Undercover Baby Page 8

  Jack was the first to speak. “Have you considered giving it up for adoption?”

  Sam shrugged. “Dallas didn’t want to talk about it. Anyway, I hear all the red tape and everything gets pretty complicated. I don’t want to mess with no damned bureaucrats.”

  “There’s private adoption,” R.J. suggested. “That’s easier, I hear. All you need is an attorney.”

  “I hate lawyers worse than I hate bureaucrats,” Sam pronounced scornfully.

  “If it was me, I’d just take off,” Talley boasted. “Hell, your woman’s the one who got herself knocked up. Probably did it on purpose. Let her deal with it. If you’re gone, she can get on government assistance, probably rake in more than you’re getting busting your butt on a construction crew. Get yourself free, man.”

  R.J. frowned, and Jack looked taken aback by Talley’s callous suggestion. Sam only nodded. “Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind,” he said.

  “Have another beer,” Talley urged, seeming pleased by Sam’s concurrence with his attitude. “Nothing for you to hurry home to, is there?”

  “Not a thing,” Sam agreed. He waved an arm to motion for the bored, sour-faced waitress who’d been unenthusiastically serving them during the past couple of hours. “Hey, Wilma. Bring us another round!”

  He’d struck out, he decided, as Wilma frowned even more heavily and nodded in answer to his bellow. These guys either knew nothing about the baby-selling ring allegedly working in their neighborhood or they weren’t the type to send anyone to them. R.J. and Jack were both hardworking stiffs who tried to live right—at least most of the time. Talley was a jerk, but still rather naive in some ways; viewed his surroundings through blinders he’d deliberately donned to block out anything he didn’t want to see.

  Apparently Talley was right about one thing, though: Sam was busting his butt on a construction crew for no good reason.

  Looked like it was about time to begin part two of the investigation—which started with getting himself fired. But that would have to wait until Monday. Tonight he could sit back, relax, and allow Sam Pulaski to have another couple of beers with his co-workers. And then he’d better be heading back to the apartment to check in with Dallas.

  He was sure she’d understand that he’d spent the evening working on the investigation, even if the results had come up negative this time.

  * * *

  AFTER ONE OF THE LONGEST, most boring and uncomfortable evenings she’d ever spent, Dallas finally heard a noise outside her apartment. Since she was wearing the pregnancy harness—she hadn’t wanted to risk going without it until Sam returned—she snatched open the door before he had a chance to insert his key. “Well, it’s about time! Where the... Oh. Polly, it’s you. I thought you were Sam.”

  Polly looked up from the floor of the hallway, where she was crouched over a clutter of what looked like items from the oversize purse she always carried. “Spilled my damned purse looking for my keys,” she explained, then cocked her dark head and asked, “Sam ain’t home yet?”

  “No,” Dallas said. “And I’m getting worried,” she added, the words only halfway for Polly’s benefit. Actually, Dallas was getting a bit concerned about Sam. Had he pursued a lead that had landed him in trouble? Had he stumbled onto something dangerous while playing the Lone Ranger without her?

  “Probably out at a bar somewhere,” Polly said. “That’s where most of the guys around here end up on Friday night. Get their paychecks and can’t wait to spend them.”

  “Oh, Sam wouldn’t do that,” Dallas said, wringing her hands affectingly in front of her. “He knows how badly we need his paycheck just for food and baby supplies.”

  “Yeah, right, kid.” Polly stretched awkwardly for the items scattered around her, trying to stuff them back into the black-and-purple vinyl handbag.

  “Here, let me help you.” Dallas bent quickly to help, then gasped and put out a hand to steady herself on the grimy floor when she nearly fell right on her face from the weight of the harness.

  Polly’s hand shot out to catch Dallas’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” Still kneeling, Dallas shook her head. “Can’t believe I did that.”

  “You shouldn’t be bending so fast,” Polly scolded. “You know your balance is off.”

  “I keep forgetting,” Dallas explained, reaching for a tube of lipstick.

  Polly looked surprised. “How the hell could you forget? It ain’t like you haven’t been in this shape for a while.”

  Mentally chiding herself for the slip, Dallas made a face. “It must be Freudian,” she said lightly.

  Polly smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. There’s times I wish I could just pretend I wasn’t in this shape and I’d suddenly have my own body back.”

  Dallas handed Polly the items she’d gathered, then struggled awkwardly to her feet. She patted her solid “tummy.” “I guess I shouldn’t complain so much,” she said. “Sam says I’m always griping about something.”

  “Sam’s a—” Polly bit back whatever she’d started to say, though it obviously wasn’t easy for her. She took a deep breath and rose to her own feet with Dallas’s assistance. “Look, if you need anything tonight, come on down to my place, okay?” she said, instead. “I mean, in case Sam stays out all night and you get scared. Or in case he comes home drunk and mean. Whatever, you can come to me, okay?”

  The hooker with a heart of gold, Dallas thought flippantly, then regretted the thought when she saw the sincerity in Polly’s overly-emphasized eyes. How long had it been since Polly had offered a hand of friendship to anyone? And how long since that offer had been accepted with a smile rather than a slap of rejection?

  Dallas smiled. “Thank you, Polly,” she said gently. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine. Sam yells a lot, but he would never hurt me. He probably just had to work late.”

  Polly looked torn between pity and impatience with Dallas’s naiveté. “Okay. Just remember what I said.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  Polly nodded and moved on, one hand pressed to the small of her back, her swollen feet wobbling in the too-high heels. Dallas watched for a moment, then went back inside, shaking her head at Polly’s stubborn insistence on wearing shoes that had to be causing her agony in her condition. She felt rather guilty for sulking all evening over wearing the harness. At least she could take it off and rest once Sam returned. At least she didn’t have swollen breasts and ankles and cramps and hemorrhoids and all that other terrible stuff Polly had described.

  She spent the next half hour pacing, and remembering how Sam had looked with a gun pressed to his ear the last time she’d worked with him and things had gone horribly wrong. It had been a drug bust, the result of a week’s work on their parts. Dallas had never quite understood how everything had gone so wrong at the last moment, but Sam had narrowly avoided being shot—and she’d come much too close for comfort, herself. She’d saved his butt that time—and, okay, he’d saved hers, too—but he was on his own now. What had he gotten himself into?

  And why on earth was she so terribly worried about it? He was just her partner, and a temporary one at that. She was acting as though he really was her lover and the father of her “child”!

  Finally his key sounded in the lock. Nerves stretched to the limit, Dallas whirled to face him. He entered with a slightly unsteady walk, rather glazed eyes, a dopey grin and the heavy aroma of cheap beer. “Hi, honey,” he said, the words a bit slurred. “I’m home.”

  Dallas’s temper exploded.

  6

  “WHERE THE HELL HAVE you been? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  Sam blinked in surprise at the anger in Dallas’s voice. He closed the door behind him. “I—uh—had a couple of drinks with some of the guys from work.”

  Fists doubled on her hips, she glared at him. “You were having drinks? That’s it? Drinks?”

  “I had a sandwich, too,” he offered, as though that would make it better.

 
“A sandwich?” Dallas knew her voice was rising, but was having trouble controlling it. “I made fettuccine Alfredo. Do you know what fettuccine Alfredo tastes like after it’s been sitting on the table for four hours? Wallpaper paste, that’s what!”

  “Look, I’m sorry, but I—”

  “You couldn’t call to let me know you were going to be late?”

  “Dallas, we don’t have a phone.”

  “Don’t give me excuses!” she yelled, stamping one foot. “I’ve been going nuts sitting here in this ugly apartment with nothing to do but try to remember what my feet look like, and no one to talk to but a couple of cockroaches. I waited to eat with you, but then the food got cold and disgusting and now I’m starving. For all I knew, you could have been lying dead somewhere. Did you care that I might be worried? Did you even try to let me know where you were? No!”

  “But I—”

  “You think it’s fun sitting around this place? You think it’s easy carrying twenty pounds of extra weight in front of me? You think it’s a breeze to try to cook around this thing? Then you try it! See how you like it.”

  “Dallas, I—”

  “You probably weren’t even working,” she added, on a roll now. “You probably didn’t ask even one question about—mmph.”

  Sam’s hand was planted firmly over her mouth. He loomed over her, gazing narrowly down at her, his goofy grin replaced by a frown.

  “I was working,” he said, his voice much quieter than hers had been. “And I did ask questions. Enough, at least, to know that there aren’t any easy answers to be found on the construction crew. Now, would you watch what you’re saying, for crying out loud? I know you’re trying to make this sound good, but don’t get carried away and forget to be discreet, okay?”

  Dallas hadn’t thought she could get any madder. She was wrong. She shoved his hand away from her face. “Don’t you ever cover my mouth with your hand again! And stop telling me how to do my—mmph!”

  Sam didn’t silence her with his hand this time. He used his mouth.

  The heat of anger transformed itself rapidly, almost magically into passion. Without even stopping to think about it, Dallas threw herself into the kiss with the same enthusiasm she’d put into her tantrum.

  Sam seemed a bit surprised at first by her cooperation, but then he took full advantage of the opportunity, parting her lips with his tongue to deepen the kiss, his arms closing around her. Both of them murmured their frustration at the bulky padding that separated them when they would have pressed closer together.

  Sam’s hands slid down Dallas’s back, settling on her hips to hold her as closely against him as possible. She looped her arms around his neck, strained over the padding between them and lost herself in his kiss. She had to admit that she’d been wanting to kiss him again ever since he’d kissed her that morning, even if he’d only been performing then for any onlookers’ benefit.

  There were no onlookers now.

  Sam’s thick, sandy hair was soft against her fingers when she buried them at the back of his head. His mouth was hard, hot, skillful. As far as kisses went, this one would have earned him an A-plus, she thought dreamily, sliding her tongue tantalizingly against his. He tasted of beer, and she never would have dreamed the combination would be so pleasing. Or was it just the taste of Sam that intrigued her so?

  Her mind was spinning by the time he finally, reluctantly ended the kiss. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes locked with hers. She searched his face, wondering what he was thinking, what he was feeling as he stared back down at her. She thought she saw there the same stunned realization that was overwhelming her.

  The exchange between them, explosive as it had been, hadn’t been a total surprise to Dallas. The attraction had been building for a long time—weeks, months, maybe—though she’d fought hard against it. She had refused to acknowledge it even to herself— until now, when she could no longer deny it.

  Sam seemed to suddenly become aware that he was still holding her, his hands still clasped on her hips. He dropped his arms abruptly. “I, uh, I’d better take a shower,” he murmured, his voice rather hoarse.

  Dallas could only nod, not trusting her voice at all.

  He hesitated another moment, still looking at her, and then he took a sharp breath, turned, and all but bolted for the shower.

  Dallas covered her flaming cheeks with her hands and moaned.

  And she’d thought their last assignment together had gotten complicated!

  * * *

  DALLAS THREW OUT THE fettuccine, still too stunned to feel more than a flicker of renewed irritation that she was having to do so. She made herself a turkey sandwich, then realized that her hunger had faded along with her temper. She choked down half of it, stuffed the remainder into a plastic sandwich bag, and shoved it in the refrigerator for later.

  She was tired. Mentally and physically exhausted. Sitting alone for long, boring hours was almost more wearing for her than steady physical activity.

  Her nightshirt in her hand, she was waiting at the door of the bathroom when Sam emerged after his shower, wearing only the gym shorts he favored for sleeping. She brushed past him with an incoherent murmur, her gaze trained firmly away from his bare chest and legs. She spent a long time brushing her teeth, removing her makeup and donning her nightshirt. As always, she gave a sigh of relief when she removed the heavy harness. Taking that thing off was better—and faster—than a strict diet for making her feel slim and fit.

  Sam was sitting on his side of the bed when she finally left the bathroom. He looked tired, she noted. There were deep lines around his hazel eyes and unsmiling mouth, and a weary slump in his bare shoulders. His very sexy bare shoulders, she thought before she could stop herself. She turned her eyes away and moved around to her side of the bed.

  They crawled under the sheets without speaking. Sam reached out to snap off the bedside lamp, and the room was thrown into darkness. Someone walked noisily above them, a baby cried somewhere beneath them. Someone was playing a stereo too loudly, heavy on the bass. The sounds of traffic, shouts, and an occasional siren drifted in from outside.

  There was total silence inside the bedroom.

  Dallas could almost hear the minutes ticking by. Slowly. Painfully slowly. She lay on her back, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Sleep seemed very far away. She was just about to give up and go watch television when Sam spoke, his voice sounding startlingly loud.

  “Dallas?”

  She moistened her lips. “Yeah?”

  “Sorry about dinner. The guys asked me to have a few beers with them and it seemed like a good chance to pump them for information.”

  She covered her face with her hands and groaned deeply.

  Sam sounded startled when he spoke again. “Dallas? What’s wrong? Are you still mad?”

  “I’m mad at myself,” she muttered, her voice muffled by her hands. “I can’t believe I yelled at you like that. Of course, you were just doing your job—you did exactly what Sam Pulaski would have done. I don’t know why I got so furious. I guess I got carried away with my role.”

  Sam exhaled deeply—what might have been a sigh of relief that she wasn’t still angry with him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. Sometimes it’s easy to forget who you are for a while. Besides, you were probably bored out of your mind. I know I would have been if I’d had to sit alone in this dump all day and all evening.”

  “Yeah, I was,” she admitted. “This assignment doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Sometimes I wonder if we’re just wasting our time.”

  “It’s only been five days,” Sam reminded her. “Brashear expected us to take a couple of weeks to firmly establish our cover. And you have made a lot of headway with Polly. She’s already talking to you. If she’s involved in this, you’ll know soon.”

  He was trying to be encouraging, but Dallas didn’t feel much better. “I still feel stupid,” she said. “Not for yelling at you—I needed to do that for the cover. But I was really mad at you for
missing dinner.”

  Sam chuckled and rolled up to one elbow, propping his head on his hand as he looked down at her. “You really did get carried away with your role, didn’t you?”

  She nodded against the pillow. “I spent the day cleaning the refrigerator,” she confessed. “I even pulled it out and mopped behind it. At one point, I stopped and asked myself if I ought to be doing heavy cleaning in my condition!”

  Sam laughed softly.

  But Dallas wasn’t through. “You know what I found myself doing this afternoon to entertain myself? Choosing names for the baby! I tell you, Perry, we’ve got to get on with this case before I start decorating the place with cutesy country craft stuff.”

  Sam was still laughing. “Naming the kid, huh? So what did you choose?”

  She sighed and mentally cursed herself for being so candid with him. Now she’d probably never hear the end of it. “Never mind.”

  “How about Bob? I’ve always liked Bob.”

  “Bob?” she repeated. “For a baby?”

  “Sure. It’s simple, easy to spell, a nice strong, manly name. Like Sam,” he added.

  “I can see why simple, easy to spell, and monosyllabic would appeal to you.”

  He growled in response to the less-than-subtle insult. “Watch it, Sanders.” And then he reached out almost absently and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek as he continued the teasing. “I suppose you’d rather name your kid after a city? Atlanta, maybe? Detroit?”

  “Are you making fun of my name, Perry?”

  “Would I do that?”

  “You would.”

  “So where’d you get the name Dallas, anyway?”

  “That’s where my mother dumped me,” she answered with a shrug against the pillows. “I guess it seemed appropriate to some social worker with a twisted sense of humor.”

  Sam stopped laughing. “You were never adopted?”

  “No. I grew up in foster homes. Most of them were okay. Some sucked. But that’s life, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head fervently, dislodging his hand, which had rested against her cheek. “No pity, Perry. I really hate pity.”