My Baby, My Love. Dani Sinclair

be back.”

      Sydney waited, but he didn’t return. And by afternoon, she knew everything.

      “I’m afraid we won’t be able to determine if you’ll regain the full use of all the fingers until after the swelling goes down,” the self-important surgeon told her. “The nerve and muscle damage was extensive.”

      Staring at her completely bandaged right hand, Sydney was barely able to control the fearful anxiety the doctor’s words created. Her career as a jeweler might be over. With only one usable hand, could she do the intricate work required? Her heart pounded. Her throat went dry.

      Then he dropped his bombshell.

      “Fortunately, the baby is fine. Your concussion had us worried at first, naturally, but it appears there’s no permanent damage done there either. You may experience some headaches and a little dizziness from the concussion….”

      Baby?

      He might as well have spoken in Chinese.

      “I’m pregnant?” Sydney could only stare at the man. Jerome’s friend, the fertility doctor, had told them the procedure hadn’t worked! “Are you certain?”

      Thrown off stride by the interruption, the doctor rubbed the pen tip against the side of his face as if bewildered. “Quite certain, Mrs. Inglewood. You appear to be about three months pregnant. When was…?”

      That incompetent twit! Hadn’t she guessed she couldn’t trust Jerome’s friend? His entire clinic had done little to inspire confidence. She should have known he’d get the test results wrong.

      “I got pregnant three months and nine days ago,” she told the surgeon. That date was engraved on her mind for all time.

      Like a delayed electric charge, the impact of his revelation suddenly slammed home. She was going to have a baby! Jerome’s baby.

      But Jerome was dead!

      She’d been in the process of filing for a divorce.

      She could not be pregnant! Not now! Not when this officious surgeon was implying that her hand might never function properly again and her whole career could be in jeopardy.

      Panic clogged her throat while the surgeon stood beside her, calmly, arrogantly sure of himself as he continued to list her health concerns. The soft-spoken man hadn’t a clue that his words were doing more to shock her than the bullet had done.

      Sydney glanced at her stomach and shook her head in denial. She didn’t look pregnant. She didn’t feel pregnant. She did not want to be pregnant. Not now. She wanted this doctor to be wrong.

      A vision of a tall man in a military uniform made her close her eyes in despair. Noah. She was pregnant with his brother’s baby.

      A shiver racked her entire body. This wasn’t happening. She wanted to grab her pounding head and close her eyes until the nightmare ended.

      “Mrs. Inglewood, I assure you,” the surgeon continued, “the baby is fine. There’s no cause for alarm.”

      Wanting to laugh, she also wanted to cry. No wonder she’d been thrashing around when she’d started to wake up. She wanted to thrash around again right now. Her entire world had just shifted one hundred eighty degrees.

      She was relieved when the doctor finally left. Staring out the window, she tried to calm the insidious threat of panic welling in her chest. Pregnant! What was she going to do?

      She hadn’t liked the small fertility clinic or the hyper doctor who ran it, but Jerome had insisted on using both. The man was a former schoolmate. A friend. And his brand-new clinic needed patients. Small wonder. The creep also needed to go back to medical school.

      Despite his assurance that the procedure hadn’t worked, she was pregnant. She clutched the sheet covering her, wadding the material into a destructive ball. Whether the timing suited her or not, Sydney was going to have the child she’d always wanted.

      The police and FBI arrived before she had time to think past the shock. Despite their effusive apologies for disturbing her, Sydney spent the bulk of the afternoon answering questions until her voice was hoarse and her head felt as if it were going to come apart in her hands.

      The thieves had made off with more than three quarters of a million dollars. They hadn’t left a trace of evidence behind. They’d even been smart enough to locate and take the bank’s surveillance tapes. All the authorities had was Sydney, the only eyewitness to what had happened. Not that she was much help. Despite her best efforts, Sydney couldn’t give them anything to work with. Exhausted, she fell asleep as soon as they left.

      Dreams fragmented her sleep. Real events blended with menacing nightmares that brought her to the edge of waking. She knew she was dreaming, but she couldn’t seem to force her heavy eyes open.

      Fear became a writhing force in her chest as she faced the gunman all over again. In her dream, someone hovered just out of sight. The danger felt all too real. If only she could open her eyes to look.

      Sydney struggled to release herself from the nightmare’s hold. Her senses screamed at her to open her eyes. A crash pierced the nightmare, jarring her free. She opened her eyes and gasped for air. A bearded man with long hair stood beside her bed.

      Piercing dark eyes glared down at her, plunging icy fear straight through her veins. He withdrew his hand from inside the nightstand drawer. Fingers flexed. A subtle threat. But there was no subtlety in the stare that drilled into her. The menace was real. She drew in a ragged breath of air to scream when a voice in the hall called out sharply.

      “Hey, orderly! They need your help in 413! Someone fell!”

      Without a word, the man turned and strode away.

      Badly shaken, Sydney struggled to sit up. Pain clawed her head with needlelike talons. Dropping her chin to her chest, she pressed her palm against her throbbing temple, so dizzy she was nearly sick. The wave of vertigo passed, leaving her weak and spent in reaction. Only when she could finally open her eyes again and everything remained still did she notice the dinner tray sitting on the tray table beside her.

      The drawer of her nightstand was partially open. A vase of flowers had fallen to the floor. It must have been the crash that had penetrated her nightmare.

      Hand on the call button, she hesitated. Had the threat been real, or imagined? Had the orderly merely looked angry because he’d knocked over the vase and was afraid he’d be in trouble? Or was there another, more sinister reason?

      Surely the police officer who’d summoned the man wouldn’t have let anyone in her room without credentials.

      But years of television cop shows said anyone could get a set of credentials. And she hadn’t noticed any around his neck. Maybe he’d brought in her dinner tray and maybe he hadn’t. For certain he’d knocked over the flowers. And his hands had been inside the drawer of her nightstand. He could have been searching for something to wipe up the mess, but the memory of his cold dark eyes sent her hand to the call light.

      Minutes passed. No one came. Why wasn’t anyone responding?

      Shoving back the covers, Sydney stood. Dizzy, she grabbed the tray table for support. The stand began to roll.

      “Mrs. Inglewood!”

      A slip of a nurse rushed inside the room, barely in time to prevent her fall.

      “I almost didn’t catch you! Here sit down. There’s glass all over the floor! You knocked over a vase. You should have waited for someone to come and help you up. We had an emergency. The patient down the hall just fell out of bed. He’s a large man and it took four of us to get him back in again. The last thing we need is for you to fall down, too. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

      “No!”

      “Then what’s the problem?”

      “The man who was just in here, I think he brought this tray. Do you know him?”

      Puzzled,