carrying Ysabel with him. “We’re going to the hospital. This isn’t right.”
“No. I’ll refuse treatment. Just take me home.”
“Okay, so no hospital. But you’re going home and I’m calling in my physician. End of subject.”
She stared at him, her face close enough to kiss, her eyes rounded, with dark smudges beneath them.
The need to take her lips was more than an urge, it was an obsession. If he didn’t think she’d slap his face, he’d have followed his desire. But Ysabel had had more than enough excitement for one day. He set her in the car and strapped on her seat belt, adjusting her seat back so that she lay fully reclined. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of you.”
AN hour later, Jackson had reported the hit and run to the police and managed to get the corporate physician to pay a house call at Ysabel’s apartment. With Jackson pacing the floor of her compact living room, Ysabel lay on her bed behind her closed bedroom door, a cold stethoscope pressed to her chest, willing the doctor to declare her fit and get the hell out.
Dr. Adams folded his stethoscope and shoved it into his bag. “How long have you known?”
“Known what?”Ysabel asked, her gaze darting to the closed door of her bedroom. Could Jackson hear their words through the wooden panels? She couldn’t afford for him to find out now. She had to think, make plans and get the hell out of Houston.
“It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure this out.” Jackson’s corporate physician smiled as if making a joke. “You’ve missed a period and you’re throwing up, otherwise you’re perfectly healthy.”
She buttoned her shirt and climbed off the bed, putting distance between them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve done the math. Question is, have you?” He waited, unmoving.
She teetered on the edge of lying again, but she’d had enough lying. “How accurate are home pregnancy tests?” Ysabel asked, her voice a soft whisper.
“They’ve been pretty accurate as long as you’ve gone past a period. I take it you’ve tested positive for pregnancy?”
Ysabel spun, a finger to her lips. “Shhh! I don’t want anyone to know.”
“You mean you don’t want Jackson to know?”
“That’s not what I said,” she argued, her words guarded, her brows drawing together. The doctor had guessed about her pregnancy, would he also guess the father of the child to be Jackson Champion?
Dr. Adams laid a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to worry. I respect doctor–patient confidentiality. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks.” Ysabel swallowed the vile taste of guilt and nodded. “What are you going to tell Mr. Champion?”
“I’ll tell him it might have been a mild case of food poisoning and that you’ll be fine. Not the truth but not exactly a lie.” He squeezed her shoulders in a reassuring grip. “Ysabel, I hope you have the good sense to let the father in on your secret. A man has a right to know he’s got a child on the way.”
She stared up into the man’s eyes, tears forming in her own. After a long pause, she dipped her head. “I will.” As soon as she knew how she could retain custody when the father of her child could buy half of Houston with the amount of money he had.
“Fair enough.” Dr. Adams opened the door and stepped out into Ysabel’s small living area decorated in bold shades of red, yellow and orange. “She’s fine, Jackson. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
“But why was she throwing up?”
“Hard to say without blood tests, probably food poisoning, but it appears as if the worst has passed.”
“Don’t you think we should take her to the hospital and run those blood tests?” Jackson stared over Dr. Adams’s shoulder to where Ysabel stood in the doorway.
Butterflies turned somersaults in Ysabel’s stomach. “I told you it was nothing. We don’t need to waste any more of the doctor’s time or burden the hospital with nothing but a little bit of food poisoning. Go home, Mr. Champion. Like the doctor said, I could use a little rest.”
Jackson’s forehead furrowed. “I’m staying.”
“If you stay, I’m sure to get no rest at all.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Ysabel realized how they could be misinterpreted and her face heated. “Just leave. I’ll be at work bright and early in the morning.”
“Take the day off. I can survive without you for a day.” He plunked his cowboy hat on his head. “I don’t like leaving you.”
“Madre de Dios! You don’t live here and I haven’t invited you to stay. So get out.” She softened her words with a twisted smile.
The doctor nodded. “Leave the girl alone and go home, Jackson. She’ll be fine.”
His steps dragging, Jackson allowed the doctor to escort him out of Ysabel’s apartment. Not until the door was closed behind them and their footsteps faded down the hallway, did Ysabel let out the breath she’d been holding.
If she’d known that was what it would be like to see Jackson again, she’d have asked him to stay away longer. Too tired to think, she stripped, took a quick shower and fell into her bed.
As her eyes closed, she thought of all that had happened in the past three hours.
She’d learned she was pregnant, tendered her resignation, Jackson had nearly been killed and they’d almost been run off the road by a homicidal maniac.
Yup, that pretty much summed up the day. She yawned, wondering what was in store for the next morning. Reaching down, she pulled the sheet up over her head as though that would keep the chaos away.
“FLINT? It’s Jackson. We need to meet.”
Dr. Adams had given him a ride back to the building he owned in downtown Houston where he had the penthouse condo on the twenty-fifth floor. He preferred the wide-open spaces of his ranch west of Houston, but his business necessitated a residence in the city.
Standing at the floor-to-ceiling window in nothing but his boxer shorts, he pressed the cell phone to his ear.
“Do you know what time it is?” Flint McKade grumbled into his ear.
“Two in the morning. I know it’s late and I’m sorry to wake you, but I’ve got some serious problems. I’m going to need the help of the Aggie Four.” His hand tightened as it hit him in a fresh wave of anger and sorrow that the Aggie Four was down to three now. Viktor’s loss hit him harder when he needed the full support of the friends he’d grown to love and respect. He missed Viktor.
As much as he missed his dead friend, he needed the support of the ones still living. If he didn’t find out who planted the detonators in that container, he’d not only be up on charges of murder for the death of the forklift driver, but he’d also be the prime suspect in the possible plot to commit an act of terrorism against the United
