Secret Agent, Secret Father. Donna Young

rain and wind spit at them. She raised his hand to her cheek, felt the ice-cold fingers against her skin. She glanced around and saw no car. How had he gotten here? Walked?

      Her nearest neighbor was down the beach, too far to call for help. If she left him outside, he’d be worse off by the time the ambulance got there.

      A few weeks ago, the doctor had said no heavy lifting. What would he say if he knew the father of the baby lay half-dead on her porch?

      “Jacob!” She screamed his name, but he didn’t stir.

      She scrambled inside and grabbed her purse from the counter. She’d call the ambulance from the front porch—

      Then she heard it, the familiar ring tone of her cell phone.

      She dumped the contents of her handbag onto the counter, ignoring the lipstick and keys that fell to the floor. She snagged her phone, saw the displayed name and punched the button.

      “Pusher?” She flipped the overhead switches on. Lights flooded the room, making her blink. A glance to the doorway told her Jacob hadn’t moved. She ran back to his side, checked the pulse at his neck.

      “Grace? Thank God.” Pusher Davis paused on a shaky breath. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine but I need you to—”

      “Then you haven’t talked to anyone?”

      “Talked…” she said, momentarily off balance. Using the cuff of her sweatshirt she wiped the blood from Jacob’s forehead, trying to get a good look at the injury beneath. “Pusher, I don’t have time for this.” His skin grayed in the porch light. She had enough experience to know he’d lost too much blood. “I need you to—”

      “Helene’s dead.”

      “Helene?” Tension fisted in her chest. “Dead?”

      “Grace, I found her body outside The Tens. In the back alley.”

      Helene, dead? The fist tightened, catching her breath on a short choke of surprise. It couldn’t be true. She’d just seen Helene earlier that day. They’d met at their favorite sidewalk bistro for a farewell lunch.

      “It’s Monday night. The bar should’ve been closed. She shouldn’t have even been there this late. What happened?” The question slipped from her lips, but a prick at the nape of her neck told her the answer.

      “She’d been shot,” Pusher answered, then paused. “Grace, last time I saw her she was with Jacob Lomax.”

      She studied the wound in Jacob’s shoulder, forced herself to inhale. Hide, Grace, before they kill you.

      “Did you hear me?”

      “Yes,” she answered, then took another breath to steady herself. “Are the police there?”

      “Not yet. But I’ve called them.”

      “Pusher, listen to me.” She nearly screamed the words. “I need you to stall them when they get there. They’re going to want to talk to me, but I can’t right now.”

      “I don’t think you understand, Grace. Helene has been murdered—”

      “I understand.” She cut him off, not trying to stop the urgency of her words. “Jacob Lomax collapsed on my porch a few minutes ago. He’s been shot, too,” she added, deciding to put her trust in Pusher. “And until I find out why, the police will only complicate things.”

      “But if Lomax is there—”

      “I told you, he is.”

      “Then why the cloak-and-dagger, Grace? If Jacob has been shot, this could have been a robbery. A simple case of wrong place, wrong time. I’ve seen it before.”

      “I don’t think it is and I need some time to make sure.”

      “Why? Do you think he shot Helene?” He said the words almost jokingly. But when she didn’t respond, he swore. “You do, don’t you?”

      “No,” she snapped. “I think his life is in danger.”

      When the manager didn’t say anything, she added. “I can’t explain right now. And I can’t do this without your help, Pusher. Please,” she whispered.

      “Okay, okay. Lord knows, I owe you,” he answered, the uncertainty thickening his Texas drawl. “I can probably stall them until morning. A little longer if they get ahold of my rap sheet. Will that work?”

      She could trust Pusher to take care of the police. The ex-con had certainly sold her on hiring him a few years back, against Helene and her father’s wishes.

      “Yes, that will work,” she said. “Thanks, Pusher.”

      “It’s been a while since I’ve been in an interrogation room. Was feeling a little homesick, anyway,” he mused before his tone turned serious. “Grace, watch your back. The cops aren’t your only worry. I won’t ask again why you think Jacob’s in danger. But if you’re right and he is a target, you could become collateral damage.”

      “I’ll be careful.”

      She hung up the phone. Calling an ambulance was out of the question now. Not until she found out what was going on. She glanced at Jacob before hitting the speed dial.

      The phone clicked on the fourth ring. “Hello.”

      “Dad, it’s Grace.”

      “Grace. Do you realize what time—”

      “Dad, I need your help.” Jacob’s wound couldn’t wait for her father’s lecture. “Your medical help.”

      Suddenly, his tone turned sharp. “Is something the matter? Is it the baby?”

      “The baby?” She gripped the phone tighter. Deceit warred with desperation inside of her. “Yes, it’s the baby.”

      “Are you spotting again?”

      “No,” she answered, not wanting to add that possibility to her father’s worry. “But I can’t explain over the phone. I need you to come over here now. And don’t tell anyone where you are going. I want to keep this private.”

      “Don’t tell…Grace Ann, maybe you had better explain—”

      “Not now, Dad. Please,” she added to soften her order. She moved her hand over Jacob’s heart, took reassurance in its steady beat against her palm. “And bring your medical bag.”

      “I will, but I want to know what’s going on when I get there.”

      “I promise full disclosure,” she agreed. “And Dad, do one more thing for me?”

      “What?”

      “Hurry,” she whispered.

      Charles Renne hesitated for only a split second. They might not understand each other’s views, but he was a father. One that understood fear. “I will.”

      Grace snapped the phone shut and shoved it into her sweatshirt pocket. Her father would take a good hour to reach her from Washington, D.C. Jacob couldn’t wait that long.

      “I can do this but you need to be easy with our baby, okay big guy?” It took some shifting, but she managed to maneuver herself behind him. Rain soaked her sweatshirt, plastered her hair to her forehead. Impatiently, she brushed the blond strands away, then slid her hands under his arms and around his chest.

      Jacob was a good six inches over her own five-eight frame, and had well over fifty pounds on her. He was built lean, with the firm muscles and long limbs of a distance runner. Grateful her taste didn’t run toward male bulk, she settled him back until he rested against her chest and shoulder.

      The clatter of metal ricocheted in the night air. She glanced down. A pistol lay on the cement, its barrel inches from her feet.

      His?