A Father For Her Baby. B.J. Daniels
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God,” she whispered. The young man in the photo had long, light brown hair and pale gray eyes. Intense, penetrating eyes, just like the ones gazing at her now.
“That answers at least one of my questions,” Luke said, taking the wallet from her numb fingers. “It was my brother you saw your husband kill. I figured it had to be something like that. It was too much of a coincidence when you disappeared on the same day as Jason—and you nine months’ pregnant.”
Kit’s gaze jerked up at a sound outside the car. She let out a startled cry as a man’s face appeared beyond the glass. He wore a bright yellow raincoat, the hood up, his features hidden in shadow.
“It’s all right,” Luke said, pocketing the wallet. “He’s getting rid of the limo for me.” He stepped out into the rain, leaving his door open.
Kit watched the man hand Luke two raincoats. She couldn’t hear what they were saying as Luke shrugged into one of the coats then reached back in to toss her the second one. Luke went around the back of the limo with the man, opened the trunk and extracted her single bag. The man took the bag and disappeared into the darkness.
She pulled on the raincoat, chilled more by his words than by the weather or the raindrops that splattered her skin from the wet slick fabric. He was getting rid of the limo because Derrick would be looking for it—and them. Derrick would be tracking her down like a dog. She felt the weight of that thought and knew she could never be rid of the man.
Luke startled her, opening the door and climbing into the back of the limo. “There’s a fishing cottage just over the hill,” he said, reaching for the baby carrier. “We’ll go there.”
Kit glanced out into the night, unable to see a light or a building. She settled her gaze on Luke, wondering why he’d helped her, wondering what he wanted from her, suspecting she already knew the answer to that. She looked down at the baby in her arms. Andy had fallen back to sleep sucking his thumb; this kid could sleep through anything.
“Look,” Luke said quietly, “I’m tired, cold and hungry and the best cook in Texas is waiting someplace warm and dry.” He gave her a faint smile. It did something nice for his face, but it never reached his eyes. He didn’t like her. She felt that from him. It was so strong that it was unnerving, especially since, on the surface, he seemed so affable.
“My Aunt Lucille makes the best crab gumbo you’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice deeper, softer, cajoling.
Kit heard pride and tenderness in his tone at just the mention of his aunt’s name. It warmed her a little to him. She reminded herself that he’d lost his brother. And she’d witnessed the murder and run instead of going to the police. That was the frightening bond they shared. That and the fact that now Derrick Killhorn would be looking for Luke St. John as well as for her and Andy. No wonder this man didn’t like her.
She studied his face for a moment. At first she’d thought him ruggedly attractive, but now in the glare of the limo’s overhead light, she realized that he could have been handsome if his features hadn’t been so rigid, his gray eyes so cold.
“Well?” he asked, glancing out into the darkness with a nervousness she found contagious. “We don’t have a lot of time.” He handed her the diaper bag and her purse from the front seat, then held out his hands again for Andy. “You don’t know the terrain. It would be dangerous for you to carry the baby.”
Still, it was all she could do to put Andy into the man’s arms. But their lives were now in his hands, whether she liked it or not. Luke St. John had seen to that. She told herself that he had no reason to want to harm her or her son. In fact, he had every reason to want to see her stay alive. She hoped.
He covered the baby carrier with his uniform jacket, then he turned and ducked out of the car. Kit followed closely behind. She hadn’t gone far when she heard the purr of the limo engine as it pulled away into the night.
They hurried through the downpour. The air smelled wet from the rain and salty from the sea. As they topped one of the dunes, she could see a shimmer of light in the distance. The light grew as they neared a fishing cottage on stilts, the exterior weathered as gray as the fog. It appeared out of the rain, a single golden light shining from the porch. It pulled them through the darkness, promising warmth and shelter from the storm. And, if Luke St. John were true to his word, crab gumbo.
Kit felt uneasy as they neared the house, questioning why she thought she could take Luke St. John at his word—including the fact that Derrick wasn’t behind this abduction. For all she knew, the other limo would have taken her to Huntsville and safety.
* * *
“LUCAS ALLEN ST. JOHN,” the P.I. said, reading the report off his computer screen as a copy rolled out of the printer for Sanders. “Wow, who is this guy? Graduated at the top of his class from Montana Tech and went right to work as a structural engineer on some pretty impressive buildings around the world.”
Sanders snatched up the sheets from the printer and scanned down what read like a résumé. It was very impressive.
“I wonder what happened,” Rustan said thoughtfully. “Looks like he was good, really good. Then suddenly he drops out. Four years later he’s building furniture out of his shed in Podunkland. Believe me, there’s a story there. Something.” Rustan rubbed his jaw. “Makes you wonder what happened. Want me to try to find out?”
Sanders shook his head. He couldn’t care less about the man’s past. He was more interested in the man’s relatives. A brother named Jason. And Luke St. John’s current address: Big Sky, Montana. How about that?
Sanders carefully folded the papers and put them in his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t you want me to just put it on the bill I send to your brother?”
“No,” Sanders said, pulling out two hundred dollars from the wad Derrick had given him. “This doesn’t have anything to do with my brother.”
Rustan shrugged and took the money. “You say you don’t want me to keep looking for Kit Killhorn, right?”
“Right.”
“But you want me to keep looking for Jason St. John, but you want me to bill you instead of your brother?”
Was the man stupid? “I believe that’s simple enough.”
“Oh yeah, it’s simple all right. Just interesting.”
“Maybe you should try to curb your interest in other people’s affairs,” Sanders suggested.
Rustan laughed in his face. “People’s affairs are my business. It’s how I make a living, digging in other people’s lives. I’ll let you know if I find the answer to Luke St. John’s past.” He held up his hand before Sanders could protest. “It’s on the house. A freebie. Sometimes I just like to satisfy my own curiosity.”
Sanders left, his mind alive with worry. He didn’t like the P.I. and suspected Rustan would call Derrick the moment he left the office and sell him the same information. But he didn’t want any other outsiders involved in Killhorn business. Besides, he had more important things on his mind than Matthew Rustan. Why would this Lucas St. John kidnap Kit and the baby? Was he looking for his brother and thought Kit might know where Jason was? Or did he believe Jason had met with foul play?
Sanders felt his heart hammer harder. If Kit repeated that story about Derrick killing Jason…What would Lucas St. John do if he thought Derrick had killed his brother? Would he use Kit to try to get back at Derrick?
The possibilities terrified him. Then a new thought stopped him cold. What if this Luke St. John had kidnapped Kit to protect her from Derrick? Instantly, he rejected that theory as ridiculous. No one had to protect Kit from her own husband, nor the baby from his own father. Derrick might be a little out of control on occasion, but he’d married Kit, so he must have loved her. And more than anything in the world, Derrick wanted his son back.
Sanders