard table and leatherlike orange couch that took up the side wall opposite his desk. The place was professionally cleaned at the end of each day he was there, but still, this was Annie.
The woman heâd once believed to his core was the love of his life.
Annie, whom he hadnât seen in ten years...other than the odd photo or two heâd looked up on the internet during this or that long night of wakeful memories over the years. If she was on social media, her accounts were private. But thereâd been the photo of her with the Marie Cove chief of police when sheâd been made lieutenant of the detective squad there a couple of years before. And earlier onesâher among the other twelve members of her police academy graduation class. A headshot when she made detective in LA.
Sheâd been twenty-eight the last time heâd seen her, thirty-six in the most recent photo, and the shock that had splintered through him as she looked out at him from that generic capturing of her smile had never completely subsided. It had always been that way with them. Her tall, lithe, athletic body, only four inches shorter than his six feet, had been flame to his match from the first day theyâd met.
The knock on the door stopped his world for a split second. Leaning over the bottom drawer of his desk, about to stash away the cloth heâd used, he just froze. Staring at the door. One of the reasons heâd been given the office was that it was the only room attached to the community center with an outside, private entrance.
And the one that heâd instructed Annie to use in his last email to her, confirming their meeting.
The distance between his desk and the door perpendicular to it was minimal. He took each step slowly, feeling rushed.
Unprepared.
Like a tornado lurked overhead, ready to touch down. The power. The awe. The otherworldliness. The loss of control.
The devastation it could cause.
The fear.
Where heâd once believed the sun would shine forever.
Yeah. It was all coming back to him.
It seemed to take forever for the door to open. Standing there in the warmth of August sunshine, Annie knew it was probably only seconds before she heard the turn of the latch, but the eternity stretched on as she looked toward the opening. Starved for a sight of the man sheâd loved with every aspect of her being.
Sheâd done great things in her life without him.
Didnât regret her choices where he was concerned. How could she? Those had been the right ones.
And yet...
For a second, as he stood there in his dress whites, she catapulted back to being a new navy recruit meeting him for the first time. Pulled into a world of slow motion where his short blond hair was all she saw. And then those blue eyes sucked her in until she was floundering in a massive pool of longing. Of sorrow.
Of need.
Of knowing him.
âSeth.â She spoke first. It was right. Sheâd asked for the meeting.
âAnnie, come in.â His tone, his manner...were all top-notch. Professional with a touch of easy familiarity. As if theyâd passed in the hall on a regular basis. If he was at all moved by the sight of her, he hid the feelings well.
A bit more confident in her mission, she entered his domain. And stopped the second she got a look at the mostly bare, sterile and unimaginative room. Utility-style, professional-grade, gray linoleum floors. Clean plaster walls, white paint that appeared to have yellowed with age, and zero decor. A scarred desk, not unlike something the department had donated after finding it in the station house basement the year before. A couch from a bygone eraâsheâd seen one like it in a crack house, once, though Sethâs was in much better shape. What passed as a coffee table. It had four legs and a top.
âWhat is this place?â Sheâd looked up the address the second heâd sent it to her. Meeting at a community center had seemed smart, considering that she hadnât wanted to be trapped at a table with wait service interruptions, and, due to regulations, couldnât get on base to see him. Sheâd expected a conference room.
âMy office.â
âYour...what?â Confused, she frowned at him, raised a hand to brush at her hair and felt her gun against her elbow as her arm dropped heavily back to her side.
She needed to sit down. To breathe through the jitters that were attacking her insides. To put some distance between them. His nearness... How could ten years not change the scent of a man? Had to be the cologne. Though his brand was no longer being madeâsheâd had a moment when sheâd read that the company was going under. Heâd found some musky companion to it, apparently.
The tiny room didnât allow the amount of space she needed.
âI volunteer here some evenings and weekends,â he said. âThis room is reserved solely for my purpose. Gives clients a modicum of privacy and ensures that my supplies are where I need them when I need them. And the perk of sole use is probably a sign of gratitude, too.â
The tenor of his voice...it gave her shivers. The good kind.
No. Not good.
Nothing about her intense reaction to Seth Morgan could in any way be considered good. She had to state her business, make a request, arrange for signatures and depart.
As soon as possible.
In her world, the literal meaning of those words generally came with every second mattering.
âI need your signature on a document,â she said, holding her satchel close to her side, as though it contained the biological matter that represented her entire future, rather than just the paperwork that allowed her sole ownership and use of it.
As though she had to protect it from him.
Where before she wanted to sit, she was suddenly glad she was standing, meeting him eye to eye rather than having him tower over her. Yet, when her leg came in contact with the hideous orange-colored, faux leather couch, she sank down to it as though it was her only lifeline.
Seth sat, too, behind his desk. He was frowning. âItâs been ten years. What did we miss?â
It wasnât a miss. It had just been a dormant possibility, hanging out into infinity.
âAnd why didnât you just email it to me?â He posed the second question before giving her time to respond to the first. His arms crossed, he sat there with shoulders back, staring her down.
Defensive posturing. Her brain kicked in where emotions were stifling her usual productivity.
She was a listener first. And then a talker. One who sought to understand before attempting to be understood. It made her one of the most respected and well-known interrogators in Southern California law enforcement circles.
âBecause it doesnât have to be signed,â she said, hoping she was reading his body language well enough to get through to him. âThis is more of a request, not a requirement.â
When the arms didnât drop, she softened her tone more. âIâve come to ask a favor, Seth.â
Sheâd told herself the way to get the job done was to be confident, composed, calm and sure. Not to beg.
Sheâd been in the room less than two minutes and heâd reduced her to feeling desperate. Or sheâd sunk to it on her own. In that moment, she couldnât be sure how much of what was going on was on her or him. The fact that she wanted to be on him...on top of him, out of uniform, moving her body over his...
Oh, God. What if sheâd made a horrible mistake, thinking she could handle seeing him?
Thereâd been a reason theyâd stayed away from each other for a decade. Good reason.
Apart, they were at the top of their fields. Running exemplary, respectable, successful lives.
Together...they tore at what made each of them their best self.
âState your favor.â His tone held no conciliation. Or even a note to signify that theyâd known each other onceâlet alone been deeply, intimately intertwined.
She was losing him. And couldnât let her future just slip away.
Not again.
âIâm sorry,â she said, trying for a surface smile that she knew was a total fail. And pushed forward through it. Honesty was the only way... âIâm having a moment here. And I apologize. I didnât expect...itâs just, seeing you again...â She inhaled deeply, released the breath slowly. And then again with more haste. If she wasnât careful, she was going to do something supremely immature, like hyperventilate. Forcing herself to hold his still, as-yet unrelenting gaze, she said, âCan we just talk for a minute or two? Just...take a breath?â
Or catch her breath.
Spreading his hands, he didnât even seem to consider her request before spitting a reply. âItâs been ten years, Annie. What have we got to talk about?â
She watched those big, capable hands of his drop to his desk. Not return to their nesting places hidden in crossed arms. An opening she welcomed with her whole being.
âThis room,â she said. âYou being here. Tell me about the work you do. Just give us a second to let the energy level subside for a second or two.â
When he started to talk, telling her about the people who came to him in that dingy roomâa lot of homeless teenagers, among others, seeking assistance with misdemeanor crimes they couldnât afford to defendâand talked about the grant programs heâd found that he could help them maneuver through to better themselves, Annie took her first normal breath. And then another. She listened.
And then she talked. Telling him about the runaway youth task force she spearheaded, about the meeting theyâd held that morning, her professional reason for being in San Diego, and in so doing, found a piece of herself again.
âOur goal is to help these kids, not wait until we have to arrest them,â she said, her mind spinning as she looked at him sitting so forcefully, intentionally behind that ragged desk. âIf youâd be willing, Iâd love to put you in touch with Captain Ben Kinder, here in San Diego County, whoâs on the task force. Maybe, with the kids you see here...and our efforts...some greater good could be done...â
His focused nod as he pulled out a notepad and pen to take down Benâs information gave her the first real hope that Seth Morgan, the man sheâd once known and adored, might still linger within bits and pieces of the decorated JAG attorney occupying the room with her.
