Mommy Midwife (8 page)

It was after ten when they checked out. Outside, he crossed the small parking area at the front of the resort and unlocked the back of a new rental SUV for the bellman. While their suitcases were being stowed in the back, Troy went around to the passenger side to open the door for her.

“What are you doing?” Her gaze was puzzled. “This isn’t our car.”

“It is now. Range Rover SUV. It’s a decent ride.”

After he got behind the wheel and drove toward the exit from the lot, he felt her staring at him, staring hard. When she spoke, her tone was cold. “Aren’t you going to tell me why we changed cars?”

“A precaution,” he said. “I didn’t notice anybody following us last night, but that doesn’t mean there’s no more threat. The intruders might have spotted our vehicle. Last night, while our rental SUV was parked, they could have planted a bug or a tracking device. So I contacted the rental place and got a replacement. This Range Rover is clean.”

“Seems paranoid,” she muttered.

“It’s called strategy. Being one step ahead of your opponent.”

He loved strategy. After he retired, he’d probably turn into a Civil War reenactor or one of those guys who built miniature models of Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo. Unfortunately, in the current situation, he didn’t have a whole lot of options when it came to planning strategic maneuvers.

Troy usually worked with trained troops. Protecting a pregnant woman was a whole different story. He couldn’t take risks to draw the bad guys into the open; his focus was to avoid potential danger.

“From now on,” she said, “I want to be in the loop. I want to know your plans before you make a decision.”

“I’ll keep you informed, but these decisions aren’t up for discussion.”

“Why not?” Her voice took on an edge of irritation. “Don’t I get to have a say?”

“Chain of command doesn’t work that way.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake.

“Command?” Her jaw tensed. “Who do you think you are? The master and commander?”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“Just like my dad. Trying to run my life and pretending it’s for my own good.”

There was no point in arguing with this stubborn woman. He shifted the subject. “Which route should we take to Denver?”

“The Eisenhower Tunnel is faster,” she said tersely. “We’d have to drive back to Dillon to get on the interstate.”

Returning to Dillon was counterintuitive. Even if they’d managed to lose the intruders who broke into her cabin, the bad guys could still be hanging around and watching the roads. “We’re closer to Loveland Pass.”

“And it’s a prettier drive.”

The old road that climbed over the Continental Divide was a more likely place for an ambush—a less-traveled route with a lot of twists and hairpin turns. He sat at the stop sign. Left or right? Dillon or the pass? Brilliant summer sunshine lit up the forests and glinted against windshields of other vehicles. On a day like this, it was hard to believe that someone might be following them.

“If you’re worried about driving the mountain roads,” she said with phony sweetness, “I’d be delighted to take over the wheel.”

He could have told her about his extensive training in defensive driving techniques or his escape in a Hummer across the rugged terrain in Afghanistan or the time he went over a hundred and twenty miles per hour in a Ferrari on the German autobahn. But there was no need to brag. “I can handle Loveland Pass.”

Taking the high road turned out to be a good plan. The panoramic mountain views seemed to calm her nerves. After they crested the summit, he tried to ease himself back into her good graces. “I like the outfit you’re wearing.”

“It’s too plain.”

He heard a grinding note of hostility and proceeded with caution. “You made a good choice. It’ll be hot in Denver. You’re practical to wear shorts.”

“Here’s a hint, Troy. Telling a woman that her clothes are practical isn’t a compliment.”

“The colors are nice and bright,” he said. “I like the black-and-yellow striped top. You remind me of a bumblebee.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

He tried again. “The way the material drapes—”

“Over my giant belly?” She was determined to find fault with anything he said. “My massive, watermelon belly?”

“Damn it, Olivia. What do you want me to say?”

“You don’t have to flatter me. I know I’m gross and pregnant. Either tell me the truth or be quiet.”

“Here’s the truth,” he said tersely. “You look sexy as hell. Your bare legs are tan and firm and I want to lick from your toes to your hips. That shirt gives me a peek at your cleavage—your amazing cleavage. And that round, beautiful belly turns me on.”

Her lower lip trembled. Three small gasps turned into a sob. “Thank you.”

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

But she was. Crying. Damn. “All right, I take it all back. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” She raked her fingers through her long hair and shook her head. “It’s the hormones.”

His fingers clenched on the steering wheel. The rocky slopes and distant peaks faded into the background as he stared at her. She was the center of his world. “Does this happen often, this crying thing?”

Her hiccupping sob turned into a giggle. Was it possible to be crying and laughing at the same time? She swabbed her cheeks and looked at him. “Yes, I have these unreasonable outbursts. And I can’t really tell you if they’re going to get better or worse. I’ve never been eight and a half months pregnant before.”

“Is it the stress?” he asked.

“Could be. Seeing my parents is never easy.”

“I was talking about the possible kidnapping.”

Her lips spread in a grin. “Oh, yeah. That, too.”

Her smile worried him. He didn’t think she took the potential for danger seriously. Hell, he didn’t understand her at all.

* * *

O
N
I
-70 APPROACHING
Denver, Troy checked his rearview mirror for the third time in as many minutes. Shortly after they’d passed the Evergreen exit, he’d noticed two vehicles staying in close proximity to their Range Rover. One was a black SUV. The other, a sedan with dark tinted windows.

“Something wrong?” Olivia asked.

“It’s hard to tell on the highway. I’m going to slow down and see who stays with us.”

His foot eased off the accelerator, and their speed dropped to forty-three miles per hour. The SUV passed them on the left, moving too fast for Troy to catch a glimpse of the driver. The sedan hung back on their tail.

Olivia twisted around in the seat to see out the back window. “That car with the tinted windows hasn’t speeded up. Do you think he’s following us?”

“I had my eye on that car and the SUV that just went by. I might have been wrong about him.”

Three miles down the road, he spotted the SUV parked on the shoulder. As they passed, he pulled out to follow them.

“That’s the SUV,” Olivia said. “You weren’t wrong.”

The use of two vehicles usually indicated a plan for a pincer-type maneuver. One would move in front of them while the other closed in on their rear. In a synchronized move, both cars would slow, forcing Troy to stop. But a four-lane highway with other traffic wasn’t a good place for that move. These two cars could be maintaining contact to keep an eye on them. “This could just be a coincidence. These cars could be headed to Denver like we are.”

“Or not,” she said.

He needed to find out if this was purposeful surveillance. “I’m getting off at the next exit. We’ll see what they do.”

Maintaining the legal speed limit, Troy turned the steering wheel, swerved without signaling and drove onto the exit ramp. The sedan trailed behind their Range Rover.

“He’s still there,” Olivia said.

“Can you see the SUV?”

“Not yet.”

The exit dumped them into the outskirts of Denver—a good thing because it meant they weren’t in a deserted area. The downside was that the sedan could have a legitimate reason to take this route. At the first intersection, Troy drove into a suburban development with beige two-story houses, nice lawns and skimpy trees.

The sedan stayed with them as Troy made a series of turns and double-backs through the development. At one quiet corner, Olivia warned, “I see the SUV.”

His doubts about surveillance disappeared. These two vehicles were purposely staying close. “Hang on tight.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Lose them.”

He drove out of the development. With the SUV creeping up on his tail, he punched the gas and took off. On the two-lane road through the foothills, there was just enough traffic to make it difficult for their pursuers. He dodged around a truck and another SUV. The Range Rover was going over sixty as they approached an intersection with a stoplight. It turned amber.

He couldn’t race straight through. There were too many other cars waiting for the light to change; they’d be broadsided.

The light was red. He hit the brake, simultaneously cranked the steering wheel and slammed into a right turn, barely avoiding collision.

In the rearview mirror, he saw their pursuers get stuck at the light. This was his chance to put some serious distance between them. The Range Rover flew down the road. This SUV handled nicely for a heavy vehicle on a solid wheelbase. If he could make it to the next turn, they’d be in the clear.

“Olivia, are you okay?”

“Fine.” Her voice was a squeak.

“I promise not to do that again.”

“Good.”

He heard the wail of a police siren. Red-and-blue lights flashed behind the Range Rover. There was no choice but to stop. He pulled onto the shoulder.

“Do we tell the police what’s happening?” she asked.

Explaining surveillance and attempted kidnapping would be complicated. Since Troy wasn’t officially on a mission, he didn’t really have the authority to drive like a maniac. “I’d rather not.”

“No problem,” she said. “Leave this to me.”

When the patrolman appeared at their window, Olivia let out a ferocious scream. “My God,” she yelled. “The baby’s coming.”

Covering his own surprise, Troy looked at the startled cop. “My wife is in labor.”

“Now.” Olivia flailed. She arched her back and her belly heaved impressively. “It’s coming now.”

“We’re headed to St. Luke’s,” Troy said.

Olivia grabbed his arm and peered up at the cop. Her face was flushed. Her voice was desperate. “Help me, please.”

The cop leaned into the car. “No need to worry, ma’am. I can handle the delivery.”

“No,” Troy said sharply. “She needs a hospital.”

“With all due respect, I have training.”

“Triplets!” Olivia shouted. “I’m having three babies.”

The cop took an involuntary step back. His jaw dropped. His face went pale. “Three?”

“We need to get to the hospital fast,” Troy said.

“Right,” the cop said. “Follow me.”

Olivia continued her wailing until the police car pulled in front of them. With lights flashing, he led the way into the city, cutting through traffic.

She gave him a grin. “Scared you, didn’t I?”

“What made you think of it?”

“Going into labor?” She patted her bulge. “Let’s just say it’s been on my mind.”

Duh.
He should have known.

She continued, “I probably should have run my plan by you. Keeping to the chain of command and all.”

“I think we both know who’s really in charge.”

In his mind, he filled his own name into that blank. He was the boss. He was pretty sure she felt the same way about herself.

Chapter Seven

Olivia felt a twinge of guilt about using her pregnancy to trick a law enforcement officer into escorting them. She didn’t like lying, especially not to a nice policeman who had offered to deliver her baby at curbside. Still, the end result was worth a fib. They’d gotten away from the bad guys.

On their escorted ride into town, Troy had called his brother, who worked in the emergency room at St. Luke’s when he wasn’t at the clinic. Alex had met them at the E.R. with a wheelchair, pretending to be her doctor. After he dismissed the officer and pretended to handle the paperwork, the three of them sneaked out of the hospital. They stood on the sidewalk beside the Range Rover.

Alex grumbled, “Every time you two get together, things get crazy.”

“Crazy in a good way,” Troy said. “You’re happy about your nephew, right?”

“Don’t change the subject. Tell me, what the hell is going on?”

It was easy to see that these two men were brothers. They were both tall and lean. Both had brown eyes and black hair. Troy had a darker complexion, and his features were weathered and craggy. Alex wore his hair longer, and his face was thinner. Though she couldn’t say why, other than his blue scrubs, she thought Alex looked like a doctor. His expression seemed questioning, sincere and concerned. Troy radiated sheer masculine confidence.

“Long story short,” Troy said. “Olivia is in danger, and I’m protecting her.”

“From what?”

“Don’t know for sure.”

Alex scoffed. “That’s a cover. It’s what you always say.”

“How about if I tell you that she might be the target of a Rwandan terrorist cell working for a master spy?”

“Yeah, sure.” Alex turned his attention to her. “How are you feeling when you’re not faking labor?”

“I’m great, ready to pop. My real labor could be starting any time now. Until then I’d like to stay active. Is it okay for me to stop by the clinic while I’m in town?”

“That’s a great idea. Some of the women have been asking about you.” He cocked his head to one side. “And there’s somebody I want you to talk to.”

“Who’s that?”

“Carol Rainer.”

Olivia cringed inside. Carol Rainer was a former client, not someone she wanted to see again but someone she couldn’t ignore. “How did you run into Carol?”

“She’s working at the clinic as a receptionist.”

Olivia never would have expected the very wealthy Mrs. Rainer to be involved with the homeless. “How did that happen?”

“Because of you,” he said. “You mentioned the clinic, and she stopped by to check us out. At first, she was planning to make a donation and move on, but we were busy that day. She got swept up in the action and decided she liked it.”