Covert Conception. Delores Fossen

security wouldn’t hurt.”

      Impatient, Natalie huffed. “Is this leading somewhere, Kitt?”

      “Unfortunately, yes. After I finished my conversation with Dr. Benjamin, I went back through the surveillance tapes for the past four weeks. I found something.”

      Oh.

      That nearly stopped Natalie’s heart.

      “Explain something,” Natalie insisted.

      Kitt typed in a code on the keyboard, and Natalie instantly recognized the video feed that appeared on the screen. Nearly a month earlier.

      The night of her surprise twenty-ninth birthday party.

      Though Natalie was familiar with the scene, it wasn’t an entirely pleasant memory. She’d arrived back in San Antonio from a week-long antique-buying trip in Ireland and had stopped by Dr. Benjamin’s office because she was sick. The diagnosis was an upper respiratory infection. The doctor had done some lab tests and given her prescription meds. By the time she made it home, she had been exhausted, ready to fall face-first into bed. Only instead of bed, she’d discovered that her mother had assembled three dozen or so of her close and not-so-close friends for a surprise birthday celebration.

      “Are you saying this is when the so-called pregnancy happened?” Natalie asked. “Because, trust me, I would have remembered something as monumental as having sex with one of the guests.”

      Though Natalie had to admit to herself that some of the night was a complete blur. She blamed the big blur on the prescription meds. Of course, the fatigue from the business trip hadn’t helped, either. She’d felt like a zombie throughout the entire party. Still, her zombie-haze wouldn’t explain that pregnancy test.

      “Just watch,” Kitt instructed.

      Even with Kitt fast-forwarding the event, Natalie had no trouble spotting her mother, Macy, in the crowd that had gathered in the foyer to say their goodbyes. With her Marilyn Monroe platinum-blond hair, curvy body and dazzling smile, Macy had a way of monopolizing space and drawing attention to herself.

      Then, Natalie spotted someone else.

      Rick Gravari.

      She automatically frowned. Rick had a way of monopolizing space as well, but in a totally different way. Wearing jeans and a white shirt, he appeared his usual self. Aloof. Surly. Her mother had no doubt invited him, but he definitely fell into the unwanted-guest category. Natalie had spent the evening avoiding and ignoring him, and was thankful he’d done the same to her.

      Natalie dismissed her surly, jeans-wearing nemesis and continued to study the surveillance tape. As the guests idled by the front door, she managed to locate herself. Alone. Her head down with her chin practically touching her chest. Leaning against the wall next to the fireplace. She definitely wasn’t in the throes of having wild sex.

      The video stopped, and a second later, the screen became blank.

      “Something went wrong with the surveillance equipment at this point,” Kitt explained. “I’m not sure what. But that’s not the only camera we had in operation that night.” Kitt typed in something else on the keyboard. “The lighting isn’t very good, but here’s some footage taken from the hall outside your bedroom. The time lapse is about a half hour from the segment you were just watching.”

      The hall was indeed poorly lit. And empty. It didn’t stay that way for long. Natalie soon saw the approaching couple. Mere shadows moving within the shadows.

      “There’s no camera in your bedroom so this is all we have,” Kitt explained. She latched onto her Texas A&M coffee mug, took a long drink of the heavily scented espresso, and that’s when Natalie noticed that her sister’s hand was trembling. “Still, I think it’s enough.”

      “Well, it’s not much.”

      Natalie couldn’t see the faces of the couple, and without audio, she couldn’t tell who was approaching her bedroom door. At least, she couldn’t tell until the figures got closer to the camera.

      Then, Natalie realized that she was one of those shadowy figures.

      Seeing herself, however, didn’t jog any memories. She had absolutely no recollection of being in the hallway that night though she was certainly aware it’d happened. After all, she had woken up in bed the following morning.

      Alone.

      Still, hadn’t she had a feeling that something was wrong? A feeling she’d dismissed.

      Maybe she shouldn’t have.

      And with that uncomfortable thought repeating in her head, Natalie moved to the edge of her seat, closer to the monitor. And she studied every inch of the screen. Praying. Hoping. That whatever image appeared, there would be a plausible explanation for it.

      Natalie watched herself as she slowly approached her bedroom. The person walking beside her had his arm looped around her waist.

      It was definitely a man.

      He was at least a head taller than she was and outsized her by at least fifty pounds. And neither of them was too steady. When she reached the door, she staggered forward, and her arm rammed into the wall. The reaction on her face could have been either pain or giddiness.

      Sweet heaven, she acted drunk.

      But she knew for a fact that she’d consumed no alcohol that night. The only thing she’d had to drink was a glass of sparkling fruit juice that someone on the catering staff had gotten for her shortly after she arrived home.

      “Okay, here it is,” Kitt said.

      Natalie waited and watched. The man in the video turned, shifting his weight. So did Natalie, except she wasn’t as graceful. He barely managed to catch her before she stumbled again. Once he had her semi-steady, he kissed her. She didn’t resist. In fact, she kissed him back and groped behind her to open her bedroom door. And that’s when the security camera and the meager lighting worked together to catch his face.

      Kitt froze the image. Not that Natalie needed a second look to know who he was.

      The man taking her into her bedroom was the one person on earth she considered her enemy.

      Rick Gravari.

      Chapter Two

      Rick Gravari pushed himself away from the custom Harley he was building and glanced at the Pennzoil clock mounted on the back wall of his shop.

      It was already past five-thirty.

      Less than an hour to closing time, and there was at least a half day’s work left to do.

      “Hell,” Rick grumbled.

      He used his forearm to mop the sweat from his forehead and neck, and then he cursed the air-conditioning. Why had it picked the hottest day of the year to go out?

      There wasn’t much of a chance he’d get any of his four mechanics to stay late. Not on a Saturday. And not with the broken air conditioner. Overtime, a pizza and complete use of every fan in the place might be enough enticement for Hal, the head mechanic, but it’d be midnight before Hal and he could finish all the service orders on their own.

      The phone rang, again, and Rick walked through the motorcycle clutter, fans and tools toward his equally cluttered office. Along the way, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, drank some and poured the rest over his head. The cold liquid snaked down his face and back.

      It didn’t help.

      Slinging off the excess water, he snatched up the phone from his desk and grabbed a service order so he could close out the Harley job. A little multi-tasking might get him out of here a few minutes earlier.

      The caller was the soon-to-be owner of a custom bike who said he wouldn’t be able to pick it up until at least Wednesday. Rick considered it a blessing. One down, too many to go.

      Most days, he loved his job. He