Indestructible Page 2

  “I’d be just as happy to look at a postcard,” she said as she served up the salad.

  “That’s because you haven’t tried the real thing. There’s a thrill that comes from challenging yourself, pushing the limits.”

  While she set the salad plates on the table, he went back into the kitchen. She watched as he reached up to the top shelf in her cabinet for the wineglasses. His broad shoulders tapered to a lean torso and a tight butt. Talk about a spectacular view!

  “The way you live,” she said, “it’s like you’re on a continuous roller coaster. I’m more of a carousel person.”

  He poured two glasses and handed one to her. His head cocked to one side as he studied her. “There’s something different about you. New hairstyle?”

  She shrugged. “Nope.”

  “Your glasses,” he said. “You aren’t wearing your glasses.”

  She reached up to adjust the frames that weren’t there. “I guess I’m not. That’s odd. My vision seems okay without them.”

  “I like it.” He clinked his wineglass against hers. “Let’s drink to your eyes.”

  As soon as the glass touched her lips, she remembered. She shouldn’t be drinking. She lowered the glass.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She could have made up an excuse, but she’d never been good at lying. Her lips pinched together. She didn’t want to tell him. Not yet. “Golly, I just don’t—”

  “Come on, Melinda. Take a sip. Are you afraid that you’ll get drunk and lose control?”

  “Don’t tease.” She wasn’t in the mood for banter.

  “I promise not to ravish you until after dinner. Have some duty-free wine.”

  “I can’t,” she blurted. “I’m pregnant.”

  The look on his face was one of sheer panic.

  Chapter Two

  Drew drained his wineglass in one gulp. He made his living with words, describing athletic feats with precision and flair, but he couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.

  His plan for tonight had been to see Melinda one last time before he faced the impending threat to his life. He had no choice but to leave her. If he stayed, she’d be in danger.

  He hadn’t wanted their goodbye to be final. Someday, she could be part of his life. But not now. Not while she was carrying his child.

  “Are you…” His voice strangled in his throat. “Are you…sure?”

  “I’ve taken five pregnancy tests. The result is always positive.”

  “But you haven’t been to the doctor.”

  “I’m sure,” she said angrily. “My periods are as regular as this Swiss watch you gave me. When you left on your assignment, I was a week late. Ten more days after that, I faced facts, peed on a stick and voila!”

  Dumbfounded, he couldn’t help but stare at her stomach. “How did this happen?”

  “Good question. I’m on the pill, and it’s supposed to be ninety-nine percent effective.”

  For a moment, he considered that his seed was as invulnerable as the rest of him. But that couldn’t be. He’d been to bed with plenty of women who hadn’t turned up pregnant. It had only happened once before. “But I used condoms.”

  “Except for that one time,” she said. “There’s no point in second-guessing what we should have done or who was at fault. Spilt milk, you know. No use in crying over it. And it’s pretty clear how you feel about this.”

  “Give me a minute. I’m not sure how I feel.”

  “I’d like for you to leave.”

  He gazed down at her delicate face. The beautiful eyes he’d toasted only a moment ago flared with righteous anger. He couldn’t blame her; he wasn’t handling this well. “I’m not going to abandon you. Whatever you decide is—”

  “Spare me the phony nobility, okay? I’m going to have the baby, and I have no intention of roping you into support payments or anything else.”

  He started to object, to tell her that he wasn’t the kind of man who cut and run. But that was exactly his plan: to leave her until there was no possibility of danger, which might take a long time. Hell, it might never happen. “Let me explain.”

  “No explanation necessary. I told you about my pregnancy because it was the right thing to do. You deserve to know. That’s the end of it.” She went to the door and held it open. “Please go.”

  Hostility crackled around her in a ring of fire. Still, he reached toward her, hoping to connect. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “Don’t touch me.” She had never looked so beautiful, so powerful. “At least show me the respect of doing as I ask.”

  As soon as he stepped into the hallway, the door slammed with absolute finality. Slowly, he trudged up the wooden staircase to his third-floor apartment, fitted the key in the lock and went inside. The halogen lamp on his desk shone down on his battered laptop, which probably wasn’t going to survive immersion in the Mediterranean—the dunking that had taken place when he was being chased by dangerous men who wanted to do him harm. How the hell could he explain that to Melinda? How could he tell her that he was a superhealing machine, and a dark, faceless enemy was after him? He never shared his secrets. If anyone else knew, they might also be targeted. No way could he drag Melinda into the maelstrom of his life.

  Stretched out on the leather sofa, he stared up at the high ceiling with the old-fashioned, frosted glass fixture. He’d chosen this old, brick apartment building because of the prewar charm and the fact that the landlord was willing to issue his lease to one of Drew’s fake identities. None of his mail came here; it was delivered to a P.O. box in Manhattan. He paid his bills online. This apartment was untraceable—a safe haven where he could hide while he dug into his past and found out what had happened to him when he was growing up in South Dakota.

  And that was exactly what he should continue to do: find the answers. He should take Melinda’s advice. Leave her alone. Let her have her own life.

  As a rule, he kept his relationships short-term and uncommitted. He hadn’t expected to get involved with Melinda, hadn’t expected to care so much about her.

  But he did care. He wanted her in his life. And their baby. My God, I’m going to be a daddy.

  An incurable ache squeezed his heart. He’d suffered a lot of injuries in his life, but losing Melinda and his unborn child was a scar that his miraculous, regenerative blood couldn’t heal.

  MELINDA GLARED angrily at the ceiling. As far as she was concerned, Drew Kincaid could go straight to hell. She’d never forget the look of terror on his face when she told him. What happened to the daredevil who skied down an avalanche? Was he scared of a baby?

  Apparently, yes.

  She needed to burn off some of this anger. Though it was chilly and dark outside, she’d go for a run. In the bedroom, she peeled off her clothes, threw on her sweats and jammed her feet into well-worn running shoes.

  Before she left, she decided to put away the dinner she’d prepared for him so she wouldn’t have to face it when she came home.

  She picked up the unused china from the table. Her mother had given her the delicate Wedgewood blue-patterned plates for her hope chest. They were supposed to be for after she got married. That wasn’t likely to happen now. Melinda was seven months away from becoming a single mother.

  This wasn’t the way her life was supposed to work out, but she wasn’t totally miserable about the prospect. She wanted children, and she had to admit—though she was furious at Drew—that he was an excellent sperm donor: healthy enough to tackle all those extreme sports he seemed to love. Smart enough to be a decent reporter. Motivated enough to make a success of his life. I could have done worse.

  A heavy sigh pushed through her lips. Drew’s flaw was his inability to make a commitment. A man like him didn’t want to be tied down, and it wasn’t as if he’d made her any promises.

  Neither of them had ever declared their love. Do I love him? The word had been poised at the tip of her tongue once or twice. But she hadn’t actually said it.

 
With the plates put away, she surveyed the massive dinner. All this food would go to waste; she didn’t have the appetite to sit down and eat.

  But Drew probably did. He must be starving and wouldn’t have food in his house after being away for three weeks.

  On a paper plate, she put together helpings of pot roast and rutabagas. Might as well give him the entire apple pie. Being pregnant meant she ought to concentrate on healthy foods that would nourish the baby. And, of course, she should return his wine.

  With both hands full, she climbed the stairs to his apartment, intending to place the food outside his door then return to her apartment, call and tell him dinner was served.

  As she approached his door, it opened.

  She held out the plates. “You might as well have this food. I’m not hungry.”

  He took her by the arm and pulled her forward. “We need to talk.”

  “Be careful. I don’t want to spill.” She allowed herself to be led into his apartment, where she set down the plate, the pie and the wine on the kitchen counter. “I invited you for dinner. And here it is.”

  He closed the door to his apartment, folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned against the door. “A long time ago, I made myself a promise. If I was ever so blessed as to become a father, my child would have a better life than I did in foster care.”

  She didn’t know he’d been raised in foster care. Drew never spoke of his childhood, and she’d assumed that he came from a privileged background. With all his jetting around the globe, he seemed like a trust-funder. “What happened to your birth parents?”

  “They’re dead. I have no family.”

  He spoke with such harsh finality that she couldn’t bear to look at him. Her gaze darted around the room. Though Drew had lived here for almost four months, his apartment still looked unsettled. There was a desk, a huge leather sofa with a coffee table in front of it, a television, two straight-back chairs and not much else. No pictures on the walls. His reference books and magazines were stacked around his desk in piles.

  “Melinda, I want to do the right thing.”

  “Don’t worry. I would never cut you out of your child’s life.”

  “Our child,” he said. “This baby belongs to both of us.”

  This simple, obvious declaration sank deep into her consciousness. No matter what she did for the rest of her life, she’d be connected to Drew through their child. “Why do I feel like I should apologize? I didn’t get pregnant by myself, you know.”

  “I haven’t forgotten one minute of our lovemaking.”

  Neither had she. When he took a step toward her, she retreated. “You just stay over there.”

  “That’s not what you really want. Tell me how you’re feeling, Melinda.”

  “I’m confused.” She felt an incongruous smile sneak onto her face. “And I’m excited. I love babies, and I’ve always wanted children. Single motherhood is a difficult prospect, but I know my parents will be supportive. They always are.”

  “How do you feel about us?”

  “Well, I can’t help wishing things were different.”

  “I’m not good with relationships,” he admitted.

  “Ooooh, big surprise.”

  “Sarcasm? That’s the coward’s way out.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about you because I don’t know you.” When they talked, he told her about his adventures and the exotic places he’d been. She knew nothing about who he really was. “I didn’t even know you were a foster kid.”

  “You want a biography? Fine. I bounced around in foster care until I was ten. Then I was placed with Belle and Harlan Anderson in Lead. That’s a little town in the Black Hills near Rapid City. I was a loner, but I had a girlfriend in high school. My first love. She died in a car accident.”

  Though the tone of his voice remained steady, she heard an echo of sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

  “On my eighteenth birthday, I went to New York. It’s a good place to disappear, and that’s what I did. I was too busy trying to survive to make friends. I managed to get to my senior year in journalism school while working a regular job and an unpaid internship at a sports magazine. I fell in love.”

  Melinda was glad to know these sketchy details about his past. Even if Drew wasn’t destined to be part of her life, their child should know something about his father. “What happened with that relationship?”

  “She left me.”

  As he moved toward her, she could see the tension in the set of his jaw. When he talked about his first love, he’d been almost wistful. Now, he was angry.

  “There’s more to that story,” she said.

  “Her name was Pamela Forbes. She got a job offer in Europe and didn’t want to settle down.”

  He stood directly in front of her. The magnetism she always felt when she was close to him arced between them, but she resisted. She hadn’t come upstairs to fall into bed with him.

  She wanted to understand him. If there was a possibility of a relationship, she didn’t want to close that door. She owed it to herself and to her unborn child to figure out what role Drew would play in both their lives.

  “Sounds like you were furious with Pamela.”

  He shrugged, trying to dispel his tension. “What was it you said? Spilt milk? There’s no point in looking backward.”

  “You can learn a whole lot from past mistakes.”

  “I found out that Pamela was pregnant. She wasn’t honest like you, didn’t step up and tell me. But I found out. And when I heard, I was happy. I saw a chance for a normal life. Married with children. It was too much to hope for.”

  Gosh, he was cynical. Why shouldn’t he expect a normal life? Instead of understanding him better, she was even more confused.

  He continued, “I bought a diamond ring in a pawn shop and went down on one knee to propose. That’s when she told me she’d been dating other men, her company was sending her to Paris and she’d already made an appointment for an abortion. I never saw her again.”

  “You haven’t had much luck with commitments.” She was beginning to understand why he’d gone into shock when she told him about the baby.

  “As long as I’m being honest,” he said, “I was going to tell you tonight that I’m leaving Sioux Falls. It’s necessary for me to be out of touch for a while.”

  “What does that mean? Out of touch?”

  “I won’t be able to communicate with you.”

  “Wait a minute.” Before she came upstairs to his apartment, she’d been adjusting to the idea that Drew wouldn’t be in her life. But this was too abrupt. “Wherever you go, there are going to be phones.”

  “As soon as possible, I’ll contact you. Until then, is there anything you need? Is your insurance in order? Do you need money for a doctor?”

  “I don’t believe this.” A raging fury exploded behind her eyes. “You’re trying to buy me off.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You expect to write me a check, pat me on the butt and send me on my way.” She dodged around him and made a beeline for the door. “No, thanks. I don’t need or want your money.”

  She stormed into the hall, raced down the stairs to her apartment and slammed the door. The nerve of him! Sure, he’d had a rough life and bad luck with relationships, but that didn’t excuse the way he’d treated her.

  She paced furiously. To the bedroom. Back to the front room. Into the kitchen. Her apartment was too small to contain her anger. How dare he offer me money! She stamped her running shoe on the hardwood floor. Who in the blazes did he think he was?

  When she heard the knock on her door, she figured it was Drew again. “Go away. I don’t want to see your face.”

  Another knock. More insistent.

  She flung open the door. Before she could speak or react, a bright flash of light blinded her. Then everything went dark.

  She crumpled to the floor.

  Chapter Three

  Standing over the sink, Drew jabbed a spoon
into the center of the apple pie and dug out a bite, hoping that the sugar rush would help him feel less like an ass.

  The pie tasted great. Sweet, tart apples perfectly complemented by a flaky crust that crumbled on his tongue. Homemade, of course. Probably a recipe passed down from her dear old granny. Melinda’s family tree went back for generations. No way should she be involved with a rootless loner like him.

  He shoveled in another bite of pie.

  From downstairs, he heard a crash. Apparently, Melinda hadn’t gone for a run even though she’d been dressed for jogging in her smooth black pants with a white stripe and matching sweatshirt. There was another loud thud. It sounded like she was tearing apart her apartment, throwing things, breaking furniture. Terrific. He’d managed to drive a completely rational woman to the brink of madness.

  He saw two options: he could close his ears, pretend nothing was wrong, leave in the morning and never look back. Or he could stand and fight for her. Damn it, he wanted Melinda in his life. He needed to make her understand that he had enemies and there was a very real threat. Unfortunately, that meant he’d have to tell her the whole truth.

  Not yet. More pie.

  He licked the back of the spoon and listened. The sudden quiet from downstairs felt ominous, like a vacuum had sucked the air from her apartment. Was she sitting in the dark, cursing him under her breath? Did she own a gun?

  He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and headed for the door. Moving fast so he wouldn’t change his mind, he went down the staircase.

  When he knocked on her door, it pushed open. She’d left it slightly ajar. “Melinda?”

  He stepped inside. An end table lay on its side. Books scattered across the floor. Her sofa had been shoved out of place. Her apartment had been trashed.

  This can’t be. He didn’t want to believe the evidence that lay before him. Someone had been here. His enemies had gone after her.

  Cold night air blasted through the window that opened onto the fire escape. He rushed toward the long, beige curtains that were flapping in the breeze and peered down at the asphalt parking lot behind the building. A vehicle pulled away from a spot beside the Dumpster. A dark sedan.