AKA

by Jule McBride

  “So, you were a detective in Texas, not Louisiana?” she asked with more casualness than she felt.

  He nodded. “Until I gave it up altogether.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  He shrugged. “Getting too world-weary. Besides, I really can punch out at five now. And my little brother settled here. Other than two aunts, he’s the closest family I’ve got.”

  Because Lillian craved a family, she was touched by the closeness Shane shared with what remained of his. Especially when emotion flickered in his eyes. “I guess I can admit the real reason I approached you is because I’m an orphan myself.”

  “Ah,” she said simply. So, it wasn’t only from the goodness of his heart; still, empathy was a noble motive.

  “I’m not in favor of doing anything unethical,” he assured, “I’m an ex-cop and I work for the agency. But I’ve seen the baby you want to adopt. It’ll be a shame if he doesn’t get a home.”

  She leaned forward, telling herself she was drawn to him by her interest in the baby, not the pull of Shane’s voice. “Isn’t he the sweetest thing you ever saw? I wanted to name him Brandon. I always liked the name.” She gestured helplessly toward the hallway. “The nursery’s all fixed up.”

  “Brandon,” Shane murmured in approval. After another pause, he continued, “I—I’m sorry, but after you left today, I looked at Ethel’s file. I was having second thoughts, too. I mean…I’d proposed marriage to a woman I didn’t even know.”

  Faintly embarrassed color tinged her cheeks. “I acted so impulsively,” she admitted, “inviting you over like this. I mean, not that you’re not nice, it’s just…”

  “I understand perfectly,” he interjected. “From Ethel’s files, I know you lead a quiet life. Belong to Trinity Church. Work hard. Baby-sit.” He sighed. “I…I’m just sorry you can’t have kids of your own.”

  His eyes touched hers now, imparting sympathy. Something inside Lillian wavered. She quickly said, “I really have no intention of marrying you.”

  He smiled. “So you keep saying.”

  “I mean it,” she warned.

  But she’d never marry for love again. What if Shane Holiday’s offer could really give her Brandon? He was so helpless. An accidental pregnancy for a young girl with no possible means of supporting him. Even the girl, just a teenager, had wanted her to have Brandon.

  And then Ethel said no.

  Lillian had been stunned. But could she marry Shane, to bring home the infant she already felt was hers? It was risky. She did have good identification cards, including a Social Security number in the name of Lillian Smith. And if Ethel hadn’t found out about her past by now, she probably wouldn’t. Besides, now Ethel would be more interested in Shane’s attitudes toward fatherhood, and since Ethel already knew Shane, Lillian figured he’d pass muster.

  Not that Lillian trusted ex-detectives or security guards any more than the average man, which was to say not at all. “And the marriage would be strictly a favor?”

  Shane’s deep hearty belly laugh warmed Lillian’s soul nearly as much as the baby who was so much on her mind. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, “I’m not the marrying kind. This would have to be business, pure and simple.”

  Sweetheart. It wasn’t in the Wall Street vocabulary, and it had been a long time since a man called her that. She didn’t mind it. “If it’s business, what do you get out of the deal?”

  “Besides the knowledge I’ve done some real good in the world?” He looked faintly embarrassed. “Well, I could really use somewhere to stay right now. My landlord just sold the building where I live and since my lease was up, I’m going to be out on the street in a few days. I’m desperately looking for a new place. My stuff’s already packed, movers are lined up. The works.”

  “But you can’t find an apartment?”

  He shook his head.

  She could certainly sympathize. His was just one more story in the ongoing saga of Manhattan real estate, where overcrowding brought skyrocketing rents. Complete strangers were frequently doubling up as roommates. She glanced around. She’d been far luckier than most since Jefferson let her live here as long as she kept up the maintanence payments. If she continued doing so during Shane’s stay, Shane would definitely be getting a deal. “So, you’re thinking you’d move in immediately, then?” she said. “And we’d sort of be roommates while we get to know each other’s habits, life-styles, backgrounds…”

  He frowned, resting his hat on his knee and studying the brim as if thinking. “I spoke impulsively. But it would work, if I moved in and we presented ourselves as newlyweds. We could pretend we met down South, that you visited some relatives near Bayou Teche in the summer…”

  Lillian picked up the thread. “We could say we met again outside Big Apple Babies, where you were working and I was trying to adopt, and then we immediately hooked up, rekindling a previous romance. If Ethel thinks we were involved before, it won’t look like a quickie marriage.” Her heart skipped a beat, making her wonder if she’d really become as tough and cynical as she professed. “It could be very romantic.”

  “Yeah, lots of flowers and dinners—” Shane nodded curtly, as if to emphasize this was only business. “I’d live here awhile, for the sake of authenticity. Right before the wedding, we’d set up another appointment to review your adoption application. Maybe my connections at Big Apple Babies would even help.”

  “You’d really do all this for me…a near stranger?”

  His gazed fixed on hers, steady and unwavering.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “I don’t want a family of my own, and I’m not interested in marriage. But I do like to see orphaned kids get placed.” He flashed a quick smile. “Besides, as I said, I really could use a place to stay right now. It’ll give me more time to look, and I won’t have to jump on the first apartment I can get my hands on.”

  She really would be doing the man a favor, she supposed. She swallowed hard. Brandon was so adorable. As small as could be, with a whisper of black hair as straight and fine as Shane’s. And Brandon was an active baby. No doubt, he’d be a high-spirited hellion, just as Lillian had been.

  Shane’s voice was coaxing. “He’s cute.”

  She smiled wistfully. “So, you like kids?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’ve never been around them much. Just at work. And I’m not in the nursery often.” He frowned. “Honestly, they make me nervous.”

  She felt more disappointment than she should have. Was she really hoping he’d say he liked children? “Well, if you moved in,” she reminded, “you’d meet some kids, since I baby-sit.”

  Baby-sitting seemed to pose more of a challenge to him than marrying a stranger. “I guess I could handle it.”

  She surveyed him carefully. They were no longer talking theory. They’d crossed the line, and now they were talking marriage. “Don’t you think people would notice if we got divorced right after I got the baby?”

  “I’d stick around for the agency’s follow-up visits. Besides, how many marriages last nowadays, anyway?”

  “True.” Seven years ago, Lillian’s had sure blown up. Along with a boathouse and a pier. One minute, she’d been a blushing bride wandering through the plantation house, looking for her new husband. The next, she’d confronted Sam Ramsey’s betrayal—and she was on the run, driving away in panic with men chasing her. She remembered staring back as an explosion rocked the earth, sending red sparks spraying into the dark night sky. Even now, what all she’d seen wasn’t clear. She only remembered shadows. Gunfire. And other things she’d willfully pushed from her mind and banished to the realm of dreams. Or nightmares. “Trust is hard to come by these days,” she finally murmured in understatement, thinking of her deceased husband.

  Shane’s voice turned deeper, strangely unreadable. “You really aren’t interested in love, are you, Lillian?”

  Striving to lighten the mood, she shook off the dark shadows of the past and sent him a mock ominous glance. “No, Shane,” she announced
drolly. “That part of me is dead.”

  The sudden curve of his mouth gave her a start. Even though the smile communicated bemused irony, the firmness of his lips said he was a man to be reckoned with. “Well,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I hope you buried that special part of you in a shallow grave.” His intriguing smile tugged harder. “In case you decide to dig it up again.”

  Her need of men, like her past, was buried for good. She shook her head. “No chance of that, Shane.”

  “You never know,” he warned.

  “Believe me,” she assured. “I know. And anyway, you said you didn’t want to get married, either. Why not?”

  “I just don’t.”

  There was definitely more to this man than met the eye. Ignoring the warning bells, Lillian found herself sizing him up again, the way she might have when her name was still Delilah and she drove too fast, talked too loud, and hadn’t thought twice about challenging men who were far better-looking than this one. Shane was definitely teasing out the part of her she’d suppressed. She leaned forward, nodding sagely. “Ah, the proverbial lone wolf.”

  Her long perusal hadn’t fazed him in the least. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Hmm.” What was it about this mild, nonthreatening man that was drawing her? Was it a matter of pride? The fact that, in spite of their casual flirtation, he obviously wasn’t interested in her as a woman? She frowned. He wasn’t even interested in women in general. Which, she tried to assure herself, suited her just fine.

  “Ever been married before?” he asked now.

  The question, which wasn’t exactly casual, made her heart miss another beat. “No,” she quickly lied.

  “Me neither,” he said, telling the truth.

  When he set aside his tea glass, she felt faintly relieved. “Well…I guess I’d better be going.” Before she could move, he reached over, swiftly closing his remarkably strong fingers over hers, applying soothing pressure.

  “Look, Lillian—” His solemn drawl stirred more than memories now, while each nuance of his touch further reawakened the woman in her. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

  She barely heard him. She was too busy trying not to notice how much she liked the feel of his tanned hand. It was dry in the heat. Lean and long-fingered. Like him, it was a blend of smooth and rough—his palm silky, his fingertips slightly coarse. Just the touch of it made her suddenly wish she hadn’t changed so much in the past few years. Because Delilah Fontenont would have jumped at this man’s crazy offer of marriage. But then, a lot had happened to make Delilah change her name to Lillian.

  When he released her hand, she felt strangely bereft. Even more so when he stood to go.

  “Wait, Shane.”

  She floated gracefully upward on the long stems of her legs, the word seeming to come from somewhere else, maybe from the deeper, more adventuresome nature she fought so hard to hide. “Wait,” she repeated. “Let’s do it.”

  In the following heartbeat, she told herself the decision had nothing to do with the pull of his voice, or how compelled she felt to discover what lay beneath the surface of the man.

  “Okay,” he said simply.

  “Okay,” she repeated, feeling stunned.

  Shane leaned and lifted his tea glass. “Here’s to it.”

  Could it be this simple? Would marrying Shane Holiday really allow her to adopt Brandon? My son. Joy bubbled inside her as she imagined Brandon in the crib she’d readied in the nursery. Lifting her glass, she clinked it against Shane’s. “So, will you marry me, Shane?”

  “Lillian—” He inclined his head in a nod. “I accept.”

  Her voice hitched with excitement. “So, you can move in soon?”

  He looked relieved, no doubt over having found a temporary apartment. “Why not tonight?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “SO, IF IT’S A fake marriage,” Fin mused aloud, “can I still get wild and crazy at your bachelor party?”

  “That’s you, Fin,” Shane returned dryly. “Always asking the hard, academic questions.”

  Fin chuckled. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.” Shane held open the elevator door. While Fin and two other agents wearing coveralls with pocket logos that read Manhattan Movers unloaded Shane’s meager belongings into Lillian’s plush upstairs hallway, Shane’s shaggy three-legged gray-and-white dog, Lone Star, began sniffing the carpet.

  Ignoring Fin, who was now trying to goad Shane by humming the wedding march, Shane focused on the job. Don’t slip up and call her Delilah. You’re undercover now. A security guard at Big Apple Babies, nothing more. You’re a nice guy, helping Lillian get a kid out of the goodness of your heart, and she won’t suspect differently until you find out everything you can. Eventually, she’s going to be arrested, if only on fraud charges. Don’t forget it.

  Unfortunately, when Lillian swung open the apartment door, Shane’s mind went blank and his body responded to her with a tight hard knot of heat that smoldered inside him as surely as his angry frustration over the fact that he couldn’t control it.

  For the second time today, they were face-to-face. And no less than this afternoon, when he’d trained his considerable energies on convincing her that he was harmless, Shane was struck by her poise and beauty. She was so close, just across the threshold, and her scent, that rich thought-stopping musky aroma, made his chest tighten.

  Moving in with her was definitely the toughest assignment he’d set himself yet. He’d always liked challenges. But this… Dammit, this was impossible. As his gaze traced the tall legs that ended on navy high heels, he found himself fixating, wondering about the creamy hollows at her ankles. He pretended not to notice how she was sizing him up. It had been risky, and he still wanted to appear unthreatening, but Shane had quit slouching and changed into threadbare jeans and a T-shirt, such as he usually wore when he was off duty. Maybe it was male pride. But if he was moving in with Lillian, she might as well get used to the way he looked without an oversize sports coat.

  “That really was awfully fast.” Her eyes still trailing over him, she reached up and nervously smoothed her French twist.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed that I’d move in tonight? Did we get our wires crossed?”

  “Well, no, but…”

  “I had a stroke of luck,” he interjected, lowering his voice as if not to jeopardize their charade in front of the movers, the agents who were trudging past her, carrying boxes. “Turns out, the movers could come immediately.” He mustered a smile. “When I told them we were getting married, they put an extra rush on it.”

  She looked anxious, but she nodded as if this was a good omen. “Things are working out so easily.”

  Things are working out because an angry ex-detective and the FBI have been tailing you for seven years. “Only trouble was, I had to bring my dog. I forgot to mention that before.” Shane held his breath. To a man, all the agents had absolutely refused to take Lone Star, and if Lillian wouldn’t, Shane would have to put the dog in a kennel. He couldn’t stand the thought of the dog being caged.

  “Dog?” Lillian slowly turned, zeroing in on Lone Star, who’d already sneaked past her. Looking positively appalled, Lillian fiddled anxiously with her pearl necklace. Her reaction wasn’t exactly promising and made Shane feel strangely defensive on Lone Star’s behalf.

  “What kind of dog is that?” Lillian lowered her stricken voice another notch in deference to the movers, as if she, too, feared they’d sense that she and Shane were barely acquainted.

  “What kind of dog?” Shane wasn’t really sure. “A three-legged medium-sized mutt?” he ventured, not sure if that was the sort of answer Lillian was after.

  She considered. “What happened to his back leg?”

  “Her. And I don’t know. She was a stray. She was minus the leg when I found her.”

  Lillian’s gaze returned to Shane’s. “Does she have a name?”

  “Lone Star.”

  “Very feminine,” remarked Li
llian dryly.

  Shane shrugged. “Dogs don’t care about names.”

  She merely nodded. “Ms. Lone Star and the lone wolf, huh?”

  “Just Lone Star,” Shane corrected. “No Ms.”

  “I thought you said dogs don’t care about names.” Lillian’s eyes suddenly sparkled, reminding Shane of how moonlight looked sometimes on the dark water of his pond back in Texas. “Anyway,” she said, “I take it you’re still the lone wolf?”

  For some reason, Shane allowed an answering flicker of humor to touch his eyes. “Always.”

  Lillian stared at the dog again.

  It didn’t look promising, and Shane could only hope his well-laid plans weren’t about to unravel. Not that he’d really thought this cool, classy young woman was going to let a dog into her apartment, especially not when the dog looked as unkempt as Lone Star. But Lillian surprised Shane by chuckling softly.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she drawled, “but has Ms. Lone Star ever had a bath?”

  Shane decided not to push his luck by correcting the name again. And he started to say yes, of course he bathed Lone Star—then he frowned. “Well…I guess I gave her a good scrub the last time my Aunt Dixie Lynn came to visit.”

  “And that was?”

  Shane winced. “A while back.”

  Before Lillian could respond, Lone Star, who seemed not at all inconvenienced by her missing leg, frisked merrily toward the kitchen, sniffing everything in her path. Fin grunted loudly, readjusting a heavy box on his shoulder and mustering a tough-sounding Brooklynese so unlike his usual accent that Shane smiled. “What’s in these boxes, mister? Lead?” Fin scowled from the other end of the hallway, playing the part of the irate mover.

  “And where did you want this stuff, anyway?”

  “The bedroom,” Shane said.