Stolen Goods: A Secret Baby Romance (4 page)

6

Nolan pressed his
nose against the window of their taxi and scanned the crowd swarming the doors
of the station. It seemed everyone in Chicago wanted to take the overnight
train east. “Are you sure you don’t want to fly?”

“It makes me
sick,” Moon muttered.

“I’ll lend you my
medicine.” Nolan winced. He wasn’t all that fond of planes either, and it
usually took a toll on him to sit calmly in a flying tin can, knowing he was
trapped, breathing the same air as other people while children screamed and
drunks got sloppy. Planes were much faster, but at least the train to Vermont
had private sleeper cars.

“The train will be
better for the baby,” Weslyn finally said. “The change in altitude can’t be
good for a fetus.”

“Lots of other
women do it.”

“Different
circumstances though, right? Everything might be fine now, but it could change,
considering…”

“Considering
what?”

“I’m under a lot
of stress, Agent Findley.”

Nolan turned away
from the view of the train station’s main doors to scan Moon’s face. She looked
tense, but that didn’t appear to be unusual for her. He shifted back in the
seat of the taxi as they inched forward in line—he could have gotten out at any
time, but he thought it best to get his prisoner as close to the doors as
possible. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one willing to trade time for
convenience at that hour of the night.

He nodded.
“Different circumstances, yeah. Sperm theft, artificial insemination,
blackmail… And your birth certificate says you’re older than I had first
thought, Moon. What happened? Biological clock became deafening?”

Her chin lifted
slightly. “I wanted a baby.”

“You wanted a baby
before it got too late, though, right? Coming up on your thirty-fifth birthday,
Moon, and the odds of something going wrong increase every year after that,
don’t they?”

“Lots of women
have children later in life now. I just felt it was time.”

“It was time, but
you didn’t want to touch anyone. Okay.”

She closed her
eyes, and Nolan suddenly realized that she’d done the same thing every time she
didn’t want to admit to something. A childish way to hide, but so telling, now
that he’d figured it out. Nolan watched her face closely.

“You’re thinner
than is healthy for a baby, Moon, so if it was just a matter of good timing,
wouldn’t you have more weight on you? Prepared yourself with cheeseburgers and
milkshakes, or something?”

Her lips pressed
together as tightly as her eyelids. Nolan had re-cuffed her wrists in front of
her for the taxi ride from the clinic, knowing it would be easier all around to
have her hands more accessible for their travels. Her fingers were currently
curled and just a little restless on her lap, as if she were fighting a
reaction.

“I don’t envy
you,” he told her quietly. “Growing up with an abusive father, probably an
abusive brother, too. Then your boyfriend, the only boyfriend I could find in
your life, put you in the hospital.”

“What do you know
about it?”

“I know everything
about you.” Overcompensating for his snarl, Nolan injected more warmth into his
tone than he wanted to admit to, when he said, “Took real courage to testify against
him, Moon.”

“What is your
point?”

“You didn’t want
to touch anyone in order to conceive the old-fashioned way.” Nolan exited the
taxi as they finally reached the station doors. He leaned back in to help Moon
out as he said, “I already know you’re lonely, and I know that’s why you wanted
a baby. But why now, why me?”

“I didn’t want to
wait anymore and I already told you why I picked you.”

Nolan grabbed
Moon’s elbow and paid the driver. Holding tight to her and the small bag he’d
allowed her to bring, he tugged her all the way to the ticket counter, where he
then asked Moon to hold the bag.

Three seconds.
That was the entire length of time he’d let her go to dig out his badge for the
ticket agent. Three seconds, and Moon disappeared. He hadn’t expected that,
after she’d been so meek in his company.

Nolan spun in a
circle, scanning the crowd as panic tried to choke him. Travelers mobbed the
lobby, everyone rushing for their train or a taxi to take them elsewhere. The
people jostled each other, and Nolan bit his lip against the knowledge that
such a place was perfectly suited to letting people lose themselves in the
crowd—a skill Moon exceled at.

But she’d drilled
into the meat of his brain. Everything about her was familiar to him, after
months of investigation. He knew he could find her anywhere.

At the far end of
the lobby, Nolan caught a glimpse of a woman with light brown hair, free now
when Moon had been wearing a braid before, yet he knew. He could
feel
her, calling to him with a silent pull on every one of his senses and hot,
electrical surges over his skin. Predatory awareness. His little mouse didn’t
stand a chance.

He dove into the
crowd, pushing and shoving, slipping into every available gap in foot traffic
until he’d reached the exit. Nolan burst out onto the taxi stand and realized
immediately that Moon couldn’t have taken one without antagonizing the long
line of people waiting. No one seemed disgruntled, so he ran toward the corner
of the station closest to the bus stop.

He didn’t make it
that far. He passed a narrow access alley leading back toward the platforms and
heard a male mumble. He couldn’t understand the words, and normally wouldn’t
have paid attention anyway, as the passageway was clearly marked for employees
only. But the tone of the man’s voice and the gripping sense of urgency at the
base of Nolan’s nape had him turning down the access, away from the lights.

“Give me the bag,
bitch.”

In the shadows,
Moon held on to her backpack as if it were all that she had in the world. Nolan
couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Between two men, his little mouse was
pressed to the wall, but her chin was lifted and defiance stiffened her spine.

She was insane.

The one man
grabbed for the backpack’s strap. Moon bared her teeth and twisted, but Nolan
was already moving in. His heart stopping completely, the rest of his muscles
worked entirely under the influence of scorching adrenaline.

Nolan slammed his
fist into the back of the first guy’s head, dropping him like a stone. The
second man spun and staggered, still half-determined to take Moon’s bag, but
wholly determined to save his own life. Nolan whipped his gun from his ankle
holster.

“Federal agent!”
Nolan gave a short, sharp wave of his gun. “Get down on the ground. Now!”

The man did as he
was told. He fell to his knees, hands on his head, with a quick look at his
partner in crime.

“Don’t fucking
move, Moon!” Nolan snapped. “I’m not in the mood to chase you further.”

“You didn’t have
to chase me this time,” she whispered.

Nolan didn’t spare
her a glance as he pulled out his cell phone and called the police. “I hope
you’re happy,” he told her. “We’re going to miss our train, so that means you
and I will be going by car.”

“Car, Agent
Findley? To Vermont?”

“Yes.” He smiled,
strangely satisfied. “It’s going to take a while. We’ll stay in hotels and
avoid the crowds. That way, I won’t lose you again. It’ll be just you and me,
Moon.”

7

There was no way
she could sleep. Weslyn was bleary-eyed, but the passenger seat of the sedan
Findley had rented was too confining to be comfortable. The way she’d been
handcuffed to the seat belt made her feel awkward, and forced to sit so close
to another person, trapped in a car with a man, a federal agent at that, didn’t
give her the warm fuzzies—though she did feel too warm, and even a little fuzzy
deep inside. Deep and low.

Weslyn was used to
sleeping alone, in a safe place. Every time she closed her eyes on the nearly
six-hour drive to Cleveland, she’d jolted awake, her heart racing and her body
confused. She hardly knew where she was or who she was with, until she got a
whiff of Findley’s somewhat-stale cologne.

He was probably
more tired than her, she conceded. Grudgingly. Coming from Buffalo, he had to
have been up all day too, and then had gotten into the scuffle at the train
station. Weslyn felt bad about that. She knew better than to put herself in
questionable circumstances, but the access to the platforms was unblocked—for
once—and it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d hopped on a train without a
ticket…or a destination.

A perfect plan, an
unexpected escape. Findley never would have looked for her on a train. It was
simple bad luck that those guys had tried to mug her.

Findley to the
rescue. He’d been right, they’d missed the train east. However, the police were
helpful enough to get him a rental car at that hour of night, and Weslyn and
Findley were on the road in no time at all. Alone and together.

Six hours to
Cleveland. Weslyn was counting the miles. She needed to pee and she’d love to
have a shower, and Findley had sworn they would stop long enough they could
both get some sleep. So far, in spite of herself, she believed him. He hadn’t
lied, and he hadn’t hurt her. Based on those two things, she had to admit that
Findley was doing better than half the men she’d ever met.

With two hours
left until Cleveland, Weslyn glanced over at her federal escort. She could just
make out a few of his features by the dashboard lights, as the sky only held
the promise of day, just then. Nolan Findley was a handsome bastard. She’d
spent the past four months thinking about that, hoping her child would inherit
the kindness she’d seen in his face, just as now she hoped it inherited its
father’s gentleness.

Remembering the
way his lips had brushed her belly in the doctor’s office brought a round of
goose bumps rising up in the same place as before. Thinking about the way she’d
struggled in his grip, and had still come away without a single bruise, set her
back on her heels somehow. Looking at him then, the fuzzy warmth inside her
grew into a tingly heat.

As if he sensed
her staring at him, Findley glanced her way. “You all right, Moon?”

“I need to pee.”

“There’s a rest
stop a few miles on. We can pull over there for a few minutes.”

“Will you have to
come in with me?”

“Yes.” His grin
flashed in the dark. “I’ll turn my back, I swear.”

“A woman prefers
privacy,” she grumbled, shifting in her seat to face fully forward again. She
watched the yellow lines on the asphalt race toward them and had a flashback of
bitter days gone by. “Not that privacy exists on road trips.”

“You’ve proven
yourself a runner, Moon.” A moment went by before Findley asked, “Been on a lot
of road trips, have you?”

She opened her
eyes wide, no matter that he probably couldn’t see her do it. “What, that wasn’t
in my file?”

“Lots of things
were in your file. Not everything, though. This is your chance to share, make
me feel for you, babe. Maybe I’ll even get you a lawyer better than whatever
Vermont’s got in the way of public defenders.”

Weslyn thought of
the way Findley looked at her. She never claimed to be an expert when it came
to men, and she’d never been the type of woman who drew male admiration, but
she did recognize the look on Nolan’s face.

A deep, feminine
part of her recognized that look, that expression, that gentleness… The way
he’d seemed to lay claim to both her and their baby in the emergency clinic.

“You’re going to
get me a lawyer, anyway,” she whispered, confident. “You think I’ll serve time
for getting pregnant?”

“Extortion, Moon.
The Barre Birth and Reproductive Center is on the hook for the sample you
stole, because I never gave them permission to store it. My ex forged my name,
but Doctor Milliken is telling the State’s Attorney that you blackmailed him.”

Weslyn shrugged. “
He’s
responsible for stealing a semen sample from the Center’s storage. Why should
the state care what that criminal says?”

“An excellent
point,” Nolan drawled in such a way Weslyn’s stomach cramped. “You see,
Milliken is also copping to knowingly selling a fake Lepine painting. He’s even
admitted to
commissioning
the painting with the
intention
of
duping the buyer.”

“Mmm.” Weslyn
cleared her throat delicately. “That sounds like one of those things nobody
really cares about. I doubt the great state of Vermont would—”

“But Uncle Sam
does
care, Moon.”

“He does?”

“Oh, yeah. He
does, and that’s gonna catch you between state and federal punishment. So help
me help you, Moon. Tell me something I can use to make the jury go easier on
you.”

She shook her
head. “Easier on me? What does Milliken’s art have to do with me?”

“Do you like
landscapes? Do you like forging them with signatures of the greats, long past?
Lepine, Hobbema, Corot—”

“Everybody and
their monkey’s uncle forged a Corot. Except me.” Weslyn lifted her nose and sniffed.
She knew the gig was up, that Milliken would hand her over to the state of
Vermont without even a second’s hesitation, so it wouldn’t matter if Findley
knew how she’d supported herself. It might even help.

“You haven’t?”

“What was the
point? There are thousands of them, driving down the price.”

“But, you are
admitting to art forgery?”

She turned to him,
suddenly nervous. “Are you admitting that you didn’t know?”

“I knew.” Findley
nodded slowly. “So far, we’ve tracked down five Moon forgeries. All landscapes.”

“Not a Corot,
though. That would be a forgery of a Moon forgery that Moon never did.” Weslyn
laughed. “Fake fakes. Go figure.”

“It happens.
You’ve got quite a reputation in the underground art world, in spite of not
being very prolific.” Findley looked her way long enough to make Weslyn wonder
if he’d drive them off the road before putting his attention back on the
asphalt in front of them.

“I’m very good.”

“I know. One of
your forgeries sold for nearly half a million dollars.”

Weslyn shook her
shoulders, a little irritated at hearing that. She was certain she knew which
painting had gotten such a sum too, and it broke her heart. “I’m very good,
Agent Findley. No one can tell my work from the masters, except by carbon
dating the paint. I mimic brush strokes exactly, spend hours matching perfect
hues…”

“I know that,
too.” He breathed audibly. “Why, though, Moon? Of all the things you could have
done, why this? The money?”

Weslyn was
suddenly furious. All the years she’d spent with nothing, begging for a crust
of bread, and the years when they’d had enough, but her father and brother took
the lion’s share and drank it. The nights she’d gone to sleep hungry, the times
her sister had tried to give her extra and was slapped down for it.

And then, after
finally getting freedom from her sadistic father, Moon had been dependent on
the kindness of strangers, and she’d hated it. Some of her foster parents were
decent people, true, but they weren’t
her
people, and they weren’t
interested in helping her reach her goals. They weren’t willing to support her
beyond her seventeenth birthday, they wouldn’t fund her artistic pursuits and
they wouldn’t even help her figure out how to do it herself.

“Of course the
money!” she raged. “I had to eat. I had to live! God, and after Brian put me in
the hospital, what did you think I should do? I didn’t want to stay with him. I
didn’t want to forgive him.”

“Because of your
father?”

“That sick
bastard,” Weslyn hissed. “I swore I would never let myself stay in a place
where someone hit me ever again. I even left one of my foster homes because of
that.”

“I know. I’m proud
of you too.” Findley’s voice did, in fact, sound as if he was bursting with
pride. “It’s hard for a woman to get out of an abusive relationship, and triply
so for a woman raised in an abusive household. But you had courage and grit.”

“My father used to
call me stubborn.”

Findley laughed.
“That too.”

“You asked about
road trips.” Weslyn took a deep breath. “Growing up, we were always on the
move. This town, that campground. Never in one place for too long.”

“Your father
kidnapped you. He had to keep moving.”

“Yeah, that’s what
the state said when they took me away. After that, I still moved around. I came
from nothing, Agent Findley, and I had nothing.”

“Tell me, Moon.”

She stared at the
patch of road illuminated by the headlights, estimating the time until they
wouldn’t need them anymore, even as she thought back to how life used to be.
“Everyone wanted me to be a cashier, or get a job as a waitress, or do some
other boring, normal thing that would make some money. But the money wasn’t
enough. I mean, it was, until Brian hit me.”

“But you left him
and had to start over. You needed money to go, to set up a new life.”

“That’s when I
painted the Monet.” She nodded, her head suddenly feeling too heavy. She leaned
back and lifted her gaze to the top of the windshield, taking in the sight of
the lightening horizon through the line of tint. “Half-done, like he’d
abandoned the project. I sold it, and my soul, for twenty thousand dollars.”

“The guy you sold
it to eventually put it up for auction. Told everybody it had been in a private
collection. Got a half mil for it.”

Weslyn put her
hand to her stomach. “That’s hard to hear. I tried to sell my own artwork, but
nobody bought it. I tried to get a job at various museums across the country,
but I only finished high school, and they wanted art degrees from big-name
universities. The money runs out, you know?”

“So you painted
another.” Findley shot her a strange look.

“Lesser known artist,
though. Less money, but less chance of getting picked up for it, too.”

“Still a crime.”

“Yup.” Weslyn
closed her eyes. “I painted seven, in all. For the record, I could have painted
a hundred, flooded the market with Moon fakes, made billions of dollars and
bought my own island, where no one would ever find me again.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“The old masters
don’t deserve that.”

“And that, Moon,”
Findley said, “is the reason why I’ll get you a lawyer in Vermont.”