Due Date_A Baby Contract Romance

by Emily Bishop

  He grins and inches a little closer. “You see? You still have that fear of me. That’s a good, healthy thing. It keeps you in line.”

  “A relationship isn’t built on keeping a partner in line.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not in a relationship anymore then, isn’t it?”

  He reaches out and grasps my wrists. His fingers tighten around me in a viselike grip, and he pulls me close. I jerk my arms, but that only serves to tighten them in his grip, and I wince.

  “Jordan, don’t do this.”

  “Here’s what’s about to happen, babycakes,” he says. His breath is hot in my face, and I can tell he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet this morning. He smells like day old whiskey and rot. “You’re going to get your cop boyfriend to back off this yacht case, or else you’re both going to regret it for the rest of your fucking lives, because they will be very, very short. Sound good?”

  His tone is sickly sweet, and I turn my head away. I don’t give him an answer, so he shakes me, hard.

  “Ow. What the fuck, Jordan!”

  “Tell me you’re going to do as I ask.”

  “This doesn’t look much like asking.”

  He leans in and forces me to look at him. “Oh, believe me, it is. You want me to start making demands, and you’ll end up with a broken arm. Now what’s it gonna be, Naomi? The easy way, or the hard way?”

  “Why are you coming to me with this? You realize this means one thing, right? You’re the yacht thief. Why else would you be doing this?”

  He laughs in my face and releases me. My hands have gone numb with the loss of circulation, but an uncomfortable tingle blossoms through my fingertips as I rub my palms together.

  “Aren’t you a Nancy Drew? You did it! You solved the case! You must be learning some good skills from that little boyfriend of yours.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say. There are probably many other, much better things to say, but I find I want to distance myself from Ben in this conversation. My connection to him isn’t doing any good.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass, Naomi. If you say another word about this to Ben, if he gets an inch closer to my team, you’re going to regret it. You know what I’m capable of.”

  “I know what you’re capable of when you’re dealing with a corrupt set of cops. Ben’s not corrupt. You’re not going to be able to buy him off from figuring out whatever you’re up to. You don’t have a chance in hell.”

  I shouldn’t be saying these things. There’s still a knife on the counter, well within reach.

  Jordan doesn’t look at it. He starts picking his nails, of all things. “You’re probably right. Still, I know that Skippy has taken a liking to that little blonde waitress of yours… what’s her name? Katie?”

  I swallow bile at that comment. He is not threatening Katie.

  Yes. He absolutely is.

  “It would be such a shame if something were to happen to that poor girl. She’s so upbeat and happy, don’t you think? She would make an excellent girlfriend for Skippy, once she gets over those reservations of hers. Then again, she could just… disappear.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I hiss.

  Jordan looks up from his tattered nailbeds. “You’re seriously going to challenge me on this? Come on, Naomi. You’ve known me long enough to know that I always get what I want in the end. I don’t care what it takes, even when it comes to you. I’ve loved you my whole life, you know. We could have had a shot, you and me.”

  His voice is wistful. I want to throw up.

  I say nothing, and he shrugs a shoulder again. When he looks at me, his expression is back to cruel.

  “Fuck with me and my guys, and your little friend gets to pay the price. I can handle the cop, and I’ll leave you to live out your days knowing that you could have done something to save them. A little gift from me, as it were. Or you could skip out on that present altogether and do as I’ve kindly asked. Your choice.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I do. The cops here are good people. They’re not going to stop until they have you.”

  This elicits another smug laugh from Jordan. “Yeah, they’re great. Maybe not as great as you think though, eh? Your man doesn’t stand a chance, so do him a favor and tell him to back off. I’m sure he’ll listen to you. You are spreading your legs for him after all.”

  I keep my face expressionless as I stare him down.

  He twists his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Good talk. We should catch up more, Naomi. I miss you. We had some fun times.”

  “You keep saying that like it matters. It doesn’t, after what you did, after what you’re doing right now.”

  He shrugs, unperturbed. “We do what we have to when it comes to survival, Naomi. I’m ahead of the game. I rely on my natural instincts instead of forced societal rules. You used to get that. I guess you’ve changed. Such a shame.”

  He casts me one last, sad glance before he heads for the back door.

  “Until next time,” he says, and the promise of those words is ominous. I have no response. He closes the door behind him and I’m frozen in place, unable to move. The shock passes, and I crumble to the floor as a sob tears from my chest.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  16

  Ben

  “Would you like the lilies or the roses?”

  My head bobs back and forth as I consider. The kind of flowers a man buys a woman can speak volumes. Problem is, I don’t know what message I’m trying to convey.

  I love being around Naomi. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t stop thinking about her. On the other hand, I know where this kind of shit leads. I don’t need a woman clouding my thoughts, telling me what I can and can’t do, trying to control me. I like being responsible for myself. Things are far less complicated the less people are around.

  I learned that the hard way, and I’m still dealing with the loss… by not dealing with it.

  “I’ll take that assortment there,” I say, pointing to a safe bouquet with a variety of different flowers. I have no idea what they mean, but hopefully, it’s not the dreaded three words.

  I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling those in my current condition.

  The cashier nods and rings up the flowers. She slides them into a plastic bag from the bottom of the stems, the better to keep the water from leaking on me.

  “Thanks,” I say, and I walk out. My thoughts are muddled. Should I have done this? I hate emotions. I’ve worked hard to keep mine from showing, though even I have to admit that the only result of that has been nightmares, where they pour out anyway.

  Thoughts of Naomi drift into my mind. Her eyes sparkling beneath the starlight on my uncle’s boat. She looked so perfect draped beneath my jacket.

  Beyond that, I’ve had to whack off a few times thinking about our time in her office. I want to do it again. And then maybe again after that. I remember she likes to watch, and I think up a few scenarios in which I can make that happen, all the while sliding her up and down my…

  Well. Sex is one thing, but I don’t want things to get convoluted. When they do, bad things happen. I hold in a grunt of frustration. I hate not knowing what to do. The fact that I’m feeling this conflicted is a red flag. Should I walk away and leave things be? Is that the best decision here?

  I step out of the flower shop and out onto the sidewalk. The air is getting colder as we edge toward October, and the leaves on the trees lining the street are tipped fiery red. A new season is upon us, a new beginning. I release a breath and start walking, forcing one foot in front of the other as I make my way over to Naomi’s place.

  “Good morning, Ben.” I look up and see a young woman with a baby in tow smiling at me.

  I grin back and nod. “Hi, Shelby. Having a nice day?”

  Her hair is in disarray. The bags under her eyes could hold two years’ worth of luggage. She’s sporting a pair of trendy sweatpants and a hoodie, and her baby is bundled up in an L.L. Bean jac
ket, red plaid in color. I’ve often wondered if I have what it takes to have kids.

  Before Shelby did, she was one of the most beautiful women in town. Of course, by the time I arrived, she was already pregnant, but even in pregnancy, she glowed. Her husband is a local lobsterman, and a good one. They do well for themselves, living by the sea.

  Shelby shifts her baby in her holster and releases a tired laugh. “Yes, a long one. We’ve been up since four this morning, haven’t we?” She wraps her arms around her daughter as she addresses her, and her eyes are filled with love, even as they are loaded with exhaustion.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you both get some good sleep again soon.”

  “Me, too. For sanity’s sake.”

  “Keep trucking.”

  “Thanks, Ben. Have a good rest of your day.”

  “You, too.”

  I cast one last look at Shelby and her baby as she continues on, her shoulders slumped a little with the burden of a baby and a diaper bag. Maybe I should have offered to help carry something for wherever she’s going, but I’ve done that once or twice before. Shelby likes to take care of herself.

  I continue my walk as my thoughts linger on Shelby and the baby. She’s exhausted, that much is obvious. Still, she’s happy. She’s being tortured by a tiny little person, sleep deprived, forced to meet demands every hour on the hour, and yet she still radiates pure joy.

  Can love work like that? Can you accept the pain knowing that there’s joy in it, too? Where do the scales tip, and it becomes too much? It’s one thing with a baby. It’s an entirely different thing with another adult who can take care of themselves.

  You can leave an adult at any time. Once you have a baby, you’re stuck.

  I reach the boardwalk and inhale. The sea air clears my senses, the scent of salt and seaweed penetrate my soul. After going on tour in a desert, I never tire of the cold, clean air of the northeast. Again, I’m reminded that I made a good decision by ending my military career.

  Now, if the memories could fucking leave me alone, I’ll be all set.

  Naomi’s place is two buildings ahead. My hand is cold as it grasps the flowers, and it dangles by my side. My palms are sweating. Why the hell are my palms sweating? There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just Naomi. Sweet, beautiful Naomi, who has a thing for me.

  I’m one house down when a back door slams behind her restaurant. My senses perk up, and I slide to the left, tucking myself against the building as I peek out. It might be foolish. Maybe there’s a loud door back there. I don’t think so, though. Door slamming is a language all on its own.

  A second later, a man storms up the alley. I recognize him.

  While I’ve been investigating the yacht case, I’ve been looking into every acquaintance old Skippy has.

  The man’s name is Jordan Henderson. He’s got a record, but nothing that anyone could keep him on, and he was released fairly quickly after each capture. Never enough evidence to pin things on him, which is suspicious. It rings of corruption. He glances from side to side, and then he slams his hands into his pockets and strides off in the other direction.

  I watch him until he turns a corner at the end of the wharf and disappears.

  Is there a connection here?

  First, Naomi had issues with Skippy and, now, Jordan. Somehow, she’s connected to them. But are they connected to the theft?

  Maybe she’s been pulling wool over my eyes this entire time. Sleeping with me to keep me in the dark.

  The suspicion is enough to send a thrill of anger down my spine. Still, I wouldn’t be a good cop if I didn’t obtain the facts, first. I walk around the back to the kitchen entrance, and I wrap my hand around the knob. When I twist, the door opens without hesitation.

  Seriously?

  I push the door open and step inside. I lift my feet as I step so as not to make a sound, and I keep my eyes peeled for Naomi. I step into the kitchen and there she is.

  She’s holding a clip board and counting cans in a closet. Her shoulders are tense. Something’s wrong, but I have no idea what it is. It’s something to do with Henderson. It has to be.

  “You know, you should keep your door locked,” I say, and she jumps and turns back to face me.

  I can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes are slightly puffy, the skin around them red. I’m torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting information. Naomi is withholding something from me. That much is obvious. Now, I want to know what the fuck it is.

  “What are you doing here, Ben? It’s early.”

  “I could ask the same of Jordan Henderson. What exactly was he doing here this early?”

  Her eyes narrow. “What, you’re stalking me now?”

  Her tone is ice cold, and it fuels my own anger. I want to be angry. It’s an emotion I prefer over all the others.

  “Actually, I came to bring you these. Imagine my surprise when I saw another man coming out your back door. Another man who happens to be a suspect in a crime you’re connected to.”

  I plop the flowers on her counter. She doesn’t even look at them as her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her eyes still on me.

  “So, now you’re accusing me of the crime you told me I was absolved of. I thought we came to the conclusion that there was no evidence to that end? Did you change your mind?”

  “I have a right to, when people like Skippy and Jordan are hanging around you every day. When Skippy interrupts us by trying to steal another boat right in the middle of our date. I don’t think his presence there was a coincidence. I think it has something to do with you.”

  “Oh, you do, huh? And what exactly do I have to do with this, since you’ve got it all figured out?”

  “I don’t have it figured out, but clearly you know something. Why don’t you tell me what it is, and then we can go about our lives as normal?”

  She hesitates, and I can tell she’s thinking. Since I can’t read minds, I’m stuck waiting for her to make up hers. She crosses her arms. Fuck, I’m not going to get what I’ve asked for.

  “Why should I tell you anything? When I do, you obviously come to your own conclusions. Guilt by association, once again. Has anyone told you you’re a shitty cop? I should have known better than to get involved with someone like you.”

  Her words have my blood boiling. I plant my feet and cross my arms. She wants to play this game? Let’s play.

  “And the fact that you haven’t answered any of my questions about this should in no way emphasize my point? I might be a better cop than you realize, Naomi, and I’m going to figure this out, one way or another.”

  “Well, you’re not doing it today! I’ve had enough this morning!”

  She keeps her eyes on mine as she grabs the bouquet of flowers, then she storms through the restaurant to the front door. I have no choice but to follow. I don’t know what she’s about to do. She shoves the door open and walks across the empty street to the waterfront. She turns to look at me as she holds the flowers over the sea. I’m still on the other side of the street as I watch.

  “Leave me the fuck alone, Ben. I don’t need another corrupt cop ruining my life.”

  With that, she releases the flowers, and they fall into the sea. She crosses the street and pushes past me back to the restaurant door. She opens it, steps inside, and closes it behind her. When she looks back at me, she reaches up and locks it, all the while glaring up into my eyes.

  Good. I walk away. I need a clear head anyway, because one thing’s for sure. Naomi Greeves is part of this somehow. Isn’t she?

  17

  Naomi

  “All set to close, Naomi.”

  I blink and return to the present. Paul stares at me with concern. Shit, I’m doing it again. When did I become this person? I’m caught up in a storm of drama when what I should be doing is focusing on my restaurant.

  “Thank you, Paul. Is Katie still out front?”

  “Yeah, she’s counting her tips, I think.”

  “Cool. Go ahead
and go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Take care, Naomi,” he says, and his tone is laced with worry.

  Great. Now my sous chef is worried about me. I smile at him with an enthusiastic nod.

  “I will. I’m going to do some major self-care tonight. Really get back to being me again.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. If you need anything, you have my number.”

  He really is one of the sweetest men in town. Why hasn’t he ever settled down? Of course, knowing that he doesn’t like to be questioned, I’ve never asked. I bet he and Katie would be a good fit. Can’t say that, though, ha.

  “Thank you, Paul. That means a lot. Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  He exits through the back door, and as I watch him go, my mind reels remembering Jordan’s grand entrance this morning. Then my blood boils, because I also remember Ben’s. That no good, mistrustful son of a bastard. I tell myself that I’m done with Ben now, and I bask in that sensation.

  Unfortunately, it’s not true.

  Even as I watched him walk away this morning, a part of me wanted to unlock the door, run out, and tell him everything that happened. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be in this situation. There will always be a part of me that doesn’t trust the police, like he doesn’t trust me.

  How can we ever be something if we can’t trust each other for more than twelve hours?

  Even if I were to tell him the truth, I barely know anything. It’s not enough to go on, and I doubt anything Jordan has said can help. There’s also the nice added bonus that if I do tell Ben, I could be putting Katie in danger. Jordan’s threat was very real, and I can’t put her life on the line like that.

  I turn off the lights to the kitchen and step out into the dining room. Katie is sitting cross-legged in a booth, her back to the wall as she counts out paper bills. I slide in across from her, and she looks up with a grin.

  “Not a bad night for a solo waitress. I can afford rent this month!”