same thing you are to me now.” He didn’t wait for her to respond to that puzzling answer. “Finish packing.”
She added a bra to the bag and stuffed in a flannel nightgown. Willa lifted the bag and put the strap over her like a messenger’s bag even though it was a tight fit over her belly. “I have to get some things from the bathroom. Prenatal vitamins,” she added, knowing he wouldn’t refuse to let her get those.
The bathroom window was small, but she knew she could squeeze through it. She’d have to hurry and hope that Lieutenant Duggan wasn’t keeping watch on that particular side of the house. All she needed was two minutes, and she could be out of there. Away from the assassin, and away from the cops—including, perhaps, her baby’s father.
And that gave her an idea.
With Brandon right on her heels, she went into the bathroom and took out a cotton swab from the medicine cabinet. It obviously wasn’t sterile, but she thought it would give her a clean enough sample. After all, labs got DNA from toothbrushes and baby bottles. Once she had his DNA extracted, she could have it compared to the baby’s amniotic fluid. Willa didn’t have the fluid itself, but she had her baby’s DNA profile in an online storage file that she could retrieve from any computer.
Of course, a comparison would take days. Maybe longer. Still, she would eventually know one way or another.
Her gut was already telling her the test was unnecessary, that Brandon was indeed her baby’s father. But her brain wanted to know why her gut trusted this man when it was clear that he wasn’t volunteering the whole truth.
“Open your mouth please.” She added the please hoping it would get him to cooperate.
He did. Brandon swabbed the inside of his left cheek and handed it back to her. “It’ll be a match,” he promised.
“We’ll see.”
He glanced at the swab. “You’ll want to put that in a plastic bag.” And he pulled a small evidence baggie from his jacket pocket.
Willa eyed him and the bag with suspicion, and instead of using his bag that might be contaminated with his DNA or something else, she headed to the kitchen and got a plastic sandwich bag. She sealed up the swab, put it in the overnight case and snapped her fingers.
“Prenatal vitamins,” she said as if remembering them. “I wouldn’t want to forget those.”
She took slow steps, trying to get the timing of this just right. She needed to get to the bathroom just ahead of Brandon so she could slam the door. Lock it.
And escape.
“I also have to use the bathroom,” she lied when she was a few steps away. “As in, actually use the bathroom. I don’t want an audience for that.”
She went inside and pushed the door so it would close.
Brandon caught it.
“I don’t want an audience,” she restated.
“And I don’t want you trying to escape. Don’t worry. I’ll close my eyes. But this door is staying partly open.”
Great. Just great. She hadn’t wanted to do this, but she was obviously going to have to give him a hit of the pepper spray. She reached into her bag to retrieve it, but he caught her wrist.
Then he grabbed the bag.
“I’ll hold this for you. It can’t be good for a pregnant woman to carry around this much weight.”
“It’s not that heavy.” Willa glared at him and kept a firm hold on her bag. “Why don’t you just back off?”
“Because I can’t. Forget about the personal connection we have because of the baby, forget about how you feel or don’t feel about me. Just remember, I’m a lawman, and I’m not going to stand by and let that assassin come after you.”
She had to tamp down her anger so she could try to reason with him. “The last two times I trusted a lawman, I was nearly killed. You know that. You’ve read the reports. I’ve done a lot better on my own.”
“But you’ve never come up against a hired gun like Martin Shore. He’s not someone you can get away from without help.”
For some reason having the name attached to the assassin made her heart pound even harder. “Martin Shore,” she repeated. “How did he even find me?”
“Apparently Shore’s boss has been trying to track you through neurologists all over the state. Nearly a dozen doctors have had their files hacked. Including Dr. Betterman, the OB you saw four weeks ago.”
She shook her head. “But I didn’t use my real name, and I paid him in cash.”
“You did, but in your hacked medical record, Dr. Betterman had written your diagnosis of post-traumatic amnesia and post-concussional neurosis resulting in short-term memory loss. He also listed your age, the date of the onset of the symptoms. And that you were in your third trimester of pregnancy and therefore couldn’t receive traditional medications.”
Oh, God.
There wouldn’t have been many patients who fit into all those categories.
Then, Willa remembered something. “I didn’t give the doctor my street address. He said he needed to mail me the results from my latest EEG, so I gave him the address of the rental box at a private mail facility all the way across town.”
Brandon nodded. “The clerk there was murdered about four hours ago. We’re pretty sure after he was tortured before he gave up your physical address to someone who wanted to find you. Because it was about an hour later when a deep-cover agent intercepted the intel about Shore being hired to kill you.”
Willa choked back another Oh, God, and the tears that threatened to follow. She wouldn’t cry. It would only waste time because she knew what she had to do.
“Just let me go,” she begged Brandon. “If this is really your child as you say, then please help me get away.”
“It is my child. And I can’t let you leave.”
“Swear it,” she said, sounding as desperate as she felt. “Swear on my life that the baby is yours.”
Brandon put his fingers beneath her chin and lifted it to make direct eye contact. “I swear on your life. On mine. On our baby’s life. The child you’re carrying is mine.”
He sounded so sincere. Looked it, too. Still, there was something, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“If you’re lying to me—”
But Willa didn’t get a chance to finish that threat. There was no warning. No time to get down.
A bullet slammed through the bathroom window.
Chapter Four
Brandon latched on to Willa and pushed her out of the bathroom.
It wasn’t a second too soon because there was another shot ripping through what was left of the glass in the small window. He drew his gun and maneuvered her into the living room and then to the kitchen. He wanted her as far away from those shots as he could manage.
Hell.
He hadn’t expected the attack to come this soon. He’d hoped to have Willa tucked safely away before Martin Shore tried to kill her. Brandon obviously hadn’t succeeded, and Willa might pay the price for his miscalculation.
Brandon used his phone to call for backup from the Austin P.D. He couldn’t risk trying to ring Bo because his temporary partner might be trying to conceal his location from the shooter.
Willa grabbed a knife and a can of pepper spray from the counter and covered her pregnant belly with her hand. Neither her hand nor the items would provide the baby with much protection, so Brandon threw open the fridge