Happy New Year--Baby!

No, her pregnancy wasn’t a predicament, she corrected fiercely. Just the beginning had been.

Dennis placed the bag on the kitchen table just in time. The rest of it ripped away. The carton of fried rice in the bottom of the bag made unceremonious contact with the tabletop. His hand greasy, Dennis automatically reached for a paper towel from the roll above the sink.

“I’m from Houston,” he answered as he wiped his hands. It was only one of many cities he and his family had passed through, but it was as good as any to tell her. He looked around for someplace to discard the paper towel.

Nicole opened the cupboard beneath the sink and indicated the small pail there. “That would explain the twang.”

He grinned as he tossed the crumpled towel away. “What twang?” he asked innocently, purposely thickening it for her benefit.

“Yours.”

“I don’t have one,” he informed her with a straight face. “I’ve been in California for the last eleven years. Whatever accent I had has long since been washed out by the surf.”

“You drawl,” she contradicted. “Just a little.” And she had to admit that she found it rather cute. He made her think of lean, tall Texans and other things long buried in childhood fantasies. “I think it comes out most when you say ‘ma’am.”’

She watched, intrigued as he made himself at home in her kitchen. It would have annoyed her if he hadn’t done it so effortlessly, so guilelessly.

Dennis took out the cartons from the bag one by one and placed them in a semicircle in the middle of her table. He laughed. “I’ll have to remember not to say it, then.” Carefully, without being obvious, he took in his surroundings as he worked.

Her apartment was a true mirror image of his own. What was on the right in his apartment was on the left in hers. The only difference was that her apartment was a great deal more cluttered than his. Housekeeping was not a high priority for this woman. Somehow, it seemed to fit her.

The bag emptied, Dennis deposited it into the garbage, then turned to her cupboards. Taller than Nicole by almost a foot, Dennis reached up and took out a stack of plates before she had a chance to stop him or do it herself.

Nicole stepped back from the table as he began to set it. Wariness crept in. He seemed a little too comfortable in her apartment. She didn’t want him getting any wrong ideas. Men had a habit of thinking that widows were emotionally needy and vulnerable. The last thing she wanted was for a man to think of her as vulnerable.

Turning, Dennis saw the look in her eyes. It was the same kind of look a hermit had when he discovered poachers on his land. He could almost guess what she was thinking. Dennis shrugged, making light of it.

“Sorry.” Taking out the utensils, he placed a fork and a spoon beside each of the two main plates. “I’m used to doing for myself.”

She just bet he was. Nicole stood behind her chair, keeping the table between them. “Even in someone else’s apartment?”

She certainly wasn’t trusting, but then, maybe she didn’t have any reason to be. “It feels like mine, only in reverse.” As an afterthought, he drew out a napkin from the holder and tucked one beneath each set of utensils. “It’s like I tumbled through the looking glass.”

Or through his camera lens, he added silently. He’d certainly seen this scene often enough in the last few days. He avoided looking toward the small transmitter he’d positioned on the far end of the top of her refrigerator. Through it, he could see the entire kitchen and part of the living room. There was an identical transmitter planted in the nursery, letting him see that room and the small hallway beyond.

He gestured at the set table. “Besides, you look as if you’ve had a long day and you’re tired. My guess is that you could do with a little pampering.”

She hadn’t done very much to speak of, but he was right about her being tired. Carrying this baby around made her feel as if she were working a twelve-hour shift in the coal mines. And it was nice to be waited on for a change. Usually, she just heated something up and ate it straight out of the pot.

Rather than argue, she sat down at the table. Dennis got busy.

Wisps of steam curled above the soup as he poured it into the two bowls. It smelled heavenly. It was as if he’d read her mind. She raised her eyes to Dennis’s face. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

He conceded the point, but he added, “And you didn’t have to let those deliverymen in for me, but you did. One favor deserves another and this is the least I can do.”

Counting the appetizers, there were six small white cartons. Carefully, he deposited the contents of each one on a plate, adding a fork on the side. Within minutes, the cartons were cleared away and the table looked as if it belonged in a restaurant. Only then did he take a seat opposite her in the small breakfast nook.

He was waiting for her to begin. Feeling slightly self-conscious, she dipped her spoon into the soup. “You do that well.” She nodded at the table setting.

Dennis grinned as memories returned to him. “Old habit. I worked as a waiter to put myself through college,” he added in answer to the question that rose in her eyes. That much was true. “There are times I look down and still expect to see one of those half aprons tied around my waist.”

She took more than her share of lobster. Realizing what she’d done, Nicole began to place some of it back on the plate until he stopped her.

“Enjoy it,” he urged.

He made it difficult to resist. “How long did you work as a waiter?”

“Five years.” Passing up the lobster, he took a spoonful of the fried rice and then topped it with a helping of spicy chicken. In her condition, she would avoid it.

Nicole thought of how harried Marlene had been, going to college and working for their father in her so-called “off” time. “Must have been hard, working and studying at the same time.”

He shrugged. At the time, it had been well worth the struggle. “When you want something badly enough, you find a way to get it. Obstacles don’t matter. Making the goal does.”

Now he really did sound like Marlene. Nicole stopped eating and studied the man sitting across from her. “And what’s your goal, Mr. Lincoln?”

He gave an exaggerated shiver. “Please, call me Dennis. When you say ‘Mr. Lincoln’ like that, I feel like I should be wearing a stovepipe hat and tugging at my beard.”

Though he was tall, he was muscular and his hair was a dirty blond. He wore it on the longish side, which led her to believe that whoever he worked for wasn’t a stickler for decorum.

She didn’t particularly want to be on a first name basis with him. That left the door open to becoming more personal than just nodding at one another in passing. And she had all the friends she needed. Or wanted.

“You’re the wrong coloring. And you’re not gaunt enough.” His eyes were still on hers, waiting. Nicole paused, then relented. “All right, Dennis, what is your goal?”

He told her what she wanted to hear. What he might have wanted for himself if he led a more normal life. “What every man wants. To have a good job, to be a success at what I do. To have a family.” That sounded a little too perfect. He paused, then added, “Eventually.”

The honesty surprised her. He was probably too busy sowing oats everywhere. With his looks, he wouldn’t lack for takers. “But not now.”

“No, not now,” he affirmed with feeling. “I still have a long way to go before I ask someone to marry me and share my life.”

Nicole looked down at her plate and wondered where the lobster Cantonese had disappeared to. Could she have eaten it that fast? “Maybe she’ll ask you to share hers.”

If she was looking for an argument, she wouldn’t find one here. “Even better. An independent woman.”

Nicole sombered as she raised her eyes to his. “You’re patronizing me.”

Definitely accustomed to being challenged, Dennis decided. “No, I’m feeding you.” He deliberately drawled. “Like it?”

Maybe she was being too edgy. Maybe he wasn’t anything more than he claimed to be, just a nice man saying thank-you. In her case, that would be a first.

She helped herself to the rest of the lobster. “It’s good.”

Mentally, he took another step forward. “I bought this at Sun-Luck’s.” The restaurant was a popular one at the local mall, one he had seen her enter earlier in the week. “Familiar with it?”

Nicole started at the name, a myriad of emotions crisscrossing through her. It was at Sun-Luck’s that she had told Craig that she was pregnant. It was her favorite restaurant. Once it had been their favorite restaurant. Nicole had picked the familiar surroundings to break the news to Craig.

He’d walked out on her, leaving her sitting with strangers staring at her.

“Yes,” she answered, her tone flat. “I’m familiar with it.”

But not in a good way, he thought. His curiosity was piqued, but he let it pass. He wasn’t here to satisfy idle curiosity, he was here to do a job.

Dennis divided one of the egg rolls and offered her half. Nicole looked at it as if she were regarding a peace offering. After a beat, she accepted it. He couldn’t recall ever seeing such wariness in a woman before.

“So,” he continued pleasantly, as if attempting to smooth over the rough spot he had inadvertently created, “are you planning on staying here?”

The garden apartment complex was occupied predominately by singles and childless couples. Having a baby here set her apart, but then, he had a feeling that Nicole Logan was accustomed to standing out.

Nicole sat up as straight as her condition allowed. “Yes.” The conformation was defiantly uttered.

He picked his way through the minefield carefully. He didn’t want to say anything that would alienate her. “Good for you. Then you’ve turned the second bedroom into a nursery?”

What did he care what she did with her second bedroom? And why was he here in the first place? In her experience, men who smiled the way he did and came bearing gifts were after something.

And she had absolutely nothing left to give.

Her voice was tight, her cadence measured. “Yes, it is.”

This was going to be a lot more difficult than he thought. “Hey, whoa, that wasn’t meant to be a call to arms.”

She placed her fork down, her appetite disappearing. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

Had he come on too strong? Or was it just that she was naturally wary of strangers? The profile he had on Nicole Logan labeled her gregarious. It didn’t seem to jibe with the woman sitting before him.

“It’s called making conversation, Nikki,” he answered mildly.

Nicole stiffened instantly. Craig had called her that. And she didn’t want to be reminded of Craig anymore. “My name is Nicole, not Nikki. Or, in your case, Mrs. Logan.” She rose from the table. Letting him in had been a mistake. “Look, this was very nice of you, but—”

The doorbell rang, cutting into her dismissal. She turned and looked accusingly at the door. It was getting to be like LAX in here.

Hand to the small of her back, attempting to contain the ache that had materialized there, the one that always came these days when she sat too long, Nicole crossed to the door. Exasperated at the interruption and annoyed with herself for allowing Dennis into her apartment in the first place, she forgot to look through the peephole. Instead, she yanked the door open.

There was a good-looking, well dressed older man standing in her doorway. He looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t place him. He smiled at her, but his eyes were deader than the promises that Craig had made to her.

“Mrs. Logan?” Dark blue eyes swept over her as the stranger said her name.

Instinctively, Nicole wanted to back away, but she remained where she was. She was vaguely aware of Dennis rising behind her. Nicole looked at the man’s chiseled profile and tried to recall if she had met him on the circuit during the days when she had traveled with Craig.

She couldn’t remember.

Bingo, Dennis thought, recognizing the man as the owner of one of the casinos the Syndicate numbered as their own.

Holding the door ajar, Nicole stood blocking the man’s way. “Yes?”

The man’s smile was cold, isolating her. “I’m here to collect what’s mine.”

Chapter 3

T he man made her feel uneasy, but years of experience had taught her how to mask her feelings. Nicole lifted her chin.

“I’m afraid that there has been some mistake made, Mr.—”

If she was attempting to be defiant, it made less than no impression on him. “Standish.” The name rolled smoothly off his tongue. “Joseph Standish.”

The name meant nothing to her. The dislike Nicole felt was immediate and intense. If the man continued to look vaguely familiar, it was because Joseph Standish, if that was really his name and she doubted that it was, reminded Nicole of the type of people Craig had taken to hanging around with the year before he died. Dangerous people.

People she didn’t want anywhere near her or her unborn child.

“Mr. Standish,” she acknowledged coldly. “I’m afraid that I don’t have anything of yours.”

His lips parted slightly in what could have passed for a smile if it hadn’t been so mocking. His tone remained mild and all the more chilling for it.

“Oh, but I’m ‘afraid’ that you do, Mrs. Logan.” His eyes swept past her and the man behind her to look at the apartment. It had to be hidden here somewhere. “Mind if I take a look around?”

Nicole’s breath caught in her throat. He was going to push his way in. She didn’t want him touching her things. She squared her shoulders. “Yes, I do mind.”

Whether she minded or not didn’t matter to him. What was on that disk that Logan had managed to steal did.

Dennis took a step closer to Nicole, his eyes locking with Standish’s. They were as flat as the eight-by-ten photograph he’d been given at his initial briefing. Dennis had seen more warmth in a tray of ice cubes.

“Is there a problem here?”

Nicole was weary of fighting her own battles, but used to it. So much so that she automatically resented any interference. Still, she had to admit that a small part of her felt better having Dennis here beside her. It made her feel less vulnerable.

Standish assessed the man behind Logan’s widow with a speed that had become second nature to him. Tall, rangy, the man didn’t really appear as if he’d pose much of a threat, but then, you never knew.

“The only problem is you butting into a private conversation.”

His eyes flickered over Nicole. Even with that swollen belly, she was something to look at. Probably had been a hot little number in bed. Too bad Logan hadn’t spent more time at home in bed and less at the tables. This trip would have been unnecessary, then. Standish hated loose ends almost as much as he hated unpaid debts. He had thought that things had been all tied up with Logan’s death—until they couldn’t find the disk.

“My business is with Mrs. Logan.”

Since she didn’t know him, that meant whatever connection Standish had, had been with Craig. That was all behind her now. She didn’t want any part of it. Nicole looked at him coldly, even as her heart hammered.

“I don’t have any business with you.” Turning the doorknob, she started to close the door. “So if you’ll please leave—”

Standish’s hand shot out like a rattlesnake striking its prey. With his palm splayed against the door, he prevented her from closing it. He had no intention of leaving yet. He hadn’t gotten to where he was by allowing people to walk away from him when he wasn’t done with them. And this was far from finished.

His words were measured and sharp, like hail falling against a tin roof. “You’re right, you don’t have any business with me. Your husband did.” His eyes remained on Nicole, cutting the other man completely out of the picture. “Too bad he had to die so young. My condolences.”

Nicole felt as if she were looking into the eyes of Death. “Thank you.”

“A few weeks before he died, he took something from me. Something I’m very sentimental about.” He smiled, showing off two perfect rows of teeth. “I was hoping it was here.”

She hadn’t seen anything out of place amid the things Craig kept here and if Standish was sentimental, then she was a choirboy. “What was it?”

He had no intention of telling her. “I’ll know it if I see it. Don’t trouble yourself by looking, I’ll just—” He began to enter the apartment.

She didn’t want this man here. Like a militant soldier, she barred his way. “You’ll tell me what it is, or you’ll leave.”

She was going to be trouble, just like her husband, Standish thought. He hated using a gun. It was far too messy and personal, but he had no qualms about eliminating what was in his way.

“After I look around.”

Very gently, Dennis pushed Nicole to the background, his body a buffer between her and Standish. “The lady said to leave.”

She saw something that frightened her flicker in Standish’s eyes. Damn Craig and his stupidity. What had he gotten them into?

She placed her hand on Dennis’s arm, silently telling him that she could handle this. “Craig kept very little of his things here, Mr. Standish. He traveled a lot. Maybe whatever it is that you’re looking for was left behind in some hotel room.”

Rooms in seven different hotels had all been systematically torn apart. “I’ve already eliminated that possibility. He was here before his last race.”

For a total of about ten minutes, she thought. Bent on partying before the big race, Craig had left her behind like so much lead weight. Even so, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go through Craig’s things yet. She’d meant to, but every time she started, the pain of memories prevented her.

Nicole sighed. “Leave your number and I’ll call you if I find anything, but I doubt—”

“Don’t doubt, Mrs. Logan. He had it. I know that for a fact. I suggest you find it, Mrs. Logan.” Each time he said her name, she felt as if he were laughing at her. “And quickly.” His glance lowered from her face to rest on her abdomen. “Unfortunate things have been known to happen, even to ladies in your delicate condition when they don’t cooperate.”

Numbed by the barely veiled threat, Nicole curved her hand protectively over her belly. Words failed her.

Dennis shook off her hand from his arm, pushing himself directly into Standish’s face. Though the same height, he guessed that the other man had about five years on him. And a few more pounds. The slight bulge under his coat was what he used to even things out. Dennis knew he could disable him before he ever reached for his weapon, but that wouldn’t be in keeping with the image he was trying to project for Nicole.

“She said to leave.” His voice was as low, as deliberate, as Standish’s. “I think she meant now.”

There was nothing to be gained by a physical confrontation, at least not one with a witness. Standish was accustomed to picking his places. There would always be time enough for that later, if necessary. Trask said to keep the body count down to a minimum after Logan. Trask was getting old and soft, but for now, he still ran the Syndicate and had to be obeyed.

Standish inclined his head, addressing himself to Nicole. “Fine. I realize that all this must have taken you by surprise, Mrs. Logan. I’m not an unreasonable man. But I do tend to grow impatient if I’m kept waiting too long. I’ll be back.”

He paused to consider a time frame. “Say in a week?” He had no intention of waiting that long. His eyes skimmed over her girth before he stepped away from the door. “In the meantime, if I were you, I would give very serious consideration to what I said.”

Hands shaking, Nicole slammed the door closed behind Standish. Only then did she give in to the fear that had taken hold of her.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

She looked as if she were going to faint. Dennis quickly took her arm. Her skin had turned almost translucent and her hands were clammy. “Are you all right?”

Nicole passed her hand over her face. What could Craig have possibly taken from that man? It couldn’t have been money, Standish would have asked for that outright—wouldn’t he?

She didn’t look at Dennis as she replied. “Not really.”

Dennis guided her to the chair in the kitchen, then placed a hand on her shoulder, gently urging her into it. “Why don’t you sit down?” He studied her face, wondering how to handle this new turn of events. Either she really didn’t know the man who was just here or anything he was talking about, or she was one hell of an actress. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. She could call the police, but what good would that do? There wasn’t really very much information she could give them. They usually responded after the fact, not before. “It was probably just an empty threat.”

Men like Standish didn’t make empty threats. It was bad for business. “It didn’t sound very empty from where I was standing.”

“No,” Nicole whispered, “it didn’t.” She looked up, suddenly realizing that she had said the words aloud. She tried to gloss over the situation. “Craig periodically got involved with people who wouldn’t have met with approval at a Daughters of the American Revolution meeting.”

Dennis nodded his head toward the door. “So then this is nothing new for you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Nicole took a long, steadying breath. She could handle this. She’d handled everything else until now. She just didn’t know how yet. “They’ve just never made house calls before.”

God, what a fool Craig had been. Could she have really been in love with him? Could she have really been so damn blind and missed all these defects when she had agreed to run off with him?

She knew the truth now. She hadn’t been running away with Craig so much as running away from home. And her father.

Nicole ran her hands along her arms. She felt cold, even as the heater was turning over.

“It wasn’t enough for him to have it all,” she murmured, half to herself, half to Dennis. “Fame, women hanging on him, money, it wasn’t enough.” Sadness rimmed her smile. “He wanted more.”

She looked at Dennis, who was patiently listening to her. Why, she still hadn’t figured out. Just as she didn’t know why she was even saying this, except that it had been bottled up for so long and he was a stranger, not a friend. Sometimes it was easier to talk to strangers.

“There were a few pockets of time when he gambled away more than he earned, even with all the endorsements coming in.”

They’d come, she remembered, courting the new king of the track, and he had eaten it up. Anyone else would have been set for life. But not Craig. With him there had been this huge hole that no one and nothing seemed to be able to fill.

She sighed as she looked at the door she had slammed in Standish’s wake. He’d be back. She didn’t know what she was going to do when he came. She was almost positive that she didn’t have anything that might belong to him. “I guess this is one of those times.”

She looked so small, so vulnerable. It made Dennis forget for a moment that he wasn’t supposed to get involved in anyone’s troubles.

“So, what are you going to do?” he repeated.

For a moment, she’d forgotten that he was here. She’d been talking out loud to herself. But he was here, and he shouldn’t have been. She distanced herself from him. “That’s my problem.”

He’d had a feeling she’d say that. Feisty didn’t begin to describe her. Though it got in his way, he had to admire that. “Living next door to you kind of makes it mine.”

The logic escaped her. “And just how do you figure that?”

Dennis grinned at her. “It’s that neighborly thing again.”

As she had said, it wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t anyone’s problem but hers, courtesy of Craig. She’d find a way out. Tomorrow, when she was less exhausted and could think clearly. After all, she couldn’t give Standish what she didn’t have. He had to be satisfied with that—didn’t he?