Protecting Colton's Baby
Auteur
Tara Taylor Quinn
Lezers
16,5K
Hoofdstukken
25
Chapter 1
A forty-three-year-old woman did not belong in front of the shelf of home pregnancy tests.
She just didn’t.
Assistant District Attorney Emily Hernandez had made a solid career out of getting facts right.
Statistics said that hormones to fight bone density were in her future, not supplements that would stabilize and facilitate a healthy fetus.
When a young mother with a toddler in tow entered the aisle, Emily had to step forward to let her pass. The plump-legged little girl attached to her mother through tightly clasped hands said something completely unintelligible. Or so Emily thought, until the mother responded with an enthusiastic, “I know!”
At which point Emily was certain they were commenting on the absurdity of the prosecutor showing such age standing, well, where she was standing. Maybe thinking she was contemplating a purchase for her daughter?
How embarrassing.
Her daughter. If she was...she wasn’t...but if she was...would it be a girl?
She wasn’t.
Should she buy the white box with pink lettering? The purple with white letters? Or the blue? Hands at her sides, she wasn’t ready to touch any of them. To be seen touching them.
Dear God, she was going to have to walk up to the register and pay for it.
Bad idea, visiting a drugstore so close to her office. And to the courthouse. Any judge she appeared before, any attorney she argued against, could walk in. See her.
Gulping, she glanced around to make certain she had the aisle to herself. What if someone from her own office saw her?
Turning, she stepped quickly into the next aisle. Took some deep breaths to calm down. Focused on potato chips and other bagged snacks. But she couldn’t contemplate buying any. Not until she knew for sure that she wasn’t pregnant...
Just get the damned thing.
With anxiety threatening to overtake her, Emily strode back around the corner, picked the first box her hand touched—purple with white lettering—and looked straight ahead as she took it to the register.
She had to know.
A practical woman would take care of the situation by finding out the facts. And she was the most practical woman she knew.
There was no line at the register. Speeding up before someone could round a corner and get ahead of her, she stared at a candy display as she put the box on the counter. She’d never seen the cashier before in her life. Within seconds the box and all the things it hinted at were encased inside a plastic Duane Reade pharmacy bag, covered by the chocolate bar she’d thrown on top of it, and further buried within the satchel that served as her purse.
She had a challenging caseload awaiting her. Had to get the test behind her so she could give her career—which pretty much encompassed the entirety of her daily life—her complete focus.
And she had to do it without anyone, not even the hot dog vendor on the corner, ever knowing that there was even a slight hint of a possibility that she could have a child growing inside her.
Frigid February air hit her as she pushed through the door, freezing her skin and her feelings. Pulling her long black coat tighter with the belt at the waist, she barreled forward. Of course, the light would turn green as soon as she hit the corner. Hunching a bit against the chill, she awaited her turn to cross, wanting to chuckle over the absurdity of her little errand.
Fear stifled every ounce of lightness from her soul. She couldn’t be pregnant. Other than one ending-in-disaster engagement two decades before, she’d never even been in a serious relationship. The no-strings-attached liaison she’d had with Cormac Colton—a stupendous PI, gorgeous, but also so much younger than her that he’d still been filled with that vibrant belief that he could change the world—had not ended well.
One week with her and he’d abruptly said he was done. There’d been no conversation. No explanation. Not even a casual “see ya around.” He’d been out.
Finished with her.
She could not be carrying his child. Shivering with cold, and dread, she saw traffic slowing. She stood up straight, ready to cross over toward her office, and lost all air as a thump against her back and around her shoulder shoved her off balance, and, locking her in a deathly grasp, a body propelled her to the opened door of a black SUV.
“What!” she hollered, shoving against the force trying to take over her body. The satchel hanging crossways on her body didn’t help her any, but she didn’t let it slow her down. With a kick and a screamed demand to “Stop,” she slapped out at her attacker, catching the side of his head with a whack. People surrounded them.
There’d be a pool of witnesses.
And in spite of her blows and all the onlookers, her abductor shoved her off the curb and, with a hand on her head, was still trying to force her down into the vehicle.
“No!” She screamed again, rearing back, bracing herself against the outside of the SUV. The big gloved hand at her head pushed harder and her forehead hit the doorjamb just as she stomped on the man’s foot.
And...
Then she was free. Her accoster was hauled off her and she stepped back up on the curb, half gasping, half sobbing, feeling surrounded by a wall of gaping bystanders as she heard the assailant’s “I’ll get you next time.”The man who’d grabbed her dove into the back seat of the SUV, which sped off, leaving her staring at her rescuer’s wide shoulders and dark hair.
Dark hair that seemed professionally mussed. With a wayward spike of hair to the left of his collar. She saw the hardly noticeable little strand as the man turned.
No.
She was hallucinating.
Had lost her mind in the fray.
She gripped her bag to her side, still shaking, vaguely aware, in the mere seconds that had passed, that multiple voices were speaking to her.
She only heard the words from one.
“Emily, did he hurt you?”
She noted the worry. Stared.
“Call the police,” the man shouted as he stood inches from Emily, his dark eyes filled with a concern that touched her far more deeply than her abductor had done.
“Already done,” another male voice said.
“And an ambulance,” her rescuer continued. For a man barely in his thirties, Cormac Colton had a boatload of confidence and authority in his tone.
Cormac. He was really there. Not just a figment of her way too harried state of mind. “I don’t need an ambulance,” she said then, finding her own stash of commanding tone, as the light changed again and she stepped off the curb to cross the street.
“Emily.” He reached for her shoulder, not with force, but in an attempt to keep her there. “You need to talk to the police.”
“Send them to my office. ADA Emily Hernandez,” she announced to the crowd in general, and, turning her back, hurried into the crosswalk before the light could change. If the cops didn’t show up, she could call them from the phone on her desk.
Arriving at the other side of the street, she stepped up onto the sidewalk, with Cormac right there beside her.
“I’m fine, you can go.” She gave him as much of a dismissive tone as she could muster, shaking harder.
Someone had just tried to kidnap her!
And the man who’d dumped her had suddenly shown up out of thin air to save her?
Her satchel...the box... Cormac Colton crowding her space...she hugged her bag with both hands, holding it close.
“I’m coming with you,” the far-too-memorable voice said beside her. “I’ll need to give my statement to the police as well.”
As good as she was at coming up with logical arguments, she came up blank. Because of the bump to her head? She reached her hand up, but the skin was hardly tender enough to warrant a bruise.
The best sex she’d ever had was accompanying her to her office, where a pregnancy test would be sitting in her satchel, and police officers would be waiting for her victim statement.
She’d almost been kidnapped! Who wanted her? And for what? She tried to focus on recent cases, threats made or perps she’d put away getting released, but came up completely blank on all of it.
Cold and breathless, she wanted to cry.
And silently cursed her luck instead.
What in the hell had she done to deserve such cruel twists of fate?
Adrenaline pumping, Cormac kept pace next to the feisty prosecutor, keeping his body as close to her as he could without actually touching her again.
He was not allowed to touch her. Not unless it was a life-and-death situation. Her life.
His rule. Issued firmly to himself two months before when he’d broken off his liaison with her.
She didn’t speak.
He focused on everything and everyone around them. Shielding her from behind, watching what was ahead, even once they were inside the DA building and heading to her office. It didn’t matter to him if either of them knew the people they passed. Until they figured out why someone had just tried to force her into a vehicle, everyone was suspect.
She made a beeline behind her desk, still clutching the big purse she wore, but didn’t sit down. “You stalking me?” Her tone was challenging, not scared.
Cormac’s head turned, his gaze swinging toward the door he’d just come through, only to find that no one was there. Turning back, he saw her staring at him with an air of “how dare you” about her. “You’re talking to me?” Shaking his head, he started to feel like he was in some kind of bizarre nightmare.
First, the near kidnapping, and now this?
Yeah, he’d been kind of dreading seeing her again—for a few reasons—but...
“Yes. How else do you explain turning up in the exact moment I’m the target of a kidnapping? If that’s what it was. If you think this is some kind of joke...”
“Emily!” He raised his voice enough to get her attention. He figured shock was getting to her.
She blinked, didn’t take her question back.
“Of course, I’m not stalking you,” he told her.
“You could be. With your stellar PI skills, how would I know?”
Mouth gaping, he stared. Was she for real?
“You seriously think I’d stalk you?” He couldn’t even compute that one.
With a visibly deep breath, she sank to her chair, her purse on her lap. She was still clutching it with both hands. “No, of course not.”
She looked back up at him. “But you have to admit, it’s odd that just when someone tries to accost me, you’re suddenly right there...”
“What we need to be talking about is who’s out to get you,” he said then, coming closer, but only to sink into the chair across from her desk. One they’d stupidly, stupendously, had sex in. He had to sit so he didn’t keep staring at the damned thing.
Where in the hell were the police? He grabbed his phone, intending to call one of his relatives to find out who was on duty in the area, but the look in her eyes stopped him.
A mixture of authority—and fear. Almost to the point of self-doubt. Emily was one of the most confident women he’d ever met. Which had been part of the incredible turn-on...
“I need to know why you were there,” she said then.
Eager to help where he could, he sat forward, elbows on the arms of the chair. “I was on my way to see you,” he told her. “To ask you about the case Humphrey Kelly was about to testify on when he went missing. You were the ADA...”
The seeming relief that flashed across her expression was confusing, too. Why else would he have been there? Had she really thought he’d been watching her? The idea was ludicrous. He was the one who’d broken off things between them.
Cut them off at the quick, was more like it.
To the point of rudeness.
And...she had to be grasping at straws. Trying to find a reason for the events that had just transpired. She must be scared out of her wits. It was the only explanation that made sense out of her making more of his sudden appearance than the kidnapping he’d thwarted.
You’d think she’d be grateful to him.
Thanking God he’d been there.
“I’ve already been asked about that case three times,” she told him. “He’s a psychiatrist, was scheduled to give expert witness testimony that we didn’t really need to get a conviction, and he didn’t show up. That’s all I know.”
Humphrey was so much more. But he’d get to that. At the moment they had to figure out what had just happened, who wanted her and for what. They needed to secure her safety until they found out.
He’d been about to tell her so, when two uniformed officers he didn’t know showed up at the door of her office.
And, glad to have them there, ready to work toward Emily’s well-being, he put his own concern on the back burner while they did their job.
