Maisy woke to the scents of eggs and bacon. She curled and stretched beneath the thick down comforter, content and utterly at peace. For one blissful moment, before opening her eyes, she was back at the safe house, counting the last few days before she would return to West Liberty and give testimony that would finally put Sam Luciano in prison. Her dreams of pending freedom and safety, for her and for her baby, grew with each new breath. She could almost hear her dear friend Clara humming in the kitchen.
Clara.
Maisy’s heart kicked and reality snapped her eyes wide. The familiar ache of grief wedged in her throat and weighted her chest. She wasn’t at the safe house, and Clara would never again make breakfast. Not for Maisy, and not for the family she’d left behind. A too-big sacrifice made in the name of protecting Maisy and her baby.
Tears blurred her vision as the wave of emotion crashed over her. Another woman was dead because of Maisy. First Natalie. Now Clara. And the gaping holes left by their absences were too much to bear.
She pressed her face into the pillow, willing back the breakdown that had been looming since she’d opened the safe house door and run. Since she’d left Clara behind. Maisy owed Clara’s family everything for their loss, but how could she even begin to repay that debt? She released the pillow on a long, shuddering breath. Maisy would have to carry this grief with her, like the rest, because there would be no amends for the devastation she’d caused. She’d just have to make sure her shoulders were strong enough to carry the burden.
Her heart ached as she swung her feet over the bed’s edge and onto the floor. She couldn’t rewind time, and she could never thank Clara’s family properly or enough. But she could make sure her sacrifice meant something. She could follow through with her testimony and see Luciano punished.
She could stop him from taking more lives.
Her stomach grumbled in response to the savory-scented breakfast down the hall, and she forced herself upright. Then shuffled into Blaze’s bathroom to prepare for the day, whatever it would bring. She’d slept deeply for the first time in months, thanks to the emotional stress of a narrow escape and the physical exertion of many miles walked. The haystack masquerading as her hair and sheet marks pressed into her cheeks confirmed it. She looked longingly at the shower, dreaming of the hot water against her skin, but her baby had other plans, twisting and kicking in a rhythm that could only be interpreted as a plea for bacon.
She brushed her teeth and hair, warmed by the fact Blaze had kept her old things after all, then followed the scents of breakfast to the kitchen. Her steps faltered when her abdomen tightened and the ache of a false contraction rippled over her. She leaned against the wall and rubbed her bump, breathing slowly through the dull pain. Braxton-Hicks contractions were the newest in a long line of bizarre things her body had done these last few months, each meant to accommodate and one day deliver her baby. “I know you’re excited to get out here and meet me,” she whispered, catching her breath and soothing her infant, “but I need you to wait until this trial is over.” It was a conversation she’d been having more and more. “You’re going to be just fine where you are until then, okay? Don’t rush.”
Eager as she was to finally see and kiss her baby’s perfect cherub face, she really didn’t want to give her testimony from a delivery room. Though she suspected a hospital gown might be the only thing that would fit her if she got any bigger.
Still, a hospital wasn’t safe. Nowhere was. Not if Luciano had gotten to her at a federal safe house. Going into labor before the trial would mean becoming a sitting duck. An immobile target. Easy pickings. And if she survived long enough to safely deliver her baby, then be released, she’d be on the run with a newborn, and that was her personal nightmare.
She peeled herself off the wall and went to greet Blaze.
“Morning,” she said, taking a moment to savor the perfection of him at the stove, a fitted heather-gray T-shirt and low-slung jeans clinging in all the right places. His hair was damp and mussed from a shower. His feet were bare. And that smile when he saw her sent her heart into an erratic sprint.
“Hey.” He flipped off the stove’s burners, then let his gaze slide over her. “Hungry?”
She nodded, hoping he couldn’t read her mind. The food smelled amazing, but her body was suddenly craving more than breakfast.
“Have a seat. It’s ready,” he said, plating the meal onto matching dishes, then delivering them to the table. “Tea or water?”
“Tea?” she asked, scanning the stove for signs of a kettle.
Blaze delivered a pot and mug with tea bag. “Hot and ready when you are.”
Heat rushed across her cheeks, and she couldn’t stop a little grin from curling her lips. “Ready. Thanks.” Her tummy fluttered with the pleasure of his attention. She poured a cup, trying uselessly to concentrate on anything besides the memories of just how attentive Blaze could be.
“Sleep well?” he asked, joining her at the table.
Her mind raced with faded images of him. Memories from another life, when he’d lavished her with his undivided attention and unhurried time. Their bodies tangled and sliding together beneath his sheets.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
Maisy paused her chewing, cheeks flashing hot once more. She took her time before answering. First sipping, then swallowing her tea. “Everything’s delicious,” she said. “I dropped into your lap yesterday, on the run from a psychopath and carrying your child. And you’re handling it all with complete Zen.”
“Maybe I have you fooled,” he said, flashing a brief, but brilliant smile. “Maybe breakfast is just a ploy for your time and information.”
She shook her head slowly. “You always made me breakfast.”
His head tipped slightly over one shoulder, and his gaze darted to her mouth. “I’ve always wanted your time.”
Maisy didn’t bother to hide her smile. “Okay. So, what can I do for you?”
He pulled his eyes back to meet hers. “When are you due?”
“Ah.” She sipped her tea, pleased he was interested in the baby. Terrified he wasn’t happy about it. He hadn’t really said one way or another. “Six weeks. Give or take.”
His eyes widened momentarily, then dropped to her middle before returning to meet hers. “That’s soon. When did you find out and how?”
“A couple weeks after I got to the safe house. I’d been sick. I mentioned that last night.”
He nodded. “I remember. Tell me more.”
She squared her shoulders and settled her hands on the bump. “I assumed all my symptoms were stress related. It was a tough time for me. Fatigue, lack of appetite, heightened emotions.” She shook her head. “Even when I realized I was late for my cycle, I dismissed it as stress related. It was another week or two before I was willing to face the fact I could be pregnant. We’d been so careful.” She shivered at a flash of them together, joined by hearts and bodies. She’d been falling in love. Fast, deep and powerless to stop it. “I had to ask one of the marshals to buy a home test kit for me. That was humiliating, because they all knew my previous few months were spent trying to find Luciano, and always with you, the detective assigned to my twin’s murder case.” The words soured on her tongue, turning her stomach, hating the reminder Natalie was gone. “I knew they’d assumed I was either easy or stupid, because getting involved with you was...”
“Stupid?” he asked, voice and eyes hard.
“Frowned upon,” she continued. “But I needed to know if I was pregnant more than I could afford to care what the marshals thought. Clara was the only one of my armed guards unafraid of making the purchase. She waited outside the bathroom door while I went in to see the results, and she held me up every step of the way afterward.”
Blaze worked his jaw, eyes tight. “I’m glad you had someone there for you.”
“Me, too.”
“Have you had any issues with the pregnancy? Are you getting good prenatal care?” he asked.
Maisy nodded. “The best. I’ve got an OB in Myersville who’s amazing. She understands my situation fully and has been a blessing to me and to our baby.”
Blaze’s pressed lips parted, and he pulled in a little breath.
Maisy gave herself a big mental push, then forged ahead with the speech she’d practiced a thousand times in her head, in the shower, in her sleep. “I know this is strange for you. I remember how shocked I was when I found out about the pregnancy, but I’ve had months to get my head around it, and since it’s happening inside my body, I’ve had a constant reminder. But this has been completely sprung on you. I knew the minute I saw the little pink plus sign that I wanted to have this child. It’s okay if you don’t. You should take as long as you want to decide. I don’t expect anything from you. And I’m fully prepared to raise our baby on my own, if that’s what you choose. Though I could definitely use your help staying alive until Luciano is in prison,” she improvised.
No matter how many times she’d planned to tell Blaze he could choose his level of involvement, none of those scenarios happened while she was on the run. “I can walk away after that, if you’d like,” she continued, “but even then, my door will always be open for your visits, if you change your mind. Because, bottom line, Blaze. This is your baby, too. He or she is as much a part of you as me, and while I want our child to know you, and see what an amazing man you are, that will be up to you.” She exhaled deeply, satisfied to have said the bulk of what she’d planned, if not quite as eloquently as she’d hoped.
Blaze blinked, then rubbed a heavy hand over his face.
“But those are conversations for another time,” she said, pressing on. “Right now, we should probably figure out who’s trying to kill me, and shut that down, so I make it to the trial.”
BLAZE STARED ACROSS the table, mind reeling. He’d waited months to see Maisy’s face again. Dreamed of it. Longed for it. But he’d never imagined she’d be pregnant when that day came. And now that she was, how could she consider for a second that he wouldn’t take 100 percent responsibility for his child? Did she really think he wouldn’t be all in for his kid? Did she not understand him at all?
He ground his teeth, keeping the emotions in check. She was right about one thing. They could talk about this later, after he was sure she and his baby were safe. The threat against them was real and present. They had the rest of their—hopefully long—lives to celebrate the unexpected gift. Right now, he needed a plan.
Maisy raised an eyebrow. “You doing okay over there?”
“Never better.”
She laughed, and his chest tightened. Maisy was just so damn beautiful. He’d forgotten the extent of it. Thick red hair, luminous hazel eyes. Porcelain skin and full pink lips. She’d stolen his breath at first sight, but he’d quickly learned not to let her beauty fool him. Maisy was smart, fast on her feet and fierce. She’d been formidable and single-minded in her quest to help locate Luciano all those months ago, and none of that had changed. The expression whiskey in a teacup had always come to mind when he thought of her. Sheer tenacity. Hell or high water. Packed in an incredibly distracting disguise. Even sitting here, in her last trimester of an unexpected pregnancy, with others being killed around her, she was still determined to see the criminal punished. Maisy would do whatever it took to honor the lives Luciano stole. There wasn’t likely any stopping her, so he got on board.
“I’ve been thinking about the missing marshal,” she said, as if on cue. “I saw the man who shot Clara. I think you should take me to the station and let me work with a sketch artist to get his image down. Then at least you’ll know who you’re looking for.”
Blaze nodded. “I can use the image to find out if he’s actually a marshal.” Whoever the shooter was, he belonged behind bars, but if he was a US marshal, things would get a lot worse for Maisy fast. Marshals had access to files and details a typical criminal wouldn’t, no matter how networked he or she was. And a marshal had something even more dangerous—the trust of other lawmen.
“Right,” Maisy agreed. “Once we get a name to go with the face, we can track him down and stop him before he hurts any more witnesses.”
Blaze leaned forward, pressing his forearms to the table and leveling her with his most intimidating expression. “Why don’t we compromise,” he suggested. “You describe him to me, then I’ll meet with the sketch artist. The best thing you can do right now is lie low and let me handle this.” He laced each word with heavy caution. A tone that had scared more than a few local thugs and gangsters. A tone he hoped would convey the importance of her going along with his request.
Maisy curled a thin, protective arm over her rounded middle, hazel eyes flashing in response. “Not a chance.”