he? You went into labor early in the middle of no-goddamn-where, and by the time some Good Samaritan saw you and called for an ambulance, your baby almost didn’t make it.”
She fought the urge to break down. Wished to heaven that he’d quit touching her. He was too close, his angry breath whispering over her face, the raw, sexual energy of him seeping through her clothes.
“Now, I’m not moving,” he vowed, “not one bloody inch, until you and I get a few things straight. I’m in for the long haul and I’ll stay here all night if I have to. All week. All year.”
Her stupid heart pounded, and though she tried to pull away he wouldn’t allow it. The manacles surrounding her arms clamped even more tightly.
“Let’s start with one important question, shall we?”
He didn’t have to ask. She knew what was coming and braced herself.
“Tell me, Randi, right now. No more ducking the issue. Who the devil is J.R.’ s father?”
Oh, God, he was too close. “Let go of me,” she said, refusing to give in. “And get the hell out of my house.”
“No way.”
“I’ll call the police.”
“Be my guest,” he encouraged, hitching his chin toward the phone she hadn’t used in months. It sat collecting dust on the small desk she’d crammed into one corner of the living room. “Why don’t you tell them everything that’s happened to you and I’ll explain what I’m doing here.”
“You weren’t invited.”
“Your brothers are concerned.”
“They can’t control me.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “No? They might disagree.”
“Big deal,” she said, tossing her head and pretending to be tough. The truth was that she loved all of her older half brothers, all three of them, but she couldn’t have them poking around in her life. Nor did she want anything to do with Kurt Striker. He was just too damn male for his own good. Or her own. He’d proved that much last night. “Listen, Striker, this is my life. I can handle it. Now, if you’d be so kind as to take your hands off me,” she said, sarcasm dripping from the pleasantry, “I have a lot to do.”
He stared at her long and hard, those sharp green eyes seeming to penetrate her own. Then he lifted a shoulder and released her. “I can wait.”
“Elsewhere.”
His smile was pure devilment. “Is that a hint?” he drawled, and again her heart began to trip-hammer. Damn the man.
“A broad one. Take a hike.”
“Only if you show me the city.”
“What?”
“I’m new in town. Humor me.”
“You mean so you can keep an eye on me.”
Curse the sexy smile that crawled across his jaw. “That, too.”
“Forget it. I’ve got a million things to do,” she said, flipping up a hand to indicate the telephone where no light blinked on her answering machine. “That’s odd,” she muttered then glanced back at Striker, whom she was beginning to believe was the embodiment of Lucifer. “Wait a minute. You listened to my messages?” she demanded, fury spiking up her spine.
“No, I actually didn’t.”
She made her way to the desk and pushed the play button on the recorder. “That’s odd,” she said as she recognized Sarah Peeples’s voice.
“Hey, when are you coming back to work?” Sarah asked. “It’s soooo boooring with all these A-type males.” She giggled. “Well, maybe not that boring, but I miss ya. Give me a call and kiss Joshua for me.” The phone clicked as Sarah hung up.
Randi bit her lower lip. Her mind was spinning as she jabbed a finger at the recorder. “You didn’t listen to this?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“Not you?” he asked and his eyes narrowed.
“No, not me.” Her skin crawled. If Striker hadn’t listened to her messages, then…who had? Her headache pounded. Maybe she was jumping at shadows. She was worried about her baby, exasperated with the man in her apartment and just plain tired from the long drive and the few hours’ sleep she’d had in the past forty-eight hours. That was it, her nerves were just strung tight. Her brothers hiring this sexy, roughshod P.I. only made things worse. She rubbed her temple and tried to think clearly. “Look, Striker, you can’t barge in here, help yourself to a beer, then sit back and make yourself at home…”
His expression reminded her that he’d done just that.
“So far,” she went on, “I think you’ve committed half a dozen crimes. Breaking and entering, burglary, trespassing and who knows what else. The police would have a field day.”
“So where’s your son?” he asked, refusing to be sidetracked. “J.R. Where is he?”
She’d known that was coming. “I call him Joshua.”
“Okay, where’s Josh?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“There is nowhere that’s safe.”
Her insides crumbled. “You’re wrong.”
“So you are afraid that someone is after you.”
“I’m a mother. I’m not taking any chances with him.”
“Only with yourself.”
“Let’s not get into this.” She pressed a button and the answering machine rewound.
“Is he with your cousin Nora?”
Her muscles tensed. How had he learned about Nora, on her mother’s side? Her brothers had never met Nora.
“Or maybe Aunt Bonita, your mother’s stepsister?”
God, he’d done his homework. Her head thundered, her palms suddenly sweaty. “It’s none of your business, Striker.”
“How about your friend Sharon?” He folded his arms over his chest. “That’s where I’m putting my money.”
She froze. How could he have guessed that she would leave her precious child with Sharon Okano? She and Sharon hadn’t seen each other in nearly nine months, and yet Striker had figured it out.
“You wouldn’t take a chance on a relative, or you would have left him in Montana, and your co-workers are out because they might slip up, so it had to be someone you trusted, but not obvious enough that it would be easy to figure it out.”
Her
