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The Baby's Bodyguard
Jacqueline Diamond
SHE’S UNARMED—AND DANGEROUS!
Security expert Jack Arnett comes running when he hears his estranged wife, Casey, is being threatened by a stalker—and is stunned to discover he’s a father-to-be.
He’s never wanted children—still doesn’t.
But one question keeps running through his mind. With all his experience dodging bullets and bad guys, how come Casey and their unborn child are the ones who’ve brought him to his knees?
Originally published in 2004.
The Baby’s Bodyguard
Jacqueline Diamond
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
COVER (#u918670a6-9e86-565e-83d1-f902d9bc82e9)
BACK COVER TEXT (#u4ed5940d-0415-5ef7-840a-0046caa2f4b9)
TITLE PAGE (#uee55db2e-717f-5015-a6fb-37e6848afaaa)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_89fbbf1b-f8c2-5ee9-bf48-df6ac641a076)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_490b33c5-7e56-5053-8cd2-2bf343fde154)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_93e15c0d-b544-5ac0-8d2d-858f5daf3859)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_27b3fdfa-2140-5f8f-8f16-7ed3bff0ebbe)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_fbca38c5-6a47-52ae-8b4a-ed5ab2fb7580)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4db62b7b-202f-5931-b125-6cc644641e66)
One stuffed bear in the crib atop the yellow-and-white comforter. Check.
One set of freshly painted walls stenciled with birds in flight. Check.
One changing table with drawers, one diaper stacker and one set of white shelves—the latest addition—screwed neatly into the wall. Check.
Something was missing.
How about a husband? Casey asked herself ruefully as she replaced the screwdriver in her tool kit.
Actually, she had a husband, although not for much longer. She’d expected him to sign their divorce papers weeks ago so they could finalize the split, but so far her lawyer reported no success.
Probably Jack was off to some exotic locale providing security services for a client. You could always count on him to be there when people needed him.
Except for his wife. And the daughter he hadn’t wanted.
Tears pricked Casey’s eyes as her hand cupped the bulge. It rippled in response. Less than a month to go until she could hold the little girl in her arms, count the fingers and gaze into her loving eyes.
Casey had already picked out a name: Diane. She’d always loved the sound and flow of it, like running water in the moonlight.
She hadn’t hesitated when Dr. Smithson asked if she wanted to know the gender. There’d been enough surprises already, including this pregnancy.
Jack would be furious if he found out. He’d adamantly opposed having children. The issue had hardened into the wedge that drove them apart, although they’d had other, less obvious problems. But she believed they might have worked those out.
Toolbox in hand, Casey took one more fond look around the room before turning off the light, and that’s when she realized what was missing. Books. She wanted her daughter to grow up smelling leather-bound volumes even before she could read.
That, at least, Jack would approve of.
She went into the living room to select a couple of classics from her collection. When the phone rang, she scooped the handset absentmindedly off an end table while trying to choose among such favorites as Black Beauty, The Wind in the Willows and Little Women.
“Arnett residence.”
“Casey, it’s Gail.” Tension underscored the gravelly voice. “Remember the prowler? He’s back.”
Casey stiffened. Instinctively, she glanced through the living-room window into the darkness. But if someone lurked outside, she couldn’t tell.
Ten months ago, when she’d moved back to Richfield Crossing, Tennessee, to manage the rustic property she’d inherited from her parents, she’d loved the rental cabins and the slightly larger main house. She’d considered the property charmingly rural, not isolated. These last few weeks had given her second thoughts.
A sixtyish nurse who worked for Dr. Smithson, Gail Fordham wasn’t easily intimidated, but the prowler she and other tenants had spotted during the past month had rattled her as well as Casey.
“Did you call the police?” Unfortunately, the local constabulary consisted of one aging chief, a part-time rookie, a dispatcher shared with several other towns and a few clerks.
“Sure. They said they’d have someone swing by, but you know how much good that will do.” Quickly, Gail added, “I’m not afraid for myself, Casey. I figure if it’s Dean, he’ll get bored after a while and go away or drink so heavily we’ll find him snoozing in somebody’s hayloft.” Dean was Gail’s alcoholic ex-husband who lived in Michigan. “I just wanted to warn you so you won’t go outside and run into whoever it is.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“If you’re worried, I could come over and sleep on your couch. It’s not good for you to be alone this close to delivery,” the nurse said.
“You shouldn’t go outside while he’s around,” she warned.
“I’ve got a baseball bat. If I run into that jerk, it’ll be the worse for him.” The image of the middle-aged nurse clopping an intruder dispelled some of Casey’s tension. “And I’ll make sure you get the sleep you need.”
For a flicker of an instant, Casey allowed herself to imagine how comforting it would feel to have someone watching over her. It wasn’t Gail who came to mind, however, but Jack.
Why isn’t my own husband here when I need him?
Resolutely, she yanked herself out of incipient self-pity. She owned the property. If anyone ought to take responsibility for the tenants’ safety, it was Casey. Her parents had taught her never to pass the buck, and she didn’t intend to start now.
“I’ve got my own baseball bat,” she said. “I’ll handle him, Gail.”
“Now wait a minute! What if he’s armed?”
She would have to mention that. “I’m just going to take a look around. At least we could settle once and for all whether it’s Dean.” Although she’d never met the man, she had Gail’s description of him as balding and in his sixties.
“Think about the baby. You can’t take any risks with her!”
“She’d be proud of her mom. Don’t worry, Gail. I’ll be careful.”
Despite the fact that she’d taken self-defense classes while living in Los Angeles, Casey had no illusions about her own invincibility. But the situation brought home the fact that she was going to be raising a daughter by herself. Suppose this creep lived around here and got the idea that he could make Casey and her tenants—who included several retired people—cower in fear.
Not on her watch.
Okay, so she had sometimes acted on impulse. Like marrying Jack two months after she’d met him. And sleeping with him eight months ago when she went back to L.A. to hammer out the details of their divorce, resulting in a pregnancy that she hadn’t told her husband about and hoped she wouldn’t have to.
Sometimes her lack of foresight got her into hot water, Casey conceded. But this trespasser made her mad. And the last time she’d called the police, it had taken them forty-five minutes to show up.
The only problem, she realized, was that some gardening tools that might serve as weapons lay tucked in the storage shed behind the carport. They could only be accessed by going outside.
Why not take her camera? In the darkness, its flash might ferret out a suspect she couldn’t see and it would certainly provide a means of identifying him. She wouldn’t need to attack anyone or even get close.
Jack would hate the idea. If he were here, he’d warn her, as Gail had, that the man might be armed. But this wasn’t L.A.; it was Richfield Crossing, a town of around five thousand people where crime consisted mostly of fistfights outside the Whiskey Flats pool hall. Most likely the prowler would turn out to be a mixed-up teenager or a transient looking for food.
Casey threw on a sweater against the April coolness and retrieved her digital camera along with a flashlight. She also took a key and locked the door, although normally she left it open.
On the porch, as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she breathed in the perfume of blooms mingled with the scent of newly plowed fields a short distance away. A cool, moist breeze reminded her of last night’s fast-moving rainstorm.
Casey’s heart swelled with love for this place. Six years ago, she and her best friend, Sandra Rawlins, had moved west, full of dreams and fantasies. It had taken many changes and the breakup of her marriage to make Casey realize that Tennessee was where she belonged. More than ever, she appreciated the fact that her parents had bought this property, the Pine Woods Court, for their retirement. She just wished they’d had more time to enjoy it.
Still, if only Jack had agreed to have a family together, she’d have stayed in L.A. with him. The more she’d pleaded, however, the more he’d withdrawn, until nothing remained between them but a strained civility. That, and the white-hot passion that had flamed at their last meeting.
Casey didn’t regret what she’d done, because she loved her daughter even before birth. And she felt glad that at least she had a beautiful place to come home to, where Diane could grow up surrounded by old friends and lots of open space.
Unfortunately, right now that space had been compromised by someone who was obviously no friend. Someone about to be captured for posterity in all his digital ugliness.
As her vision adjusted, nearby dogwood trees came into focus, their pink blossoms appearing white in the dimness. Eager to catch the culprit before he escaped, Casey descended the steps in her rubber-soled shoes.
The four cabins, former motel units that her parents had remodeled into rentals, lay scattered about the wooded property behind the main house. To reach Gail’s place, she followed a footpath along rising ground, leaving her flashlight off to avoid attracting attention.
As she walked, the muscles of her abdomen, perpetually sore these days, tugged from the weight of the baby. Ignoring them, Casey listened for the crack of a twig or the brush of leaves.
She was nearing Gail’s place when she heard a creaking ahead, like that of a wheelbarrow or perhaps the hose storage reel. The trespasser might have bumped into something, or perhaps a raccoon was poking around with its dexterous little hands. The creatures abounded in the woods, along with possums, squirrels and deer.
“Gail?” Casey risked calling out, since she didn’t want the tenant to attack her by mistake. “Is that you?”
No answer.
When she emerged from the tree-lined path, the illumination seeping through the cabin windows intensified the surrounding darkness. Now Casey remembered what else she should have brought—her cell phone—although the darn thing didn’t always work up here, anyway.
She heard another squeak behind the cabin. Treading lightly, she angled closer.
In the shadows, a dark figure moved. Holding her breath, Casey lifted her camera and pushed the button.
As the flash ignited, a blast of icy water caught her full in the face. She staggered backward, dropping the camera and fighting a losing battle for balance. Her arms flailed as she tumbled, out of control.
Fear for the baby’s safety stabbed through Casey, followed by the jolt of her rear end hitting the ground. Ahead, scurrying noises marked the prowler’s flight into the woods.
He’d escaped. This time, he’d physically assaulted her and put her pregnancy at risk.
Although she’d avoided any real harm, hot fury dispelled Casey’s shivers. She was going to catch this creep, no matter what it took. And no matter who she had to call on for assistance.
* * *
AS JACK SQUEEZED ALONG the aisle, a travel bag slung over his shoulder and his laptop tucked beneath one arm, the flight attendant favored him with a warm smile and her umpteenth once-over. Marianne had the healthy tan of a surfer, a bubbly personality and an obvious interest in getting better acquainted.
They’d found several occasions for idle conversation during the flight from Hawaii, where he’d changed planes after arriving from Malaysia. Marianne had made a discreet inquiry regarding the absence of a wedding ring and responded to his explanation about his pending divorce by slipping her phone number onto his tray.
As he returned her cheerful farewell, Jack felt the card inside his pocket. He ought to call her before she headed out of L.A. again on the Honolulu run.
