The Cradle Files. Delores Fossen

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save that news for later. First, there was the issue of paternity.

      “Well?” she prompted.

      Lexie saw the moment that her bombshell actually registered. His eyes widened. Every muscle in his body seemed to turn to iron.

      “Oh, man.” He groaned and stepped back, his chest pumping as if he were suddenly starved for air. “Was that an honest-to-goodness question?”

      “Unfortunately, yes.” And she tried to brace herself for an equally honest answer. He held her life, her heart and her future in his hands, and he didn’t even know it.

      Yet.

      He opened his mouth. Closed it. Only to open it again so he could curse. “Why are you doing this?”

      She ignored his question. “Did we sleep together?”

      “No.” He said it without a shred of hesitation.

      Lexie’s heart sank to her knees. Oh, mercy. Had she gotten this all wrong?

      Garrett let that unhesitant no bristle between them while he stared daggers at her. His mouth tightened into a semi-sneer. “But we did have sex,” he clarified. “You left before either of us could get any sleep.”

      The relief flooded through her. Why, she didn’t know. Other than the fact O’Malley was a cop, he didn’t seem like the best choice for fatherhood or a likely candidate to help keep her alive. From what she’d read about him, he had a penchant for attracting trouble. That penchant apparently included attracting her, as well.

      “So, we weren’t in love or anything like that?” she questioned.

      “No.” He practically spat out the word. More profanity followed. “If you want to put a label on it, we were in brief, temporary lust.”

      Yes. She could see that. Garrett O’Malley was, well, hot by anyone’s standards.

      Especially hers.

      Even with the fatigue and the relentless haze in her brain, she couldn’t deny that. He was lean and lethal, just over six feet tall, with a body and face that had probably garnered him many invitations to women’s beds. Not exactly the knight in shining armor type with those jeans that clung to every part of him.

      Heck, he wasn’t even the cop type.

      With that sopping wet, a-little-too-long, bronze-colored hair, hint of desperado stubble and bad boy demeanor, he would have been more at home on a Harley.

      Or in a police lineup.

      “Lust,” Lexie mumbled. She’d counted on something more. Much more. Because she desperately needed his help. Still, lust would have to do, since it was all she had. “Did we have sex about nine and a half months ago?”

      Oh, that riled him. She saw the anger flash in his eyes. It merged with the confusion and the profanity that was already there.

      “You know we did.” He stepped closer and aimed an accusing index finger at her. She wanted to get off the bed and move back. To keep her distance. But if she tried to stand up now, she’d risk falling flat on her face.

      That would hardly be an effective bargaining position.

      “So, what the hell is this all about?” he asked. “And while you’re explaining, get to the part about me being the father of your baby. Are you actually saying you were pregnant?”

      She considered her answer. There was only one way to go with this—she had to tell him the truth. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure just how much was true and how much was a product of the drug that’d been used to try to murder her.

      “Let me start from the beginning.” Lexie paused. “Or at least what I know to be the beginning. I haven’t seen a doctor, but it seems as if I’ve, uh, lost some of my memory.”

      His accusing finger dropped slowly back to his side, and even though his mouth didn’t gape, it came close. “You have amnesia?”

      She nodded. “Maybe.”

      “Maybe?”

      Lexie tried not to huff at his sarcasm. They had too many battles ahead of them without him questioning everything she said. “Maybe is as good of an answer as I can give you right now. That’s why I pawned my necklace and bought the gun. Because I didn’t know if we were friends or enemies.”

      “There’s a lot of gray area as far as our relationship is concerned. And some not so gray,” he gruffly added. But the gruffness eased a bit when he continued. “You pawned your necklace—the gold rose with the diamond in the center?”

      It was an odd question, but it also seemed important. She nodded. “Was the necklace a gift from you?”

      “No. We didn’t exchange gifts. Your father gave it to you. I’m just surprised you’d be willing to part with it.”

      She’d parted with it because she hadn’t known its value, and because she’d needed money to survive. However, knowing now that her father had given it to her made her ache at losing something so precious.

      Of course, she’d lost something else far more precious.

      “Why don’t we get back to your explanation?” Garrett insisted. “Approximately nine and a half months ago, we were together in a hotel room in downtown San Antonio.”

      “Having sex,” she provided, latching on to the information as if it were nuggets of gold. Which in a way it was. Everything she could learn might bring her closer to unraveling this puzzle inside her head.

      He confirmed that with a nod. “Afterward—”

      She held up her hand. “Don’t go there yet. Why was I in a hotel room with you having sex?”

      The question earned her a blank stare. Hooking his thumbs into the waist of his jeans, Garrett leaned against the wall. “You honestly don’t remember?”

      “If I did, I wouldn’t be asking. I’m not here to relive our past.”

      “Right. You’re here because you want to know if I’m the father of your baby.” More skepticism. Lexie totally understood his reaction. But she could also see that he was mentally doing the math. Nine and a half months ago fit with the other pieces of the puzzle.

      She nodded. “And because someone tried to kill me.”

      His left eyebrow arched. Not exactly a vote of confidence. “Okay, I’ll play. We were in a hotel room because you were in my protective custody. You were a material witness for your former boss, Billy Avery, and you testified against him for racketeering. Well, partly testified. You made it through the first day of questioning, but you left before you could finish.”

      “I was Billy Avery’s bodyguard,” she supplied.

      He made a sound of agreement. “You remember that part, so your amnesia must be cured.” More cynicism. Perhaps his way of coping. Or better yet, his way of tap-dancing around the other subject.

      The

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