Decoded. Debra Webb

of a kind,” Slade agreed before climbing out of the big cab.

      “Thanks, Pete.” Maggie returned his smile. She wanted to say more, but the right words escaped her. Instead, she climbed out of the massive truck and turned to the man who had flipped her world upside down.

      Slade placed his hand at her elbow and urged her forward. Maggie hated to say anything, but she really needed to use the ladies’ room, and her stomach was out of sorts. Several gas stations and no shortage of restaurants, mostly fast food, lined the street. Surely they could make a quick dash into one of them. The smell of food wafting in the air should have been appealing, but the thick odors were anything but this morning.

      “Can we get coffee?” She and Slade had been sleeping together for nearly two years. It was foolish of her to be embarrassed about mentioning her personal needs to him, but she was, nonetheless.

      “As soon as we’re out of eyesight from our friend Pete we’ll have breakfast and a break.”

      Maggie wanted to ask him what came next, but she decided to wait until she had relieved herself and gotten some food into her stomach—if she could manage the latter. She didn’t feel well. Prompting additional stress wouldn’t be smart right now, she reminded herself. Her hand went instinctively to her belly.

      Guilt that she wasn’t adequately protecting her child roiled inside her. She wasn’t sure how far along she was. This month’s skipped cycle would indicate about six or seven weeks. But last month’s had been off, almost nonexistent. If she had actually missed two cycles, she would be ten or eleven weeks along. If she survived this scene right out of an action flick, she had only about seven months to go.

      The same old questions logjammed in her brain. How had this happened? Did she need to be concerned that she’d taken her pills for some amount of time after conception? She needed to set up a doctor’s appointment as soon as possible. There were so many steps that needed to be taken. Assuming she survived this.

      She stole a glance at the man beside her. What in the world was she going to do?

      He chose a familiar chain restaurant for breakfast. As they entered, the smells of pancakes, eggs and bacon made her stomach rumble, this time in anticipation. Maybe food was all she needed to settle that unpleasant feeling plaguing her. The hostess seated them and promised that a waitress would be with them soon. Maggie excused herself and hurried to the ladies’ room.

      One look in the mirror and she gasped. Slade had insisted on leaving her purse in her car, so she had nothing to work with. For now, she relieved herself, washed her hands and face, and tried to do something with her hair. Those Irish locks she’d inherited from her great-grandmother were as stubborn as all get-out. She did the best she could, then tidied her clothes.

      She was ready. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was even paler than usual. She licked her lips and took a deep breath.

      “What’re you doing?” Why didn’t she just walk out of here? There were too many people around for him to draw his weapon. He wouldn’t want that kind of attention.

      Anticipation stirred in her chest. Once she’d explained what happened to the police, she could go home. Take care of the coffee shop. See the doctor. Get on with her life.

      The police can’t protect us, Maggie. What if he was right? What if this crazy woman tried to use Maggie to lure Slade into some sort of trap? Or killed her?