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What if Drew’s paranoia had some basis in fact? Last night had been scary. That was for sure. She’d never been attacked before. If she could have remembered what happened, she undoubtedly would have been more freaked out. During her struggle, her apartment was trashed. It must have been violent. But was it purposeful? Had Drew’s “enemy” targeted her? Why? It just didn’t make sense.
When the toast popped up, she slathered on the butter. Thus far, Melinda hadn’t had a moment of morning sickness. Her mom said that she’d never been sick while pregnant, and she’d delivered four babies, all girls with Melinda being the eldest. Her baby would be the first grandchild.
As she finished off her toast and washed it down with coffee, she found herself hoping that Drew’s paranoia wasn’t an inherited trait that might be passed on.
He came into the kitchen and snagged the second piece of toast before she could claim it.
“Hey,” she protested. “I made that for me.”
“Fine. I wanted pie, anyway.”
She’d forgotten about the apple pie. Not exactly a healthy breakfast, but it did contain fruit. “I’ll have some of that.”
They dished up pie and settled on the sofa since he didn’t have a dining table. With her fork, she pointed to the three pictures on the television screen. “Is all this security really necessary?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “And it’s also entertaining. See that? On the camera that shows the parking lot? It’s the anthropology professor who lives across the hall from you.”
“Her name is Katherine Bidwell.” Melinda watched the spry elderly woman whose gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Bustling to her car, she juggled a plastic water bottle and a satchel of books. “Some people say she’s a genius.”
“She was smart enough to call 911 last night.”
He’d gotten dressed while he was in the bedroom. In his white T-shirt, worn jeans and running shoes, he looked sane and normal. But he was still cuckoo. The evidence was all around. Her packed suitcase. The guns. The surveillance equipment.
She finished off her pie and considered licking the plate, but decided she was full. Leaning back on the sofa, she studied his classically handsome profile. “You said it was smart for Professor Bidwell to call the police. Why can’t you do the same thing? Tell the police about your enemies.”
“They’d never believe me.”
“So you know that your story sounds a little bit, um, crazy.”
“But true.”
If he really wanted her to run away with him to a cabin in the woods, he needed to give her a far more thorough explanation. “Convince me.”
“It all started when I was ten years old. A couple of months after I moved in with Belle and Harlan Anderson …”
Chapter Five (#ulink_8a888379-6867-55e1-99f9-a6c1f752d09b)
Never before had Drew told anyone about what happened to him while he was growing up. As a rule, he avoided close relationships, a lesson he’d learned as a foster kid. If you don’t have friends, you won’t be hurt.
But now there was Melinda. And a baby. He had to prove to her that he was trustworthy, and that meant telling the truth.
“At the Andersons’ house, I was the only kid.” Before that, he’d been in group situations. “I had my own bedroom. A place where I could close the door and be by myself.”
“Did you like being alone?” she asked.
Though he was capable of spinning a convincing lie to make himself sound like Johnny Normal, he stuck to the truth. “I was pretty much a loner.”
An encouraging smile lit her face, and he decided that she was especially pretty in the morning. “Tell me about this room of your own.”
“The privacy was exactly what I wanted. I had secrets.”
“Like what?”
“Even when I was ten, I liked writing.” He composed pages and pages of dorky poetry about trees and sky and the parents he barely remembered and how they’d come back one day. “I had to hide my poems and my beat-up copy of The Little Prince.”
“I love that book,” she said. “Why would you hide it?”
“It’s okay for a girl to like a book like that. But a guy? No way. With my own room, I didn’t have to be so careful.”
Still, he kept his book and the spiral notebook filled with his scribbles hidden behind a drawer in his kneehole desk. He didn’t trust the Andersons. The rumor was that they’d lost their own children, three boys. If so, they never told him about it, never talked about themselves and they never showed him family photos.
Sometimes, he caught Belle looking at him with a strange longing in her eyes. Mostly, she was cold. Sparing in her conversation, she regulated his day with terse commands. Get up. Supper. Bedtime.
Harlan was a better companion, but his job as a salesman meant he was on the road a lot. On weekends, they’d watch sports on TV. Drew started memorizing baseball stats, and Harlan would test him. That was when his interest in sports started.
“It was an okay setup. I had food, clean clothes and a roof over my head. The house was on the outskirts of town, next to a forest. I’d pack a sandwich for lunch and spend the whole day tromping through the trees.” He remembered long afternoons when he lay on his back and stared up at the peaceful clouds as they rolled across the sky.
“All in all, life was pretty good, until a Saturday near the end of May. I woke up and got dressed. The next thing I remember was the sun going down while I walked back to the house. The entire day was a blank.”
“You had amnesia?”
“I don’t want to put a label on what happened.” Notyet, anyway. “It was like the daylight hours got erased. I wasn’t hurt so I didn’t say anything about it. Pushed the whole incident out of my head and didn’t think about it until it happened again during summer vacation. That time, it was two days.”
“Did you tell your foster parents?”
“Yeah.” The look on Belle’s face was sheer disgust. For a minute, he thought she was going to throw him out, and he didn’t want to leave. He liked his private bedroom and watching baseball with Harlan. “They didn’t believe me. Told me I was there at home and ate dinner, just like I always did.”
Her forehead wrinkled with concern. “You should have seen a doctor.”
“Harlan took me to a specialist in Rapid City. The guy ran tests and told me that I had a form of epilepsy that caused blackouts. He gave me pills.”
“Did that help?”
“The blackouts stopped. Harlan warned me not to tell anyone about my illness. If the foster care people found out, they’d send me away to a hospital.”
In one of her few lengthy conversations, Belle had described the horrors of a place she referred to as the “asylum.” She made it sound like a dungeon where he’d be locked up in a cage. The authorities couldn’t let crazy people like Drew run around loose. He might hurt someone.
So he kept his mouth shut. “When I was fifteen, the blackouts came more frequently. Sometimes, they’d last for a day. Sometimes, just for a couple of hours. Since I never knew when they’d happen, I missed a couple of practice sessions for the football team. Rather than explaining, I dropped out.”
“What position did you play?”
“Running back, and I was pretty damn good. But team sports weren’t for me. I started skateboarding, running, riding my bike off-road.” He cast a sidelong glance in her direction. “Are you with me so far?”
She nodded. “Everything you’ve said makes sense, and I’m glad to know about the epilepsy. It’s something to watch for in the baby.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve had tests run. I’m not epileptic.”
She left the sofa and went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. “What caused the blackouts?”
“I don’t know.” With his own cup in hand, he followed her. “One of the reasons I moved back to South Dakota was to do research. I hoped to find answers.”
“What have you found out?”
“Not much.” It was frustrating as hell. He was a journalist—not necessarily an investigative whiz but he knew how to fact-find. “There’s no rational way to explain what happened to me. Or the results.”
“Results?”
“My physical abilities. Or disabilities. I’m not sure which word applies.”
“Stop.” She held up her palm like a crossing guard.
He froze with the coffeepot in one hand and his mug in the other. “What?”
“Disabilities? I’m pretty well acquainted with your physical attributes, and I’ve never noticed anything wrong with you.”
“Maybe you haven’t explored thoroughly.”
“Oh, but I have.” She looked him up and down. “I’ve been all over your personal terrain, from the top of your head to, um, all the other parts.”
He placed his full coffee mug on the counter. “I like what you do to all my parts.”
She gave him a reluctant smile. “Ditto.”
“Your terrain is a lot more interesting than mine.” He slid his hands down her torso. “All these nice curves.” He reached behind to squeeze her butt. “And this round, firm, sexy bottom.”
She subtly shifted position, arching toward him. Her chin lifted, and he knew she wanted to respond to his caresses with the sensuality that was an integral part of her nature.
“You’re distracting me,” she said.
“That’s the idea.”
He didn’t know how to tell the rest of his story. His theory, developed over the years, was that he’d been experimented on during those blackouts. Whatever they’d done to him changed his blood and gave him the regenerative capabilities that allowed him to heal in a matter of minutes. If he announced to her that he was, in a way, invincible, she’d run like hell. And he wouldn’t blame her for thinking he was some kind of nut-job.
Lacking the words to explain, he did what came naturally. A light kiss. The taste of apple pie sweetened her lips.
He whispered, “Have I mentioned that I’m crazy about you?”
“Crazy being the operative word.” She used both hands to push him away, then stepped back and leaned against the counter. “Are you going to tell me about this physical thing you have?”
The most obvious way to prove his case would be to take a butcher knife from the drawer by the sink and cut a vein. He could show her his ability. But self-healing took a toll. Today, for their escape, he needed to have all his faculties intact.
“Come away with me, Melinda.”
“Don’t change the subject.” She shook her head, and her auburn curls flopped across her forehead. “You’re not going to leave me with a cliff-hanger. What caused your blackouts? Do you still have them?”
“They went away after I left the Andersons’ house when I was eighteen.” He had timed his escape for the moment when he aged out of the foster system. He was an adult. No one would be searching for him.
“So, you have a clean bill of health,” she said. “No serious illness or injury.”
“Nothing serious.”
She seemed relieved, and he knew her concern wasn’t about him or his health. She was worried about the tiny life growing inside her womb. One of her hands rested on her belly as if she could shelter the baby from harm.
He had the same instinct. Protective. Paternal. He had to keep them all safe. He came toward her, rested his palm on top of hers. “We need time alone, Melinda. To talk.”
“You could be right about that.”
As he looked down into her greenish-gray eyes, he saw her attitude change. She was no longer wary.
When he was doing interviews with athletes who generally weren’t anywhere as articulate as Melinda, he learned to recognize the pivotal moment when they were ready to open up. That’s what he saw in her. She was coming around to his way of thinking. She didn’t want facts; she needed an emotional reason to believe in him.
“Last night, when you told me about the baby, I didn’t know how to handle it. I ran. That’s what I’ve always done.” He closed the distance between them to a matter of inches. “But I want this time to be different. I want to talk, to plan our future.”
“Our future? Together?”
Was it possible? Could he settle down and build a normal life with her? Daring to hope, he kissed her.
As their lips joined, he felt her resistance fade. Her slim, supple body molded to his and her arms encircled him. Her lips parted, and he eagerly deepened the kiss with his tongue.
A sensual energy spread through him. With every beat of his heart, his blood rushed. Holding her felt so right, so good. They’d made love often enough that he knew where she liked to be touched and vice versa. She trailed her fingernails down his back, and the teasing pressure aroused him.
He pulled her tight, wanting to feel her heartbeat synchronized with his, wanting to be a part of her, joined. Was it safe to make love to her now? Could he allow himself to let down his guard? Probably not.
He loosened his grasp. Though he’d disposed of the bug, his enemies were nearby and ready to attack, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
He nuzzled her earlobe and whispered, “You’re going to like my cabin. It’s secluded.”
She pulled away from him. “I need to make a few phone calls first.”
Though the urge to make love to her was nearly irresistible, his number one priority was to get her to a safe location. “Make the calls on your cell. Let’s go. Right now.”
THOUGH MELINDA really didn’t understand his need to hurry, she changed quickly into a well-worn pair of jeans, a blue cotton sweater and a burgundy winter jacket. The weather in Sioux Falls had been pleasantly warm, but there might be snow at his cabin in the Black Hills.
When she turned on her cell phone, there were half a dozen messages. One was from Ruth, the nurse at the clinic. How odd! Surely, it was too early for any results on her blood tests. And the call-back number was Ruth’s personal phone.
Drew had already stowed her suitcase in the car. He hovered beside her. “Ready?”
“One minute. I want to return this call.”
She ignored the impatient grumbling noises he made. The way she figured, he had no room to complain. He was lucky that she’d agreed to this trip at all. That whole story about his blackouts when he was a kid didn’t mesh with his current paranoid state. Just because he had a lousy childhood, it didn’t mean people were chasing him.
But she wanted this time alone with him to talk about the baby. Even if she raised the child alone, Drew was still the father.
He took a position near the door, arms folded across his chest. Though she couldn’t see the gun hidden under his black leather jacket, she knew he was armed. He looked dangerous and very, very sexy. Which was the other reason she wanted to run away with him. Crazy or not, Drew was hot.
She called Ruth’s number. Her message had said “as soon as possible,” so Melinda didn’t worry that it might be too early for someone who worked the evening shift.
Ruth answered quickly. “I was hoping I’d catch you last night.”
