For Her Protection. Lauren Giordano
replaced with one of confusion.
“Well, they are now. I’ve already filed the papers to adopt them.”
“You flew all the way over here to adopt kids? What made you do that?”
Her gaze shifted to the corner of the room where James sat in a squeaky armchair, his eyes glued to the telly. In three days James hadn’t so much as mentioned his mum. But she knew Annie’s death had hit him hard. Good Lord, she was still reeling herself. But instinct told her he would speak of Annie when he was ready. Still a complete novice at the motherhood thing, she’d cautiously followed his lead.
Luke’s gaze travelled to James before returning to settle on her. She hoisted Sarah awkwardly onto her shoulder. “M-my sister. She passed away two weeks—”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” he interrupted, clearly uneasy. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
The flash of compassion in his eyes nearly undid her composure. Her gaze still on James, she blinked back the tears that lately seemed to be too readily available. Lowering her voice, she continued. “I promised my sister I’d come over here and—”
He held up one hand. “I get the picture. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
When she allowed herself to think about it, Annie’s death was like a raw gaping wound. Not that she’d had all that much time to think about anything. For once, she was grateful when Sarah began fussing. There was nothing like a hungry baby to get her mind refocused on priorities. She would have a lifetime to grieve for all she’d lost. A lifetime to wonder over what might have been. If she’d only come sooner.
Crossing to the bed, she sat and slid across the spread to lean back against the headboard. She snuggled Sarah into one arm before slipping the bottle into her mouth. Her sweet little face unscrunched immediately as she began happily sucking. And Jillian sighed with relief.
“She’s a noisy little thing, this one. I wonder if all babies are this loud.”
“I wouldn’t be the right person to ask that question. But if I remember correctly, my nephews’ screams came damn close to shattering glass when they were hungry.” Luke sat hesitantly on the edge of a chair, wincing when his rear end made contact with the vinyl. “I guess that’s nature’s way of ensuring they get what they need.”
“So what happens now, Mr. Gianetti? Have you made contact with your captain, or whatever he is?” Sarah’s eyes seemed to follow the sound of her voice and she giggled in spite of her exhaustion. Lord, she felt like a limp dish rag. No wonder Nanny Margaret had always been so foul come suppertime. After all these years, she finally understood why Nanny’s evening sherry had been such a sacred event. She’d probably been bloody worn out after endless days spent chasing around after her and Annie.
“He’s called a SAC…not a captain.”
“What’s a sack?” Leave it to the Yanks to abbreviate everything. Why did everything have to be shortened to initials? What was their damn hurry?
“Not sack,” he answered patiently. “SAC—Special Agent in Charge. He’s the boss. Then there’s an ASAC—Assistant Special Agent in Charge. Then way down the totem pole, there’s me.”
“And what initials are you?” she interrupted.
“I’m just an SA… Special Agent. Actually I’m a UCSA.”
“A what?”
A fleeting smile crossed his features. “An Undercover SA.”
It was a code she’d have to break. Why, it would probably be even worse on a college campus. Kids today spoke a completely different language. With any luck, she’d be able to hide out in her library. Although she doubted it. She’d been thrilled to accept Dartmouth’s offer. Archiving one of the finest collections of eighteenth-century papers was a dream come true. But then Rosemary had gone and ruined it. Her mother’s catty reminder of their lineage had planted a niggling worry in her mind. Had they only wanted her because of who she was?
Sarah gurgled, catching her attention, and Jilly was content to let her suspicions slide away. Rosemary wouldn’t ruin this for her. She would prove to Dartmouth—and to herself—that they’d made an excellent choice.
“So, SA Luke, were you able to reach any of your initial friends?” She tore her gaze from Sarah and glanced around their meager room. The furniture was threadbare and probably decades old. And the overriding scent was one of mildew. The smell reminded her of the ancient castles her father had dragged his daughters across the continent to visit. Every school holiday had been spent “appreciating” another dreary estate. The only difference now was the temperature. The castles had been cold and dank. Here in the States, it was warm and far too humid for her taste.
“When can we leave this fine establishment?”
“I still don’t know yet.” Agent Gianetti’s tone was clearly defensive.
“We simply can’t stay here indefinitely.” She raised one eyebrow when Sarah belched indelicately. “Well, excuse you, young lady.”
That got a smile out of Luke. “She’s not half bad. With a little practice, she just may have a future.”
“Mr. Gianetti, please. Sarah is going to wear dresses and have tea parties, not learn to burp and spit.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now, please tell me what’s going on.”
“The good news is that we’re safe—temporarily.”
“Safe? From what? You said no one followed us.” He settled back in his chair and then sucked in a sharp breath of pain. “Are you all right?”
He gritted his teeth and nodded. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay,” she persisted.
“I just need to stand up.” His eyes glazed with pain, he grasped the table and hoisted himself from the chair. “The bad news is that I haven’t reached anyone on the team. It’s like the call won’t even go through. All the circuits are down, or some damn thing. And my cell phone isn’t working.”
“You don’t think that man will actually look for us, do you?”
How much did he risk telling her? For the moment she was calm, rational. And Luke wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he needed was a hysterical woman on his hands. Hell, yes, Sloan would be looking for them. He was probably searching right now. Sloan abided by the drug dealers’ creed. No witnesses.
“Until I’m positive it’s safe, we’re not going anywhere. As soon as it gets dark, I’ll try to contact my partner from the pay phone out front.”
Luke was not operating from a position of strength. He had to come up with a plan. They were all dangerously vulnerable to Sloan and his gang of rent-a-thugs. He was saddled not only with the sexy Jillian, but with her three children—babies, actually. A fast escape would be out of the question, so he had to make sure they wouldn’t need one. A quick inventory had already confirmed he didn’t have much cash and until he connected with his partner and found out what had gone wrong, he wouldn’t risk using a credit card. Even his undercover card would be too easy to trace.
He had no surveillance. No survival equipment and only one gun, and even that wasn’t a good one. It was a street piece, no serial number—exactly what a small-time dealer would use to protect himself, to delude himself into thinking he was safe. Luke hated being without his pistol, but his government-issue was too easy to spot. Drug dealers were a very suspicious lot.
If Sloan had made Jillian’s car, they were in it even deeper. And they wouldn’t have much time before the goons came searching. If Luke’d had more time, he could’ve lifted another car, but Jilly’s station wagon had been packed to the rafters. It would have taken half the night to move her stuff. He would feel a whole lot better with another hundred miles between him and Sloan. The bastard was way too close for comfort, but Baby Sarah’s shrieks of protest had put an