Sharon felt no relief. Parker might be able to keep them safe from whoever was after them. But who would keep her safe from him?
One of the light-haired men spoke. “I found out more information from my contacts.”
Parker lifted a brow in question. “You know who ordered the hit on me?”
He shook his head. “No, but I know that you’re not the only one. A hit was put out on someone else the same day as it was put out on you.”
His eyes darkening with concern, Parker glanced toward his brother.
And the man shook his head again. “It’s on a woman.” His gray-eyed gaze focused on her. “A woman named Sharon Wells.”
So she hadn’t just been in the wrong places at the wrong times. It had not been coincidence or mistaken identity. Someone was definitely trying to kill her. Someone wanted both her and Parker Payne dead.
Parker closed and locked the door behind Sharon Wells and the baby she carried—his baby. Then he slid his gun back into the holster beneath his shoulder. Before he’d brought her up from the garage in the basement, he had cleared the penthouse condo on Lake Michigan that his brother Logan used as a safe house. Parker had also made certain they weren’t followed from the hospital.
“We’ll be safe here,” he assured her.
She trembled—maybe with cold or maybe with exhaustion from carrying the sleeping child. When he’d cleared the penthouse, he had also brought up the portable crib his mother had somehow conjured up at the hospital. He had set it up in a corner of the master bedroom. He reached out for the baby and carefully lifted him from her arms. But the child—even in his sleep—clutched her hair in his hands, binding the baby to her as if those tresses were caramel-colored ropes.
She was not his mother; she had finally admitted that. But there was definitely a bond between her and the baby. She gently pried open the little fingers so that her hair slipped free. And Parker held only the baby.
Ethan—she called him. His son’s name was Ethan. He stared down in wonder at the little boy. His pudgy cheeks were flushed and drool trailed from the corner of his open mouth. His fuzzy black hair was damp, too. He had been held so tightly in Sharon’s arms that the child had gotten too warm. She had held him as if she would never let him go. And now she visibly held her breath as she watched him handle the baby, as if afraid that Parker might drop him.
That he might hurt him...
A test had proved that somehow this child was his. Parker had vowed to never become a father, but now that he was, he would do anything for his son. He would die for him before he would ever let any harm come to him.
If Ethan had been in that car when it exploded...
Parker shuddered in horror over the thought. He could have lost his child before he had ever realized that the little boy was his. He never wanted to let him go now, but the little boy was already overly warm. And Parker was hot himself—with anger over Sharon Wells’s deception. But she watched him as if he was the one who couldn’t be trusted.
Very gently, so that he didn’t awaken the boy, he laid him down in the crib. The child sighed softly as he relaxed against the thin mattress, his slumber deepening.
“We’re safe here,” he repeated. But he was reassuring himself now that nothing would happen to his little boy.
“You probably want to kill me yourself,” she said, “for misleading you.”
He snorted. “Misleading me?” He wrapped his fingers around her arm and tugged her farther from the crib so that he wouldn’t wake the baby as the anger he had barely been able to contain boiled over in his voice. “That’s all you think you’ve done?”
“I didn’t lie to you,” she insisted, those huge light brown eyes wide with innocence and sincerity. “I never told you that I was Ethan’s mother—just that you are his father.”
He dropped his hand from her arm as he realized she hadn’t lied. She had never claimed to be the baby’s mother; he had only assumed that she was because she had brought the baby to him. Why hadn’t the boy’s mother? That woman—whoever she was—had kept her pregnancy from him.
“Why were you the one to bring me my son?” he wondered aloud.
While the baby’s mother hadn’t even told him that he was a father, this woman had brought him his baby. She had shared a secret that wasn’t even hers.
“I shouldn’t be mad at you,” he said as he turned back to the crib and studied the sleeping baby. “I should probably be thanking you instead.” If not for Sharon Wells, he might never have known he had a son.
“So you don’t want to kill me?” she asked, but she narrowed those eyes with suspicion as if she still couldn’t trust him. But given that someone was trying to kill them, she shouldn’t trust him or anyone else.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He was treating her as his family treated each other, making jokes to defuse a tense situation. “I could use the money for carrying out the hit. Maybe set up a college fund for Ethan...”
She smiled nervously, probably not completely certain he was kidding.
He wasn’t entirely kidding. He would have to set up a college fund; he would have to provide for his son’s present and his future. But he wouldn’t be able to do any of that if he was dead.
And why was there a hit out on Sharon, as well? She wasn’t the baby’s mother, so who exactly was she?
“Maybe you haven’t lied to me,” he said, “but you haven’t been completely honest with me, either. You know a lot more than I do. You know who Ethan’s mother is.”
Color flushed her face, giving away her guilt.
“And I think you even know why someone’s trying to kill us,” he continued, “maybe even who...”
She shook her head and all that thick hair tumbled around her shoulders. He was so glad that he had pulled it free from that knot. Those caramel-colored waves softened the sharp angles of her thin face, making her beautiful. “I don’t know why,” she said, “or who...”
He stared into her eyes, trying to gauge if she was being honest. If only he were the interrogator that his brother, the former detective, was...
But he had been the undercover cop—the one more adept at keeping secrets than at flushing them out. He hadn’t needed confessions; he had caught ’em in the act—in the commission of the crime.
Had Sharon Wells committed any crime?
“Who are you?” he asked.
It wasn’t the question he should be asking. He should be asking who Ethan’s mother was. But Sharon was the one with the bounty on her head—not whoever the baby’s mother was. And for some reason Parker was more interested in Sharon than in whoever had kept his son from him.
“Who are you?” Parker asked again.
