Lock, Stock and Secret Baby. Cassie Miles

      “Me, too.”

      “I guess we have something in common.”

      “More than you know,” he said. “Tell me about your relationship with my dad.”

      Apparently, Mr. Perfect wasn’t big on idle chatter. This felt like an interrogation. “I communicated with Dr. Ray once a year, every year. On my birthday, I filled out a status report with forty questions. Some of them were essay questions and took a while to answer.”

      “Did you ever wonder why?”

      “Of course, I did.” His terse questions provoked an equally abrupt response from her. “I’m not a mindless idiot.”

      He gave a short laugh. “I’d bet on the opposite. You’re pretty damn smart.”

      “Maybe.”

      “Tell me what you know about my dad’s status reports.”

      What was he getting at? He must already know this information. “Your father told me I was part of a study group made up of children with similar backgrounds and key genetic markers. He monitored potential and achievement, which was why he helped me get scholarships.”

      “Take a right at the next light.”

      She could feel his scrutiny as he studied her. Though she wasn’t sure that she even liked this guy, she responded to him with an unwanted excitement that set her heart racing. Her brain fumbled for something to break the silence. “There was a good turnout for the funeral.”

      “Did you recognize anybody?”

      “Not a soul. I kind of expected to see Dr. Prentice.”

      “How do you know Prentice?”

      “He was the other half of the study your father worked on,” she said. “As I’m sure you already know.”

      “Tell me, anyway.”

      “Your dad correlated the psychiatric data. And Prentice did medical examinations every few years or so. He contacted me about six weeks ago.”

      “The date?”

      She pulled up her mental calendar. “It was April sixteenth, the day after tax day. Prentice said he needed to see me right away. There was an issue about possible exposure to radiation when I was a child.”

      “And you were scared.”

      “Terrified.” There had been a similar scare five years ago that Dr. Prentice treated with a brief course of mediation. “Radiation poisoning isn’t something to mess around with. Turns out that I’m fine. Prentice gave me a clean bill of health.”

      “What do you remember about the testing?”

      “It was a thorough physical.” She wasn’t about to go into details about the pelvic exam or the part where she’d been under anesthetic. “I went to a clinic after work on a Friday, and I didn’t get home until after ten o’clock. Dr. Prentice’s assistant drove me and made sure I got into bed.”

      “Any ill effects?”

      Come to think of it she hadn’t been feeling like herself lately. Her stomach had been queasy. A couple of times, she’d vomited. “Do you know anything about the testing?”

      “Yes,” he said curtly.

      Her fear returned with a vengeance. What did Blake know? Had he pulled her aside because he had bad news? She might have been poisoned by a childhood exposure, might have some awful disease. Her cells could be turning against her at this very moment. “Why did you say that you needed to talk to me?”

      “Pull over.”

      This had to be bad news. “Why?”

      He touched her arm, and she recoiled as if he’d poked her with a cattle prod. She wanted nothing more to do with Mr. Perfect. He was toying with her, asking inane questions and hinting at dire circumstances.

      She yanked the steering wheel and made a hard right onto a side street with wood-frame houses, skimpy trees and sidewalks that blended into the curb. Halfway down the block, she parked and turned off the engine. Eve preferred facts to innuendo. She wanted the truth, no matter how horrible.

      “All right, Blake, I’m parked. If you have something to tell me, get on with it.”

      His eyes flicked as if he was searching her face, trying to gauge her reaction. “It might be better if I gave you more information. Set the framework.”

      “Just spit it out.” She braced herself. “Am I dying?”

      He cleared his throat. “Eve, I have reason to believe that you’re pregnant.”

      “That’s impossible.”

      She was a virgin.

       Chapter Two

      Blake watched her reaction, looking for a sign that Eve Weathers had been complicit in Prentice’s scheme. He saw nothing of the kind.

      His information had shocked her. She gasped, loudly and repeatedly. Her eyes opened wide. Pupils dilated. She was on the verge of hyperventilation. Her chest heaved against the seat belt. “I can’t be pregnant.”

      “I said it was a possibility.”

      “Why would you say such a thing? And how the hell would you know?”

      “Before he was murdered, my father sent me an e-mail.” At the moment the e-mail was sent, Blake had been in a debriefing meeting at the Pentagon. He didn’t read the message until two hours later. By then, it was too late. His father was dead.

      “What did it say?”

      Too much for him to explain right now. Blake cut to the pertinent facts. “My father received information that Dr. Prentice had implanted you with an embryo.”

      “During the examination? While I was unconscious?” She dragged her fingers through her pale blond hair. “That’s sickening. Disgusting.”

      When she grasped the key in the ignition, he stayed her hand. Gently, he said, “Maybe you should let me drive.”

      She yanked away from him. “My car. I drive.”

      “You don’t look so good,” he said.

      “Thanks so much.”

      “Not an insult.” He liked her looks. “I meant that you appear to be in shock. I don’t want you to pass out.”

      “Oh, I’m way too angry to faint.” She started the car. “You want out?”

      “No.” He couldn’t let her drive off by herself. In his e-mail, Dad had told Blake to take care of Eve Weathers. That last request could not be ignored.

      She punched the accelerator and squealed away from the curb. Halfway down the street, she whipped a U-turn, barely missing a van parked at the curb.

      His right foot pushed down on an invisible brake on the passenger-side floorboard. “If you let me drive, we can be at my father’s house in ten minutes.”

      “That’s not where we’re going.”

      At the corner, she made an aggressive merge into traffic. Her tension showed in her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, but she wasn’t reckless. She checked her mirrors before changing lanes and stayed within the speed limit. With a sudden swerve, she drove into the parking lot outside a convenience store.

      Without a word, she threw off her seat belt and left the car. He trailed behind her. Inside the store, he asked, “You mind telling me what we’re doing here?”

      “Maybe I wanted a donut.”

      Her sarcasm was preferable to the moment of shock when he’d mentioned