That's My Baby!. Vicki Lewis Thompson

she saw everything.

      Russell cleared his throat. “I don’t know your exact relationship to my daughter, and I don’t think I want to know,” he said. “Maybe you left her high and dry and maybe you didn’t. But if you find her and can let us know, this number will get you straight through to me.” He handed Nat an embossed card.

      “I’ll find her.”

      Russell extended his hand, and there was an unspoken plea in his gaze. He was obviously too proud to voice it, but it was there, nevertheless. “Good luck to you, son.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      JESSICA DIDN’T BOTHER to follow the road around to the house. She moved through the trees, greeting each one as an old friend while she tried to decide what to do once she arrived at the mansion. She couldn’t imagine what Nat was doing there. She was afraid to hope he was looking for her.

      Her first glimpse of the house brought a rush of homesickness. Glancing up to the second floor, she picked out the darkened windows of her bedroom. Her parents wouldn’t have changed it. She and her mother had flown to Paris to choose the golden toile de Jouy fabric that draped the windows and the antique canopy bed. The bed probably had sheets on it, just in case she returned.

      Most of the time she’d felt trapped in this house, but she’d also felt incredibly safe. Safety sounded good right now.

      But if she walked into the house and accepted the protection her parents would love to give her, she’d lose all the independent ground she’d gained. And the fight wasn’t only about her now. Elizabeth deserved to grow up like a normal child instead of being followed by bodyguards wherever she went.

      Oh, but the tug of home was strong, even after all this time. They were burning oak in the fireplace. The familiar smell of the smoke made her throat ache. She could picture her mother and father, each in their favorite wingback chair, reading glasses perched on their noses as they settled down with a favorite book. The love seat had been designated as hers, positioning her right between them.

      When she’d been small, before she’d begun feeling stifled, the love seat sandwiched between her parents’ chairs had been a good place to be. She hadn’t exactly been allowed to sprawl on that seat while she read, but they’d let her tuck her feet under her as long as she took off her shoes first.

      In those early days, at precisely nine o’clock, Barclay would arrive with refreshments—lemonade in the summer and steaming cocoa in the winter. And gingersnaps. Jessica could almost feel the crunch between her teeth.

      She wondered if Nat was sitting on the love seat at this very minute. What on earth was he saying to her parents? A horrible thought came to her. If she told Nat about Elizabeth and the stalker, he might insist that she come back here and inform her parents. If he wanted to tell them himself, she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

      With Elizabeth’s freedom at stake, maybe she’d better not tell Nat too much until she was sure he wouldn’t go running to her parents with the information. She didn’t think he’d sell her out, but she couldn’t be sure. After all, he’d come here tonight.

      But she needed a plan.

      The cab Nat had arrived in sat empty in the driveway as the driver strolled around smoking a cigarette. He returned to the cab to stub it out in the ashtray, which was a good thing, she thought. Herb, the gardener, would have a fit if he found a cigarette butt lying on his velvet lawn. He had enough trouble contending with the autumn leaves, which he snatched up the minute they dropped from the trees.

      Still, she missed Herb and his persnickety ways. She missed all of the staff, even stuffy Barclay. She hadn’t realized how much until she stood in the shadows looking at the house that had sheltered her for so many years. But then, she supposed zoo animals would miss their keepers if they were suddenly turned loose. You had to give up something to get something, as her father was so fond of saying.

      The cabdriver walked away from the car again and headed for the slope leading down to the river. About that time, the lights of a barge appeared from upriver, and the rumble of the boat’s engines drifted toward her on the night air. The driver stood with his back to her, his hands in his pockets as he gazed at the approaching boat.

      Jessica’s pulse leaped as she recognized her opportunity. Nat had ridden in the front seat on the way out here. No doubt he’d do the same on the way back. While the cabbie watched the barge sail past, she could hide on the floor of the back seat. The boat’s engines would muffle the sound of her opening and closing the car door.

      Unless Nat happened to come out at the exact moment when she was sneaking into the cab, she’d be able to hitch a ride without being noticed. When they arrived at Nat’s hotel, she’d reveal herself and hope that the cabdriver didn’t have a weak heart.

      As for Nat, maybe he deserved the jolt she’d give him. For all she knew, he was telling her parents about her involvement with him, which she definitely didn’t appreciate having him do without checking with her first. To be fair, he would have had some trouble checking with her first, but still, in coming here he’d overstepped his bounds.

      The rumble of the boat’s engine grew louder. Good thing she didn’t have a weak heart. It was skittering around like crazy while she waited for the noise to reach its loudest point. Okay. Now. She hurried toward the cab. The back door was locked.

      She lost precious time opening the front door and reaching around to lift the button on the back door. Fortunately the barge’s engines drowned out the sounds she made. Or at least she hoped they did. The rhythmic rush of blood against her eardrums made it difficult to gauge how much noise she was making.

      Luck seemed to be favoring her. The cabdriver didn’t turn around and the front door remained closed. She climbed into the back seat and shut the car door as quietly as possible. The driver stood watching the barge edge down the river. He probably didn’t think he needed to watch over his cab when he was inside the gated confines of Franklin Hall.

      Putting her backpack on the floor, she lay on her side across the hump and put her head on the backpack. Not so good. And she’d thought she was roughing it when she’d had to give up first-class for coach.

      She shifted position several times trying for some level of comfort. Finally she gave up. Comfort wasn’t in the cards for this ride. She’d have to hope, when the cab reached the city, that she wouldn’t be too crippled to walk.

      Now if she could only stop gasping for breath, she might actually be able to pull this off. She forced herself to inhale slowly and deeply. She almost choked on the stale cigarette smell wafting up from the carpeting.

      I’m doing this for Elizabeth, she told herself. She turned to face the back seat instead of the front, which gave her a little more breathing room. Gradually she became more accustomed to the obnoxious odor.

      Nat’s backpack was within reach on the back seat. She stroked the frayed canvas, as if that would somehow start the process of connecting to him. He was not the same man who’d left her in Aspen, that was for sure. But then she wasn’t the same woman, either. Maybe they’d find no common ground other than the most obvious—their child. But Elizabeth’s welfare was worth any amount of sacrifice she had to make.

      Despite her awkward position on the floor of the car, she began to relax. Then she heard the front door of the house open and close. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Nat was coming.

      “All set?” the cabdriver called.

      “Let’s go,” Nat replied.

      His voice splashed over her, drenching her with longing. She wanted him. No matter how she’d tried to stamp out her feelings, the sound of his voice brought back a flood of memories—tender, lusty, explosive memories. And of all the times they’d made love, the most electrifying had been the night they’d conceived Elizabeth. He’d become such a part of her that night that she’d thought for sure he’d agree to break the code of silence.

      Instead, he’d smashed their love to smithereens.

      Her