Undercover Baby Page 3

  Sam cut abruptly into the daydream. “You’d never carry it off.”

  She straightened defensively. “I would, too.”

  “Admit it, Sanders, you’re blue-collar to your toenails. I bet your dad was a construction worker—a mechanic, maybe,” he needled with a grin. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  She dropped her gaze to her paper plate, toying with the last quarter of her sandwich. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “Probably.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  She scowled at him. “I don’t know who my dad was. I don’t even remember my mother. She dumped me when I was still in diapers. But I could carry off a high-class assignment if I get one. You just wait and see.”

  “All right, I believe you,” Sam conceded, his smile disappearing. “You’re good at the job. You probably could carry it off.”

  Slightly mollified, she drank half a glass of milk, then wiped away the resulting mustache with her fingertips. Their present assignment—unlike the one in her daydream—didn’t include napkins. Not even the paper variety.

  Sam finished his own meal in silence. He didn’t speak again until after he’d tossed the paper plate into a brown paper bag and rinsed his milk glass and set it in the sink. “Dallas?”

  She had just cleared away the remains of the meal and was wiping the table with a damp rag. “Yeah?”

  “What I said about your father? Well—uh—I’m sorry. I didn’t know about—you know—” He cleared his throat, uncharacteristically awkward with the apology.

  She frowned and concentrated on her cleaning. She hadn’t told him about her background in order to obtain his sympathy. She didn’t want sympathy—from Sam or anyone else. She didn’t even know why she’d told him, since she rarely talked about her childhood. It had just slipped out. “Forget it. No big deal.”

  She tossed the rag in the sink, wiped her hands on her jeans and spoke a bit too quickly. “So, you think we should have another ‘fight’ tonight?”

  He shook his head. “We don’t want to overdo it our first day here.” A glimmer of mischief appeared in his hazel eyes. “Why don’t we treat the neighbors to some rowdy lovemaking, instead?”

  She hated herself for blushing. “I don’t think so.”

  “It would certainly add to our cover,” he argued, beginning to smile again. “What do you think, Sanders? Can you fake a noisy orgasm?”

  She gave him a withering look. “With you, I’d have to—but not tonight. I have a headache.”

  “Some men might take that as a challenge, you know.”

  She deliberately turned her back to him. “Give me a break, Perry. I think you’ve flexed your macho enough for one day. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  “Just get ready to share it. No way in hell am I sleeping on that couch with its killer springs.”

  Dallas gave another noisy sigh. “You could always take the floor.”

  “You take the floor if you’re so concerned about your virtue.”

  “I’m not worried about my virtue, Perry. I’m worried about my rest. You probably snore like a buzz saw.”

  He was caught off guard enough to chuckle. “I don’t snore, Sanders. I stayed awake all night once to make sure.”

  She made a face in response to the old joke, relieved that the issue had been settled with relatively good grace. So she and Sam would be sharing a bed. Big deal. She’d slept in vans, bushes, warehouses, fleabag hotels. All part of the job.

  But she’d never slept with Sam Perry. And, for some reason, that seemed quite a different prospect.

  * * *

  DALLAS WORE HER USUAL oversize football jersey for bed. It was about as sexy as a flour sack—which was exactly what she’d had in mind when she packed it. Sam wore a pair of nylon running shorts. Nothing else. She nearly swallowed her tongue when she first saw him. Damn. How could she have known he would look so good without his clothes? Lean, strong, tanned, sleek.

  Great body, she thought, eyeing him surreptitiously. Too bad it belonged to Sam Perry.

  Sam looked up when Dallas came out of the bathroom. He glanced at her nightshirt and curled his lip. “Something tells me that didn’t come from a Victoria’s Secret catalog.”

  “I’m here to catch bad guys, Perry, not to cater to your twisted fantasies.”

  His grin was piratical. “Who said you’re in my fantasies, Sanders?”

  She tossed her head. “Some things just go without saying.”

  He laughed and held up both hands. “All right, let’s call a truce for tonight. I’m too tired to try to outmatch you.”

  “You’ll never be rested enough for that,” she retorted. “But I’ll call a truce if you will.”

  He snapped off the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated only by the outside lights streaming through a thin excuse for a curtain over the single window in the room. “Right side or left?”

  She blinked, then picked one at random. “Right.”

  “Fine.” He climbed onto the left side of the bed and settled into the flattened pillow. And then he looked over his shoulder to where Dallas still stood. “You coming to bed?”

  She cleared her throat. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

  It took more nerve than she’d expected to make herself walk across the three feet of floor between the bathroom door and the bed and slide under the sheet next to Sam.

  Come off it, Sanders. It’s only Perry. What’s with you tonight? She shook her head in disgust at her own uncharacteristic behavior.

  “You got that harness thing handy? In case something comes up in the middle of the night and we have to go out?” Sam asked, already sounding sleepy.

  “Yeah. It’s on the floor over here. I can get into it quickly if necessary, though I can’t imagine why I’d need to in the middle of the night.”

  “Me neither, but you never know. It’s always best to be prepared. In fact,” he added, a faint smile in his voice, “maybe you should just sleep in it.”

  “No way,” Dallas said with feeling. “I’d never be able to sleep in that thing.”

  “Pregnant women do it all the time.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m just extremely grateful that I’m not really pregnant.”

  “Think you ever will be?” He sounded only mildly curious.

  “I certainly don’t foresee it anytime in the near future.” For one thing, she thought, it took two to make a baby, and there hadn’t been anyone in her life in quite a while. Not since she and Phil split up eighteen months ago because he’d finally realized he detested her job and couldn’t continue to be involved with an undercover cop. He’d hated her hours, hated the danger, the seaminess, the dark moods her job sometimes left her in. Had they stayed together much longer, he probably would have ended up hating her.

  “What about you?” she asked to distract herself from the painful memories. “You planning a family anytime soon?”

  “Hardly. I haven’t dated anyone twice since Paula moved out last year,” he grumbled into his pillow. “Seems like everyone I meet these days is either a bubble brain or a shrew. Guess the good ones are all taken.”

  “Oh yeah? And just which of those categories do I fit into?”

  “I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about the few women I’ve dated lately. But if I were to put you into one of the categories...” He left the sentence hanging.

  She knew exactly which category he’d place her in. She blew a sharp breath out her nose and rolled onto her side, turning her back to him.

  Sam laughed softly, apparently pleased that he’d finally gotten the last word, and settled more comfortably onto his own side of the bed.

  Less than ten minutes later he was snoring. Just before sleep claimed her, Dallas made a mental note to give him a hard time about that the next day.

  * * *

  DALLAS WOKE ONLY ONCE during the night. To her dismay, she found herself plastered against Sam’s warm, bare back. He was sound asleep, thank heaven, fitted into the curve of her bo
dy as though he’d been made to snuggle with her.

  She jerked away from him, scooted to the very edge of the bed, and slept fitfully for the remainder of the night, careful not to move inward again.

  She didn’t even want to think about the ragging she’d have gotten from him if he’d awakened to find her cuddled against him like an affectionate kitten.

  * * *

  SAM WAS ALREADY UP when Dallas awoke the next morning. She yawned, stretched, and swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed. The cracked linoleum on the bedroom floor was cool, though the room was warm, since the air conditioner didn’t work very well—no surprise. She spent a couple of minutes wondering what color the linoleum was when it was first laid—ten years ago? Twenty?

  Finally deciding she was awake enough to be coherent, she stood, ran a hand through her tousled hair, and headed for the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, she wandered into the kitchen, lured by the smell of fresh coffee. Sam was sitting at the spotted chrome-legged table, drinking from a chipped mug and reading a tattered paperback book. He was still wearing the shorts, though he’d donned a white T-shirt with them. Dallas made a determined effort not to look at his long, sturdy bare legs or the gleaming expanse of chest exposed by the V-necked T-shirt as she passed him on her way to the coffee. “Morning,” she murmured.

  “Where’s your harness?” he asked, looking at her slim waist with a frown.

  She made a face at him. “Wait until I have my coffee before you start picking on me, will you?”

  “I just think you’d better get in the habit of wearing it. You never know—”

  “Look, Perry, I know how to go undercover, okay?” she snapped, slamming a cabinet door. Something scurried away from her on the countertop, and she shuddered. “God, I hate this place.”

  “You haven’t even been here twenty-four hours yet. You’re really going to hate it by the time this assignment’s over.”

  “Thank you so much for trying to brighten my morning,” she muttered, splashing steaming coffee into her mug.

  Sam took a deep breath and held up one hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Okay, that’s enough. This assignment’s bad enough without us sniping at each other.”

  “I agree. But you started it,” she couldn’t resist saying as she carried her coffee mug to the table.

  He started to speak, bit back the words, then swallowed audibly. “Okay, maybe I did,” he conceded. “Sorry.”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “Was that an apology?”

  “Don’t push it, Sanders.”

  She smiled into her mug. “Good coffee,” she said a moment later—her own gesture of peacemaking.

  He looked satisfied by her effort. “You hungry?”

  “What have we got?”

  “Chocolate-covered doughnuts or corn flakes.” They’d brought in a very limited supply of groceries yesterday.

  Dallas shrugged. “Guess I’ll have doughnuts. Have you eaten yet?”

  “No. I’ll have the doughnuts, too.”

  They both sat without moving for a moment, each waiting for the other to go to the cupboard. Dallas gave in first. After all, she thought, as she set paper plates and the box of doughnuts in front of him, Sam had made the coffee. But he certainly shouldn’t get used to being waited on.

  “So what’s the schedule for today?” she asked, as she slid carefully onto the cracked vinyl seat of the only other chair at the rickety table.

  “I’m supposed to start job hunting. I’ll ask around, talk to some of the local guys, establish a cover. You might want to go to the corner grocery, meet some of the neighbors.”

  Dallas nodded. “Maybe I’ll ask Polly to recommend a store.” It would give her another excuse to get closer to the woman whom their sources had named as the baby brokers’ next target.

  “Good idea.” Sam ate a doughnut in three bites, then reached for another. “Don’t forget we aren’t supposed to have much money. Can’t afford any expensive foods.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I hate to break this to you, Perry, but I can’t afford any expensive foods. God knows when I last bought the really good caviar.”

  He sighed at her sarcasm. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean,” she agreed coolly. “You’re telling me how to establish my cover again—like I don’t already know. It isn’t necessary.”

  “Let’s not start again.”

  “I’m not the one who keeps starting it.”

  Sam scowled and shoved himself away from the table. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Fine.”

  Dallas sat brooding into her coffee after Sam left the room. It hadn’t been a particularly pleasant morning thus far. And she’d been no more agreeable than Sam, she had to admit. Maybe it was because of the unpleasantness of their assignment and their surroundings. Or maybe she was still dealing with the embarrassment of sharing a bed with him. Of course, he really had annoyed her by tossing out instructions as though she were a rather slow rookie desperately in need of his seasoned guidance.

  Still, they really should limit their fights as much as possible to the ones they staged for the neighbors’ benefit. Whether they liked it or not, they were partners—and partners had to stick together or the results could be disastrous. Even fatal.

  Sam apparently reached the same conclusion during his shower. His attitude had improved noticeably when he reappeared, his hair wet, the blue pocket T-shirt he’d donned clinging to damp spots on his back, his legs now hidden by frayed and faded jeans. “You want me to help you make a shopping list before I go out?” he asked.

  She shook her head and offered a tentative smile. “I’ll just buy whatever’s on sale.”

  He returned the smile. “That’ll work.” He pulled a ragged hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and tossed it onto the table. “That should get enough for us to get by on for a few days. It’s all we can risk spending at once, I think.”

  She nodded. “I’ll need a few cleaning supplies, too. I used up most of what I brought yesterday.”

  He started to say something else, then made a face. “I started to tell you to be careful out on those streets alone—but I don’t suppose you need me to remind you.”

  Her smile widened a bit. “No. But thanks, anyway.”

  “Yeah.” He pushed his fingertips into the back pockets of his jeans. “I’ll probably be back late this afternoon.”

  She wondered why she was suddenly reluctant for him to go. And then she decided it was probably only because she knew she was going to be bored to tears in this crummy apartment by herself. She’d just have to find some way to keep herself occupied.

  She followed him into the living room, staying back out of view of the hallway when he reached for the doorknob. “Bye,” she said.

  “That’s all the money I’ve got!” he roared in answer, standing very close to the thin door. “You’ll just have to make it be enough.”

  Dallas didn’t even blink at the non sequitur. “But we’re out of everything,” she wailed. “We don’t even have milk. The baby needs milk,” she added, patting her flat tummy.

  Sam jerked open the door, though he held it at an angle that hid her from anyone who might be passing outside. “Look, get off my back, okay? I said that’s all I’ve got. And I don’t want to hear anything else about that damned kid today! You got that?”

  “But, Sam—”

  “Ah, the hell with it. I’m going to try to find a way to make some money. You do whatever you want.”

  The door slammed behind him as he left.

  Dallas smiled to herself, hoping the performance hadn’t gone unappreciated. It had been pretty good, actually.

  She and Sam might actually pull this thing off.

  3

  DALLAS HAD SOME difficulty getting herself into the harness that morning. Probably because she was so very reluctant to put it back on, she decided, remembering how quickly she’d donned it yesterday when she’d needed to.

  This was
definitely one of the more awkward costumes she’d ever worn. The harness was heavy and uncomfortable. Its weight made her back and shoulders ache—even her legs hurt after wearing it for a while. She had to wear a thin, sleeveless T-shirt under it to absorb perspiration and prevent chafing; if only this could have been a winter assignment, she thought with a sigh, fanning her face with her hand as she looked morosely into the spotty mirror.

  Even if she were pregnant—God forbid—she would never have chosen the limited selection of maternity clothing she’d been given by the department. Most of them looking used, the garments were cheap, flowered, and decorated with so many ruffles and bows that Dallas wanted to gag every time she put one on. She hated ruffles! What made maternity-clothing designers think pregnant women with low incomes wanted to dress like the babies they were carrying would be dressed in a few months?

  Tugging irritably at the pink-and-white flowered top she wore over pink polyester stretch pants, she turned away from the mirror in disgust and looked for her shoes; then spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out a way to put them on with the bulky harness coming between her and her feet. How did pregnant women do these things? And why on earth would anyone deliberately choose to get into this position? And more than once, usually? She shook her head in bewilderment and twisted into an impossible position to tie her sneaker.

  Tucking her vinyl handbag under her arm, she stood for a moment at the front door and took a deep breath, willing herself into the role she would be playing for the next few hours. She was well aware that her expression was melancholy and vacuous when she opened the door—just as she intended it to be.

  The hallway outside her apartment was dimly lighted and poorly maintained. The once-green paint was dingy and cracked, scrawled with graffiti in places. The light fixtures were rusted; several didn’t even work. The flooring was a black-and-dirty-white linoleum of about the same vintage as the floor of her bedroom.

  There was a window at each end of the long hallway. The glass hadn’t been washed in years. Spiderweb cracks dimmed the sunlight even further. The whole place reeked of cooking odors, among which onion and boiled cabbage seemed prominent at the moment.