The CEO's Secret Baby

by Karen Whiddon

  “Sounds risky.”

  He shrugged. “Everything has some risk. I’d prefer to do it this way. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

  “I can understand that.” Fighting against the urge to back up and put more than a few feet between them, she tilted her chin and looked up, studying him. “What about you? Do you think it’s a good plan?”

  “The truth?” At her nod, he continued. “No. It might work for them, but you know me. I’m not the type to sit around and do nothing.”

  And that was just it, exactly. She did know him. One year of him being gone didn’t sweep all that away. She knew him better than anyone, better than she knew herself, sometimes.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  His expression went cold, became shuttered. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Do you still want to see the rest of the house?”

  To find her voice, she had to clear her throat. “Sure.”

  “Then follow me.”

  After he finished giving her the grand tour, he led her back into the kitchen. The small room had white cabinets, green countertops and a beige, ceramic tile floor. The walls had been painted a reddish-orange. Surprisingly, the overall effect was cheery and homey. Just like the rest of the house.

  “I like the colors here,” she murmured. “And this house, it has a good vibe.”

  “I felt that, too. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s a solid little house.”

  Smiling up at him, she let herself momentarily bask in the warmth of his companionship. Momentarily.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, still smiling, meeting her gaze directly. The startling blue of his eyes still hit her like a punch in the stomach.

  Hungry? She had to think about his question. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “I think I am,” she told him. “Yes. You said there’s food here, right?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “There are dishes, glasses and silverware, too. I’ve got just about everything I need. Would you like me to make some spaghetti?”

  Before his disappearance, when they’d lived together, they’d taken turns preparing meals. Tucker had been a fantastic cook. She’d relished the nights when it was his turn to make dinner. No doubt he remembered this.

  And to think she’d believed she’d never get the chance to taste his cooking again.

  “Spaghetti sounds great.” Though she tried to curb her enthusiasm, she knew she was only marginally successful.

  Tucker’s grin widened, telling her he knew. “Spaghetti it is. Let me call my contact at the DEA first.” Then he dialed a number, listened, then left a message. “He’ll be calling me back,” he said. “I’ll get busy.”

  She fed Eli again while Tucker cooked. Walking around the small living room burping their baby, she listened to the domestic sounds coming from the kitchen. Pots clanging, Tucker humming and pretty soon the most delectable smells filled the air.

  Tucker’s Italian food was to die for. Her mouth watered just thinking about it.

  “Do you want garlic bread, too?” he asked, coming around the corner to the living room.

  “Yes, please.” Catching herself grinning, she felt absurdly guilty, as though she shouldn’t take so much pleasure in his company. But she couldn’t help it. This was Tucker. She’d known him nearly all her life.

  Before anything else, they’d been friends. The trio of them, the three musketeers, Tucker, Sean and her. Before he’d become her lover, Tucker had been her friend. That wouldn’t vanish just because she’d agreed to marry Sean, would it?

  She didn’t think so. She really, really hoped not. Little Eli would do so much better if both his parents got along.

  Since Eli had gone back to sleep and was dozing, she went into the bedroom and placed him in the dresser drawer. He didn’t wake and she stood a moment, gazing at the beautiful baby she and Tucker had created. Their child. A symbol of the love they’d once felt for each other.

  When her eyes began to mist up, she stood and left the bedroom, calling herself a sentimental fool. Wandering into the kitchen, she eyed Tucker’s broad shoulders, watching as he stirred something on the stove, and inhaled appreciatively. “That smells heavenly.”

  He grinned at her, making her entire body tighten. “It’s almost ready. Would you like to pour the wine?” He indicated an open bottle of Chianti on the counter next to two stemless wine glasses.

  “Wow,” she marveled. “That was here, too? They gave you wine?”

  “Yep. A bottle of red and a bottle of white. Along with a six-pack of beer. Whoever stocked this house really did think of everything. If I ever find out their name, I’m going to thank them personally.”

  She’d forgotten how his husky voice turned her insides to mush. Once, she reminded herself. No longer. Flustered, she moved forward and poured wine into both glasses, filling them halfway before carrying them to the table.

  Tucker got the bread from the oven, then ladled spaghetti onto two plates and covered it with sauce. Though the sauce wasn’t homemade, he’d clearly added to it.

  “They didn’t give me much in the way of fresh produce,” he told her, sounding apologetic. “But I was able to find a can of mushrooms, and some diced tomatoes. I fixed the jar of sauce up the best I could with what I had.”

  Suddenly, she realized she was starving. “Sounds good.” As she spoke, her stomach growled loudly.

  He laughed. After a moment, she did, too.

  Pulling out the closest chair, she inhaled happily as he placed her full plate in front of her. He went back for the bread and finally sat down across from her.

  “Dig in,” he said.

  Eyeing the fragrant Italian food before her and the casual attitude of the man across from her, she felt something click inside her. This, despite the unfamiliar surroundings, felt like home. That had to be good, right? Maybe she actually could allow herself to relax.

  They ate in companionable silence. Eli remained asleep, so she was able to finish her meal, snagging the last piece of garlic bread and using it to mop up her sauce. Full, she felt infinitely more serene. Sitting back in her chair, she sipped the last of her wine and watched Tucker inhale the final bit of his food. He ate like he did everything else—with enthusiasm. Just remembering what else he did with gusto made her entire body flush hot.

  No. She wouldn’t go there. Not now, not anymore.

  He pushed back his empty plate, drained the last drop of his wine, and then looked at her, his blue eyes dark. “Did you like it?”

  “Very much. Thank you. That was wonderful,” she told him softly. For a split second their gazes locked and held. She broke the spell by jumping up and gathering the plates and utensils. It would be better, much better if she kept busy. “Since you cooked, I’ll do the dishes.”

  “Not necessary,” he started to protest, but it was only halfhearted, as she’d known it would be. One cooked, the other picked up. After all, she and Tucker had lived together for over a year before his disappearance.

  As she carried the plates to the sink, to her surprise, he went to the stove and began transferring the leftover pasta and sauce to a large bowl. “We can eat this again tomorrow.”

  Impressed, she nodded. “Works for me.”

  His smile broadened. “You know how just about everything is better the second time around.”

  Whether he’d meant that as an innuendo or not, heat flashed through her. Aware her face had probably turned beet red, she pretended not to get it and didn’t answer, just turned back to the sink and continued rinsing off the plates and stacking them in the dishwasher.

  Behind her, she was über-conscious of him as he stowed the leftovers in the fridge and wiped down the counter.

  When she’d finished, she turned to find Tucker leaning against the counter, arms folded, watching her. She battled back a sudden, absurd shyness and tilted her head as she stared him down.

  “What now?” she asked.

  He glanced at his watch. “Well, w
e can either watch television or play Scrabble.”

  Zing. Another shared memory. Back before, they’d loved to play a rousing game of Scrabble on a Sunday afternoon. Though Tucker, with his propensity for making multiple words, usually scored higher than Lucy, she’d always had hopes of beating him.

  “You have a Scrabble game here?”

  “Yep. I was surprised when I found it in the front entry closet. Would you like to play?”

  She couldn’t resist. And worse, he knew it. Actually, she realized she didn’t care. “Scrabble,” she said. Of course. He had to know she couldn’t pass that up.

  Expression impassive, he got out the board and set it up on the kitchen table, frowning as he worked. She let herself watch him, still standing back, feeling awkward and eager at the same time.

  This entire situation seemed so surreal.

  He glanced up at her and smiled again. “Would you like a beer or another glass of wine?”

  Trying to pretend she hadn’t felt his smile like a punch in the gut, she nodded. “Wine sounds great.”

  “I’ll pour,” they both said at the same time, both reaching for the bottle. As they collided, they both froze, staring at each other.

  In his eyes, she saw warmth and some other, darker emotion that her mind shied away from recognizing. She lifted her chin. In hers, he no doubt saw her competitive spirit battling for domination.

  “Are you ready?” His voice contained a challenge.

  “I am.”

  They settled down to play. Though still acutely aware of him, she was glad to be able to focus on the game.

  In the end, when all the tiles had been used, he had the most points. As always.

  Tallying up the score, he put the pencil down and grinned at her. “Sorry, I’m still the unofficial Scrabble champion. But it was close.”

  She knew it wasn’t. But his carefree grin so captivated her, she couldn’t concentrate enough to protest.

  Flustered again—really, she needed to get a grip on this—she jumped up and began gathering up the game pieces. The faux domestication of the scene brought back both memories and desires. She’d do best if she extricated herself from the room. But it was only eight o’clock. Far too early to go to bed.

  Still, she could go check on Eli. Stammering out just that, she hurried out of the room.

  Watching her go, Tucker could tell she was nervous. As far as she was concerned, the only good thing about this entire situation was that at least now he could get to know his own son.

  For him, there was more. Not only was he allowed the joy of being with his own flesh and blood, but he got to spend time with her. Lucy, the love of his life.

  For the first time in a long time, he could see a silver lining. Though he would have preferred for things not to have happened this way—the last thing he wanted was for Lucy and Eli to be in even the slightest bit of danger—he couldn’t help but feel that this might be his lone chance to get Lucy back. Though Sean had gotten her to agree to marry him, Tucker knew she didn’t truly love the other man. Not the way she’d loved him. Still did, he was willing to bet. He’d always been a gambling man. He’d risk it all—he had nothing to lose, anyway.

  Lucy loved him. She had to. Otherwise, he might as well have died there in Mexico.

  Either way, he planned to put it to the test. After all, if she really loved Sean, she’d have no trouble resisting Tucker’s advances. And if she didn’t love Sean, she had no business marrying him. He had to believe even Sean would have agreed with that.

  Leaning back in his chair, he waited for Lucy to return. They’d been happy together, once. Memories of the life they’d once shared wouldn’t be so easily erased.

  His cell phone rang. Glancing at it, he saw it was Finn. Crap, he’d managed to conveniently forget about the DEA agent. It took a few seconds to bring him up to speed on what had happened.

  Finn wasn’t happy that Tucker had gone into Boulder and nearly gotten killed. He was even less happy to hear about Lucy and Eli, more so because he’d heard about it from another agent rather than Tucker.

  “What was I supposed to do?” Tucker growled. “There’s no way I could leave her at their mercy once they’d seen her.”

  “You were supposed to stay out of Boulder,” Finn admonished. “None of this would have happened if you did as you were told.”

  Tucker cursed. “That’s it. I’ve had enough. You seriously can’t expect me to sit around in the tiny little house and act like bait. I’ve got to be proactive in this thing. And if that involves going to Boulder, then I’m going to Boulder.”

  “Yeah, look how well that worked out for you,” Finn responded. “Come on. You can’t bring a woman and an infant into this mess.”

  “You know what? You’re absolutely right. You need to send someone to come get them and take them somewhere safe.”

  “That’s the first rational thing you’ve said.” Finn actually sounded relieved. “I’ll send a team of agents first thing in the morning. We’ll put her in a safe house until this thing is over.”

  Tucker’s stomach dropped. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he hadn’t thought Finn would actually do anything. So far the DEA agent had been sort of a hands-off kind of guy.

  “Seriously?” he asked. “I’m actually not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why? You ought to rejoice. Once we remove them, you’ve got one less problem on your hands.”

  “One less problem?” Tucker repeated, actually regretting that he’d said anything. But then again…while he wanted to spend time with Lucy and Eli, their safety was more important.

  “So I take it I shouldn’t go through the hassle of buying a crib and sheets and all the stuff she wants me to buy?” Oddly enough, he felt kind of disappointed. He’d actually been looking forward to purchasing things for his son.

  Finn laughed. “Go ahead. That way, the safe house we’re sending her to will have everything she’ll need.”

  “Sounds good.” In fact, the whole situation sounded anything but. Tucker wanted to keep Lucy around, to give him time to get to know her again, win her over.

  But he couldn’t sacrifice her and the baby’s safety for his own desires. “It’ll be better all around if you take them away,” he said. “I’m all for it.”

  A strangled sound behind him made him turn. Lucy stood in the doorway, one hand over her mouth, her beautiful eyes wide and shocked. Crap.

  “Let me call you back.” Without waiting for a response, he closed the phone. Lucy had taken off, heading toward the guest bedroom. “Lucy, wait.”

  As he rounded the corner after her, the front window exploded.

  Chapter 8

  The blast knocked Tucker to the floor. As he got up, he looked around frantically for Lucy. Having made it farther down the hall, she looked dazed, climbing slowly to her feet. She appeared unhurt. In the living room behind them, a fire raged, sending thick, black smoke ahead of it, toward them. From the age of the wooden house, he judged they had a matter of seconds to get out before the entire thing was engulfed in flames.

  Lucy ran for Eli. Tucker sprinted after her. Once in the bedroom, he closed the door to provide a barrier against the smoke while she scooped up a wide awake baby. Panting, she turned to face him. “We’ve got to get out, but whoever did this is probably out front. Where do we go?”

  “The way to the front door is blocked by fire, anyway,” he told her, keeping his voice level. “Same with the back. We’re going to have to get out this window.”

  Coughing as the acrid smoke began to fill the hallway and seep under the closed door, she nodded.

  “We’ve got to watch out for the cartel’s guys, okay?” He cautioned her as he unlocked and forced the large window open. Leaning outside, he checked both directions. “I don’t see anyone. Come on. Hand me Eli.”

  As she glanced up at him, he felt gratified by the absolute trust he saw in her eyes. “I’ll hold him while you climb out. Once you’re outside, I’ll pass hi
m to you and I’ll do the same.”

  Without hesitation, she did as he said, climbing over the sill and dropping the few feet to the ground, before reaching up so he could hand her Eli.

  This done, he climbed out himself. Once they were all together, they glanced in both directions.

  “It still looks clear,” he whispered as sirens sounded in the distance. “If they’re still here, they’re in the front.”

  “What about the DEA?” she whispered back. “I thought they were supposed to be guarding you?”

  “I did, too.” Again he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll check in with Finn later. Right now, we’ve got to get out of here.”

  Shepherding her in front of him, he hurried them over toward the small, wooden storage shed. Crossing behind that, they hugged the back of it, keeping to the grassy side yard opposite the garage and as far from the front of the house as they could get while staying in the yard.

  “Just as a precaution,” he told her, heart pumping. “Though I wish to hell the DEA had let me have a gun. I need something to protect us with.”

  “Well, since you don’t have one, what now?” she asked, still calm and rational, which he appreciated. The situation would be ten times worse if Lucy panicked. Maybe she understood how precarious their situation was. After all, she had their baby to keep safe.

  As did he. And he would, no matter what.

  “We’ve got to get out of here before the fire department arrives. Let’s try to make it to the car, assuming it’s still in one piece.”

  “Do you think they’re still here?” Glancing back at the house, she trembled, the first sign she’d given since the explosion to show how this was affecting her.

  “Who knows? I’m guessing they were instructed to scare us rather than kill us. Otherwise, they’d have rushed inside while we were still stunned and finished us off. So they’re probably gone.”

  “Good.” She took a deep breath. “I know we’ve got to get out of here, but why don’t you want to wait for the fire department?” she asked, though she followed him as he moved cautiously around the back of the house. “I’m sure they could help us.”