His Secret Baby: The Agent's Secret Baby

He was merely being a good, convincing actor, that’s all.

But lying to this woman who had borne his child, who had managed to turn his world upside down, that was something else again. For reasons he didn’t have time to fully explore, he found it difficult to continue deceiving her.

However, he had no choice. Far more people were involved than just him. Consequently, it wasn’t entirely his secret to share.

So he twisted around her words. “Are you going to stand there and tell me that everyone who has a life insurance policy is a drug dealer?”

“No, but—”

“But I am, is that it?” His voice was low, quietly echoing barely controlled anger. Adam borrowed a few facts from his life, augmenting them to suit the occasion. “I originally took out this policy so that if anything happened to me, Mona, my kid sister, would be able to take care of herself.” Mentioning his sister, even in passing, brought a wave of irate sadness to him. “Mona was never much good at hanging on to a job. I just wanted to be sure she’d be okay.”

Then why had he given this to her for Brooklyn? She didn’t have to open the envelope to know that he had obviously changed the designated beneficiary. “Where is your sister now?” she asked. An uneasy feeling slipped over her the moment the words were out of her mouth.

She saw his jaw clench. “She died.”

“Oh.” Sympathy flooded her. She knew what it was like to lose someone. More than one someone. “I’m sorry.” Eve bit her lower lip. “What did your sister die of?”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s dead,” he said with such dark finality, Eve felt as if she’d literally been pushed away. He began opening the top drawers that ran along the underside of the counter, looking for utensils. “I changed the beneficiary. The policy’s in trust for Brooklyn until she turns twenty-one.” He spared her a glance. “Until then, if the occasion arises, you manage it for her.” He nodded toward the envelope. “Put that in a safe place.”

She stared at the envelope, then shook her head as she pushed it toward him on the counter. “I don’t want it.”

“It isn’t for you,” he pointed out. “It’s for Brooklyn.”

He watched as she squared her shoulders like a soldier being challenged. “I can take care of my daughter—”

His eyes held hers. “Our daughter,” Adam corrected pointedly.

She just couldn’t figure him out, not on any level. Here was an intelligent man who could have been anything, yet he had sunk down to the level of a drug dealer. Was perhaps still at the level.

“Most men would fight this tooth and nail,” she said quietly. “Or at least insist on a paternity test, yet you’re willing to accept that you’re Brooklyn’s father without any tangible proof.”

Adam saw nothing wrong with that. Finally finding the utensils, he took out two knives and two forks, placing them on the counter. He pushed the envelope back in her direction.

“So?”

“So why aren’t you asking for proof? A DNA test? Why are you taking just my word for it?”

“Maybe because you didn’t ask me for anything.” And then he shrugged. “The timing just works out.” His eyes dipped down to her stomach. Even now, she seemed to be well on her way to regaining her figure—which, as he recalled, had been drop-dead gorgeous. “Besides,” he raised his eyes to her face, eyeing her knowingly, “you’re not the kind to have casual sex.”

“How do you know that?” she challenged. Granted she’d been a virgin when they’d made love, but they hadn’t been together long enough for him to have drawn this kind of a hard and fast conclusion. “What makes you think you know so much about me?”

His smile went straight to her gut.

Adam shrugged carelessly. “I just know. Call it a gut feeling.”

It was more than just his gut that was involved, although that had been the initial proponent. When he’d received that e-mail that had sent him looking for Eve, he’d gotten Spenser at the department to do a little research for him. The reformed computer hacker put together a file that contained a great deal of information on the woman standing beside him.

Adam handed her a plate. “Now stop being stubborn and have something to eat before—”

As if on cue, the baby monitor on the counter came to life. Something that sounded very close to mewling filled the room.

“The baby cries?” she guessed, ending his sentence for him.

He nodded, then murmured, “Too late.” He glanced over his shoulder, although there was no way he could see Brooklyn’s room. “Eat,” he told Eve, indicating her plate and the selection of entrees. “If you tell me which way to her bedroom, I’ll go see what Her Majesty wants.”

The aroma of the still-hot food caused her stomach to contract and growl. The spread before her proved to be too much of a temptation.

“It’s upstairs,” she told him. “Second room on your right.”

She watched as Adam walked out of the kitchen. With all her heart, she wished she could banish her lingering suspicions about him. If it weren’t for her nagging doubts, she would admit he was damn near perfect in this new paternal role.

He was rising to the occasion far better than she was, Eve thought, helping herself to a corn-husk-wrapped tamale. Though she dearly loved this brand-new addition in her life, a part of her was still afraid she was going to wind up being a very poor mother.

When Adam didn’t return within a few minutes, carrying a hungry baby in his arms, Eve began to wonder what was taking him so long. Only one way to find out. Bracing her hands on the counter, she slid off the stool and went to investigate.

Although she wanted to hurry up the stairs, she forced herself to take it slow. It annoyed her no end that she still felt pretty weak. The last nap the baby had taken, she’d taken one, too. Filled with admiration for mothers who continued to be powerhouses, Eve couldn’t wait to be her old self again.

Walking into the baby’s room, she saw that Adam was at the changing table—one of the gifts Josiah had given the baby that she had accepted—putting the finishing touches on the disposable diaper he’d just secured around Brooklyn’s tiny bottom.

He sensed rather than heard or saw Eve in the doorway. “She needed changing.”

She crossed to him. “You change diapers?” she asked incredulously.

He’d changed more than his share of Mona’s diapers. The knack was something akin to riding a bicycle. You never really forgot how—especially when plastic tabs were involved.

“It’s not exactly like changing water into wine,” he pointed out, glancing at her awed expression. “Anyone can do it if they need to.” Picking his daughter up off the changing table, he smoothed down her tiny dress and turned around to look at Eve. “There, I think we’ll all be a little more comfortable having her dirty diaper a thing of the past.”

Who would have thought he’d take to parenting better than she did? “You are full of surprises, Adam Smythe.” She didn’t bother to hide the admiration in her voice.

They were sharing a moment. It took a great deal of self-control not to tell her that his name wasn’t Smythe, but Serrano. But Adam managed to hold his piece and only commented, “You’d be surprised,” making certain that the proper smile was on his lips.

Not entirely. The stray thought popped up in her head, taunting her. She banked it down, refusing to let it bring her down. The man was trying, that was all that mattered.

Taking the baby from him, she pointed toward the hall and the stairs that were beyond. “I’d better feed her. You go ahead and have dinner. Brooklyn and I’ll be along as soon as she’s finished.”

“You know, if you prepare a few bottles ahead of time, we could take turns feeding her,” he suggested, turning from the doorway.

Eve was already sitting in the rocking chair holding Brooklyn to her breast. The infant eagerly suckled as if she hadn’t been fed for days instead of a little less than four hours ago.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen anything even remotely as beautiful.

Belatedly, he realized he was staring. Clearing his throat, he abruptly looked away, even though he would have been content just to stand there, watching the scene all evening.

“I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” he murmured to the bedroom door just before he left the room.

Eve smiled to herself. Again, his actions surprised her. Adam Smythe was a very complex individual, with a lot of different layers. And she was getting a lot of mixed signals here. How did she tell them apart? Just what was real and what was imagined?

More than anything, she wished she knew what to believe and just who and what Adam Smythe really was. But she didn’t see that happening anytime soon. And who knew? He might be gone tomorrow.

She tried to prepare herself, secretly hoping that tomorrow wouldn’t come for a very long time.

Within a week, they fell into a routine, one that Adam was loathe to give up or even change in the slightest manner. Every night he would come home to her, to them, and share both the responsibilities and the rewards of caring for Brooklyn. And for what it was worth, all three of them seemed to be thriving.

The weather had even cooperated, in a manner of speaking. An unexpected storm off the coast of Colombia had sent residents along the coast scrambling for their lives. More importantly, at least for Adam, was that the shipment of drugs loaded into the belly of an airplane bound for California had been lost when the plane suddenly went down.

With great bravado, Daniel Sederholm had insisted that another shipment could be on its way as quickly as within ten days. Though the setback had his handler’s teeth on edge, Adam had ten more days to enjoy this secret life he’d miraculously stumbled into. Ten more days to pretend that the world wouldn’t come knocking on his door, dragging him away at a moment’s notice.

Ten more days to watch his daughter grow and have both Brooklyn and her mother burrow their way even further into his heart.

As if they hadn’t deeply entrenched themselves there already.

“So I take it that he’s moved in?” Josiah asked Eve.

It was midafternoon and her self-appointed guardian angel had come by for a visit. Outside, his driver, Lucas, sat in his restored classic Mercedes, engrossed in the latest page-turner put out by the current darling of the bestseller list. Meanwhile, Josiah sat in Eve’s living room, quietly studying the young woman he regarded as another daughter over the rim of his teacup. Fragrant vanilla-flavored coffee wafted up to penetrate his senses, soothing him. He was flattered that she kept his coffee of choice on hand for his visits.

For his part, he’d been as patient as he could, giving Eve almost two weeks to settle into a routine before finally inviting himself over to see how she was doing. It had taken him exactly five minutes to deduce that his favorite veterinarian wasn’t tackling parenthood alone.

“Adam’s here temporarily,” Eve was quick to correct. Having poured herself a cup, as well, she sat down opposite Josiah.

“And you’re all right with that?” Josiah cocked his head slightly, as if that could help him assess the situation more clearly.

“I am.”

His eyes seemed to delve into hers, as if accessing her very thoughts. “You don’t mind that he plans to leave after a finite point?”

“Oh.” She’d thought Josiah was asking her how she was dealing with having Adam around, not if she minded the fact that he intended to leave in the near future. “To be honest, this is all still a little overwhelming for me. I’m not really thinking more than a few hours ahead at a time.”

He nodded. Whether she knew it or not, that was what she had him for. He had always been good at looking at the big picture. His former line of work called for it. Josiah moved forward on the sofa, creating a more intimate atmosphere. “How much do you know about this man, Eve?”

“I know he’s a good man.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized that she sounded defensive. She didn’t want to be defensive and hoped Josiah would come to the right conclusion about Adam on his own. “He gave me his life insurance policy to hang on to for safekeeping. He named Brooklyn as his beneficiary.”

Josiah nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “Admirable.”

The word was polite, detached. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Because he knew he couldn’t say what she wanted to hear, Josiah avoided giving her a direct answer. “I’m not the one who counts here, Eve. And I’m just worried about you,” he admitted. “And, I suppose, I’m worried about myself, as well.”

Her eyebrows drew together into a puzzled line. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, if this Adam hurts you again—the way he did the last time,” Josiah emphasized, “I will be forced to have to kill him, and truthfully, the prospect of ‘doing time’ at my age is not exactly pleasant.”

Setting down her cup on the coffee table, Eve laughed. She leaned forward and placed her hand on his shoulder. “You won’t have to kill him, Josiah. He’s really nicer than you think.”

Thin, aristocratic shoulders rose and fell in a careless shrug. “What I think doesn’t matter.”

“What you think matters to me, Josiah,” she assured him. “You’ve always been like an uncle to me. If Adam does become a permanent part of my life,” she went on, constructing her sentences carefully, “I’d want the two of you to get along.” She abruptly remembered the holiday that was coming up. She really was living in a fog these days, Eve thought ruefully. “Tell you what. Thanksgiving is almost here. Why don’t you come over to my house for dinner and maybe, properly wined and dined, the two of you can do a little more than just try to stare each other down.”

Josiah looked at her, aghast. “But you can’t cook, Eve.”

“Why can’t I?” she asked, confused. She’d cooked for him before. Was he blurting out what he really thought of her efforts? She’d always thought of herself as a good cook. “I’ve been doing it since I was ten.”

“No, no, I mean, you just gave birth. Cooking is taxing, especially a big meal like Thanksgiving. You shouldn’t exert yourself.”

“By Thanksgiving it’ll be closer to four weeks than to ‘just,’” she pointed out, smiling at his concern. “And as for not exerting myself, I solemnly promise I won’t go hunting for the turkey anywhere but the grocery store this year.”

Josiah sighed. He knew it was useless to argue. Eve had been a stubborn little girl and she had grown up to be a stubborn young woman. When she made up her mind about something, no one could talk her out of it. It was both a source of pride and despair for her father, Josiah recalled.

“You are a hard young woman to keep down, Eve Walters.”

She smiled warmly at him. “So I’ve been told. Then it’s settled? You’ll come?”

“Yes, I will come. As long as you allow me to bring dessert.”

Pleased, Eve put out her hand. He took it in his bony one and shook it. “Done,” she told him. Just then, a lusty wail was heard over the baby monitor positioned on the coffee table. “Ah, I believe that’s Brooklyn asking to see her great-uncle.”

He rose to his feet, remarkably agile for a man in the latter half of his life. “Then let’s not disappoint her.” With a flourish, he bowed at the waist and offered the crook of his arm to her.

Rising, Eve hooked her arm through his. “Let’s not,” she agreed with a warm smile.

Chapter 9

It looked as if a tornado had made a pit stop in her kitchen, leaving pots, measuring spoons and cups, and ingredients—both large and small—scattered every which way.

At the moment, Eve felt just a shade away from overwhelmed. She scanned the formerly neat kitchen and sighed. The clock on the wall to her immediate right kept insisting on swallowing up minutes. She was running out of time and falling drastically behind.

Though she hated to admit it, Eve realized she’d bitten off a little more than she could chew. Okay, a lot more. She was seriously regretting having turned down Adam’s offer. He’d volunteered to bring a fully cooked turkey dinner, prepared by a local caterer, to the table for her. At the time, she’d turned him down, confident that she could pull it off the way she had before.

Thanks to Adam’s help every evening, she’d been getting more sleep and grew stronger. So much so that she thought, since it was nearly a month since she’d given birth to Brooklyn, she finally was back to her old self.

But standing here, in the middle of her chaotic kitchen, with the stuffing only half-baked and demanding her attention, the potatoes refusing for some unknown reason to cook to the point where they were soft enough to mash, and the turkey needing basting every fifteen minutes, not to mention that she had to stop periodically to feed or change an overly fussy baby, her goal of having everything ready by five o’clock was becoming the impossible dream.

Sound suddenly emanated from the baby monitor on the counter. Brooklyn was awake and crying. Again.

Eve pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the sound.

Brooklyn’s wail grew louder.

Her daughter had gotten accustomed to being scooped up within moments of voicing her displeasure. Eve knew schools of child-rearing sometimes frowned on that, claiming that to deny instant gratification was actually good for the baby. But the sound of her baby’s cries just twisted her heart. Besides, she reasoned, how could too much love be a bad thing?

Still, today would have been a good day to put one of those “let the baby cry a little” theories to the test. Eve tried and remained where she was.

She lasted all of a minute and a half. Throwing up her hands, she wiped them on her apron then hurried to the staircase.

“Mama’s coming,” she called out, taking the stairs as quickly as she could.

The pitiful cries continued until she entered Brooklyn’s room.

“Maybe you’d like to come down and give me a few pointers,” she said to her daughter as she picked the infant up.

Brooklyn sighed deeply, as if some horrible wrong had just been righted, then lay her head down on her mother’s shoulder, tucking herself against her mother’s neck.

The missing piece of my puzzle, Eve thought, patting the baby’s bottom. She could almost feel the deep affection in her chest doubling the moment Brooklyn lay her head down.

Remaining where she was for a moment, Eve drew in a deep breath. No offensive odor registered. “Okay, you don’t need changing and you just ate an hour ago, so you’re not hungry. You’re just lonely up here, aren’t you?” she murmured, stroking her daughter’s back. It was a toss up who was more soothed by the action, Eve mused, Brooklyn or her. “Okay, come with me,” she said cheerfully, leaving the room and heading for the stairs. “I know just where to put you.”

On his last visit—yesterday—Josiah had brought yet another gift for the baby. It was what amounted to a motorized port-a-crib, complete with music some expert declared that babies enjoyed. He’d had Lucas put it together for her. The finished product currently stood in the family room.

“Time to put this little contraption to the test,” Eve announced. Very carefully, she deposited Brooklyn into the port-a-crib.

The moment her back made contact with the thin mattress on the bottom of the crib, Brooklyn began to fuss again. Eve quickly wound the motor. The port-a-crib slowly swayed to and fro, the gentle action keeping time with the soft strains of a lullaby.

Brooklyn’s eyes widened. Entranced, she stopped crying. Her expression became alert, as if trying to pinpoint where the sound came from.

If she didn’t know better, Eve thought, she would have said her daughter was smiling.

“Bless you, Josiah,” Eve murmured. With slow, careful movements, she repositioned the port-a-crib so that she could easily keep an eye on it from the kitchen.

Eve had no sooner done that than a loud hissing noise demanded her attention. The water in the pot with the potatoes had finally begun to boil, and just like that, it was boiling over. The water splashed onto the surface of the electric burner and cascaded down along the front of the stove.

The last time that had happened, Eve suddenly remembered, the stove had short-circuited, throwing the oven portion out of commission for an entire day. She didn’t have an entire day to spare. She didn’t even have half an hour to spare, she thought, trying to bank down a wave of panic.

“No, no, no,” Eve cried, as if the urgent entreaty could somehow perform a miracle and send the water retreating like the Red Sea scene in the classic The Ten Commandments.

Grabbing a towel, Eve frantically stemmed the descending tide. In the background, she heard the doorbell ring.

Now what?

It was too early for either Adam or Josiah and his driver to arrive. People didn’t sell magazines door-to-door around here on Thanksgiving, did they?

She decided to ignore whoever was on the other side of the door. But the doorbell rang a second time. And Tessa, suddenly alert, began to run back and forth from the front door to the kitchen.

Now someone was knocking instead of ringing. She glanced at her dog as she made a second round-trip dash. “What is it, Lassie? Did Timmy fall into the well?”

Tessa barked, as if in response to the question.

Feeling harried, Eve looked over toward Brooklyn to make sure everything was all right, then hurried over to the front door.

She pulled it open without bothering to ask who it was. If it was a serial killer, the dog would protect her. Or so she hoped.

It wasn’t a serial killer. It was Adam. Early.

“Didn’t I give you a key?” she asked him, an irritated note threatening her voice. Her dog, apparently, was overjoyed at the early appearance and behaved as if she hadn’t seen him for months instead of a handful of hours.

Turning on her heel, Eve quickly returned to the scene of her pending disaster.

The scent of scorched surfaces and burned water faintly teased his nose as Adam followed her to the kitchen. Things weren’t going too well, he noticed, but wisely kept the observation to himself.

“Yes, but that’s only for emergencies, like if I think you’ve passed out and hit your head on something. Otherwise, I didn’t think you would want me just waltzing in.”

Thinking back, she realized that she had let him in each time. “You practically live here these days.” The only time he left was to go to work or get a change of clothes. That pretty much constituted him living with her. “Having you let yourself in wouldn’t have upset some delicate balance of power,” she assured him.

Pausing to pet the dog, Adam then went directly to the port-a-crib. Brooklyn began gurgling and kicking her feet. Her big blue eyes appeared focused on Adam.

Hardly a month old and she was already a flirt, Eve thought with a shake of her head.

“Hi, short stuff,” Adam teased, tickling the baby’s belly.

The sound of Brooklyn’s delighted laughter filled the air, warming Eve’s heart.

Walking away from the crib, Adam crossed back to the kitchen. His eyes swept around the room. Keeping a straight face, he asked Eve, “Need help?”

“No.” The word came out like a warning shot fired at a potential intruder. “I’ve got everything under control here.”

Rather than dispute her claim, Adam slid onto the closest stool. Propping his upturned palm beneath his chin, he just stared unabashedly at her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Waiting for your nose to grow,” he replied simply. “Happened in a fairy tale. Little wooden boy lied, his nose grew something awful.”

She held up her hand to stop him from going on. “I am aware of the fairy tale,” she informed him through gritted teeth, “and I am not lying.”

He gave her a knowing look, pretending to humor her. “Lucky for you, fairy tales don’t come true.” He slid off the stool and looked around. Enough was enough. It was time to get down to business. “All right, where do you want me to get started?”