Her Valentine Blind Date. Raye Morgan

      “Ah. Better the devil you know, is that it?” He tried to act in his usual debonair fashion, but at the same time, he gazed at her uneasily. This was the woman he’d thought he was going to manipulate? Obviously, those plans were due for a rethink. But that would come later. Right now, he had other problems on his hands.

      “This might not be pleasant,” he warned her. “I’m not sure what we’re facing here. So be prepared for anything.”

      She shrugged, wondering if he had noticed how her fingers were trembling. She was nowhere near as sure of herself as she tried to sound. When she’d said this date was weird, she’d been soft-pedaling the circumstances. She’d been bowled over at first by his presence, his confidence, his obvious savoir faire, and she’d been intimidated. But that was then.

      Now, with the calls from the mother and the visits to slum neighborhoods, she had a bad feeling about this whole situation. He might be Mara’s husband’s cousin, but he was not your usual Texas boy. She’d have to keep this man in her sights and stay on her toes.

      “If there’s a problem, maybe I can help,” she suggested. “I don’t want to drag your assistant away when you need him most.” She managed a stilted smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way. But I’ll be in the background the whole time, ready to help if you need me. In the meantime, you won’t even know I’m there.”

      His gaze was skeptical. “Right.” He grimaced, but decided to play this one by ear. He ran a hand through his thick hair and sighed.

      “Okay. If you’re up for this, let’s go on in and see what Tito has gotten me into now.”

      The building was dirty and smelled like day-old food. They found the apartment quickly enough. Max knocked and the door opened. A short, stocky man built like a fireplug greeted them nervously, nodding when Cari was introduced, his mind obviously on the business at hand and not on her.

      “Let’s see it,” Max said, and Tito stood back to let them in.

      Cari followed. She walked into the room totally unprepared for what she would find. The two men went quickly to the far end of the room, and at first she couldn’t see where they were headed. When she caught sight of the baby crib, she froze.

      No! Not a baby. Oh please, not a baby. Her breath caught and panic fluttered in her chest. Memories of her own four-month-old baby, Michelle, flooded her senses, hitting her unexpectedly. She wasn’t prepared to deal with this. Cringing, she almost whimpered aloud.

      It had been almost two years since the car accident that had taken the lives of her husband, Brian, and Michelle, their much-adored infant. Two years where she’d avoided every possibility of coming face-to-face with a real, live baby. She turned blindly, her impulse to rush out into the hallway and then away, as far away as she could get. Anything to escape the pain that seeing a baby like this represented.

      Just as she hit the doorway, the baby began to cry. She stopped, unable to take another step. There were little gurgling sobs at first, then full-fledged piercing screams.

      Turning, she looked back. A baby was crying. A baby needed comfort. Everything in her, every instinct, began to pull her back. Babies were tiny, helpless things with little waving arms and tiny kicking feet. They needed help. She was a woman, naturally equipped with the talent and emotions custom made for doing that. And yet…

      She stood where she was, unable to take those steps that would bring her back to the baby’s crib, unable to take steps out the door. Closing her eyes, she tried to catch her breath and still the wild beating of her heart. The look, the feel, the smell of her own lost baby filled her head. And the pain was almost too intense to bear.

      Max’s entire focus was on the baby. As he looked down at the dark-haired infant, his heart swelled with bittersweet anticipation. Was there a hint of Gino in that little face? Did the hands look like his brother’s? Was this child all that was left of his brother’s life? That was very possibly the situation. He would move heaven and earth to find out. And if it turned out to be the case, there was no way he would let this baby go.

      “Boy or girl?” he asked the stalwart assistant standing beside him.

      “Boy.”

      He supposed he should have known. The gown, the blanket, everything was blue. Despite the cluttered, messy condition of the room, things inside the crib looked clean enough.

      “Name?”

      “The babysitter says his name is Jamie.”

      “Babysitter?” For the first time since he’d come in the room, he raised his gaze from his study of the baby. “There’s a babysitter?”

      Tito nodded. “I told her to wait in the bedroom.”

      Max nodded back, then his eyes narrowed. “Where’s Sheila?” he asked, naming his brother’s girlfriend.

      He’d only met her once. She was pretty, of course, and nice enough in her way, but her way tended to be a ditzy combination of brainless chatter and limitless desire for luxurious things. She and Gino were no longer an item when he was killed in the crash of a small plane. No one seemed to know what had happened to her. It was only months later that she began calling, claiming she’d had Gino’s child, demanding money.

      Tito’s shrug was all encompassing. “The babysitter doesn’t know. She says she was hired three days ago, and Sheila was supposed to be back in twenty-four hours. She has no contact number and Sheila hasn’t called.”

      “Have you searched the place for phone numbers or addresses?”

      “Of course. I haven’t found anything relevant.”

      “Damn. Well, we can’t just wait here.”

      “The babysitter said she was getting pretty scared herself. She was about on the point of calling the police when I got here.”

      “But she didn’t?”

      “No. At least, that’s what she claims.”

      “Good.” Max nodded again. “We’ll get a local lawyer to handle this before we speak to the authorities.”

      Tito looked at him intently. “So you plan to take the baby?”

      “Of course.”

      Tito nodded, but as if on cue, the baby began to fuss.

      Max stared down at it. So did Tito. The fussing got more serious.

      “It’s crying,” Tito said at last.

      “Yes. So it seems.” Max backed away a bit. Crying babies were not within his sphere of experience and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know more.

      Tito tried wiggling his fingers in front of the baby’s face, but he only cried louder.

      “It won’t stop,” he noted, beginning to look worried.

      Max frowned, uneasy as well. “No.” He looked at his assistant. “Was it crying before?”

      Tito shook his head. “It’s been asleep, I think. I know it wasn’t making this kind of noise.”

      “It is now.” Max winced as the decibel level increased.

      “Well, what do you do when they cry?” Tito asked his boss, seemingly at a loss.

      Max’s frown grew fiercer. “How the hell should I know?”

      The two men looked at each other, then back down at the baby. The mood was grim.

      By now, Cari had managed to cross the room and was right behind them. She could just barely see the baby. He was crying as though his heart would break, holding nothing back. Her fear, her panic, was gone now. Her heart thumped in her chest, but she had things under a fair modicum of control. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way between the men.

      “Don’t knock yourselves out looking for the off switch,” she advised tartly.