Deadly Secrets (21 page)

Very persistent man. He’d come by the studio twice and left his name and number. He’d called her phone three times and she’d finally agreed to meet with him after he’d told her who he was and that it was imperative that they speak.

So, what the hell did he want with her?

Or rather, what did the feds want that it was imperative that they speak with
her
?

He walked to her, his own cup steaming, and stood for a moment. Then he held out his hand. “Hello, again, Ms. Ferguson.”

She sighed and decided to come clean. “I go by another name.”

“Really?” He motioned to the chair. “May I?”

She shrugged. “Well, as you are the one who wanted to speak with me, I suppose you should, unless you want to just stand there.”

He chuckled and sat across from her. He was handsome in a classic popular-guy jock type way. Strong jaw, straight nose. Though there was a bit of a hump to it. He’d probably broken it at some point, and with his job she figured that was likely. The color of his eyes was a piercing gray, which might be pretty if not for the fact they were . . . flat. Like he’d seen too much or something. Reminded her of the cops she knew from New Orleans, or worse, the guys on the street. Not the ones too high or drunk to worry about life, but those that were beaten down by life, by what they’d seen, or been part of. Guys with eyes like that, in the shelter, were often struggling to get back to where there was level ground.

And this guy? What all had he seen and been a part of to have that absence in his eyes?

He looked at her and smiled. All happy charm, except for his eyes. She didn’t trust that fake charm.

“You look like you’re wondering what you’re doing here and what I could possibly want with you.” He took a drink of his coffee and winced. “I told you before we are not trying to scare you. We need your help.”

Well, it was steaming. What did he expect?

He tilted his head and studied her. “So how far along are you?”

She jerked. “H-how did you know?”

One side of his mouth kicked up, but it wasn’t a smile. “We know quite a bit about you, Ms. Ferguson. And we’d like your help.”

She just looked at him.

“Look, here’s my card.”

“Yes, I have several others that you left for me.” She’d even called the local FBI office to verify he was who he claimed to be before meeting with the man. He was a special agent with the FBI. She still had no idea why he’d contacted her, what exactly he wanted.

He shrugged. “You are a smart woman, a strong one from what we know of you. You’re a straight shooter who likes to help people. The elderly that you teach yoga to three times a week. The shelters where you help teen mothers and expectant mothers. You are a person who doesn’t like to see the less advantaged taken advantage of.”

She held his flat stare. “Okay, and . . . ?”

“And as such a person, we’d like to talk to you about helping us.”

She shook her head. “Help you? You’ve mentioned that. I’m just me, how in the world would I help you? And with what—exactly?”

He took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you everything, yet. Only once you agree.”

Uh-huh. “And I’m supposed to agree now because?” She waved her hand for him to continue.

He smiled at her. “You are a wary woman. I can deal with wariness. Look.” He leaned up on his elbows. The wind blew from behind him and she caught a whiff of his cologne. A little more light and flirty than she would have imagined a serious guy like him wearing. Made her think of Quin and his cologne. Woodsy, spring rains, and just Quin . . .

She sighed and leaned back as Jareaux continued.

“We’ve been waiting for a while to find someone. And then you just sort of happened along. You are pregnant, which is what we were really waiting for.” He frowned. “You are, aren’t you?”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Whether or not I am will wait.” Ella shook her head. “That’s your criteria for me helping you? Are you nuts? You have any idea how many pregnant women there are out there?”

He didn’t smile. “Lots, and few are in a position such as you.”

“And I still don’t know what that position is.” Until she did, she wouldn’t be helping him—them.

He sighed and looked around. “Are you working for the Nursery?”

“You mean the Nursery of Dreams? Well, not really. I mean maybe.”

“Maybe? Aren’t you a yoga instructor out at their retreat place?”

Now it was her turn to frown, and she rubbed her arms from the chills that danced along her skin. “How do you know all of that? Are you people watching me?” She put her hands on her stomach again so he wouldn’t see them tremble.

Ella Ferguson was skittish. Great.

Jareaux held up his hands, hoping to put her at ease. He would put her at ease. She was going to help him crack this case and it would be big. He knew it. He’d been waiting for someone like her to come along and help him out. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you or your baby.” He had to put her at ease. He sighed and raked a hand though his hair. “I—We’d like someone to sort of keep an eye on things there. Let us know if there is anything odd going on out there.”

“Odd, how? Place seems great to me. Pregnancy abounds and the atmosphere’s just happy. The women take classes, on all sorts of things,” she said.

“Yes, we know. The ages of those at the Nursery’s retreat are all over the place. The ages range from young teens to the mid-twenties for the most part. There are also a couple of thirty-something surrogate mothers.”

She just looked at him with those big blue eyes.

Woman was pretty in a weird way. He’d use weirdness, hell, he’d use Satan’s girlfriend if it helped him get out of this damned place. Why they were all out at the Retreat, as those out there called the place, he wasn’t exactly sure. But they were and everyone seemed to love it. Yoga, diet classes, meditation, even some business classes for those who wanted it. No cell phones. No laptops or iPads. Technology was pretty much left at the door.

“Don’t you find it odd the lack of technology or whatever they allow?” he asked her. “Who doesn’t have a cell phone or access to one in this day and age? I would think it would be dangerous for a pregnant woman
not
to have one.”

She shrugged. “Many believe our electronics are in direct correlation to the increase in cancer. But whatever. I don’t really care what their rules are. I was hired to teach a couple of yoga classes up there. By a twist of fate actually. A woman in my class who’s a nurse told me they were looking for someone to teach yoga to a bunch of pregnant women. I took it. Good thing too. I’m pregnant,” she said, as if she still didn’t believe it.

He could use that.

“Kind of a drive though, isn’t it?” he asked, knowing the drive up to the Retreat was over half an hour away. “Guess you love your work.”

She just looked at him. “I don’t know that I’d call it working exactly. I teach yoga a couple of times a week up there. Though another one of the doctors asked me if I’d consider more classes.”

More classes up there would be great, would give her great access, might get this rolling a lot quicker.

“And you’re pregnant.”

She took a deep breath. “Honestly, I haven’t told many people yet. It’s still . . . so damned new. And so freaking scary,” she muttered to herself.

“Why? I thought . . . well, most women . . .”

She just raised a brow. “I’m not exactly scared about the pregnancy or being a mom. I’m kind of worried about a phone call I need to make.”

“To?”

“Quinlan.”

“Ah.” Probably the father. Woman with the strange hair and perky disposition bothered him for some reason. He just wanted someone he could use to break this case, make his name and get the hell out of this backwoods position.

But to do that, he’d have to gain her trust.

“What’s ‘ah’ about it?”

“Nothing.” He shifted and studied her. Confident woman. She didn’t cower, didn’t hunker in her chair, met all his stares dead-on. “So you interested in helping us?”

“Because I’m pregnant?”

“And you’re single.”

She jerked. “No, I’m not actually.”

She said it as if she wasn’t exactly sure. “You sound like you might doubt that statement.”

Her eyebrows lowered. “I, well, I don’t think I’m single.”

He quirked a brow. “You’re not? So the father . . .”

“Doesn’t know yet. But he will and then he’ll be hounding me for everything again.”

“Everything?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, yeah, everything. Once he finds out about the baby, he’ll fight me on the marriage with a vengeance. Granted, if I go to him now, then he’ll think the only reason I want him back is because of the baby, and I knew when I left New Orleans and . . .”

He tuned her out. Woman was flightier than he’d thought originally, but he could still work with her. Then what she said clicked.

“Wait, you’re married?”

She grinned. “You mean the FBI doesn’t know everything? Really? And here I thought so highly of the sainted bureau. I mean, the stories you hear . . .”

He held up his hand. “Please explain.”

Where to begin. “I’m married, actually. Or I think I am.”

“You think? Isn’t being married sort of like being pregnant? Either you are or you’re not?” Lines furrowed across his forehead.

“You’d think, huh? Enter Vegas, Elvis—I think—and a man who claimed he wanted to stay married even though he hadn’t told anyone about our marriage, other than a lawyer. I decided I didn’t want to be married then.”

“And you do now?”

She thought about that and shrugged. “I realized I probably did before I ran. I mean moved. But things were said, or not, as the case was, and well . . . here I am.”

“Ahh.” He sipped his coffee again. “One of those.”

She quirked a brow at him. “One of those?”

“Commitment-phobes. Had one myself. I chased her down, turned out to be a waste of time on my part.”

She only shrugged and looked out over the courtyard.

He cleared his throat. “So, Vegas . . . sounds . . . rushed, so I guess that makes sense. Mistake and all. So why haven’t you annulled it?”

Ella just looked at him. There was a question. A mistake.

Except it didn’t actually feel like a mistake, did it? It had, or seemed like it should, but . . . not really. Not when they were talking and laughing and planning things . . . Not that she wanted to admit that. It never really had, even as she’d tried to convince herself that it was a mistake of gargantuan proportions. But when they were together, it was almost . . . too easy . . . too perfect.

That scared her.

Had scared her.

So they fought. Stupidly, and she’d . . . she’d . . . fucked it all to hell and back. So what if he hadn’t told his family yet? As he’d kept pointing out, they were married.

And now what?

“So the father, will he be a part of the baby’s life?” the man across from her asked, jerking her back to the here and now.

“Quinlan? Oh, hell yes. Soon as he knows, I’d imagine.”

“You haven’t told him” He
tsked
and there was slightly less professionalism in his voice, not as clipped and calm as before.

“See, you’re a guy.”

“So?”

“So the way you just said that tells me I’ve waited too long already in telling him, but how could I tell him when I just figured it out myself a couple of weeks ago?”

“You haven’t told him in two weeks?”

“Not quite two weeks, more like one and a half and how do I tell him? By what? Calling him?
Hey, it’s me, remember, your wife? Yeah, so apparently at some point we weren’t careful enough and surprise, I’m pregnant!
”

He just looked at her.

“I’m still trying to get my brain around the idea of having a baby and how I missed it up to this point and how was I to know that I ran from a totally perfect and wonderful guy because I was scared, which will just make him right and now if I say I want it all too, he’ll just think I only want to because of the baby and then—”

“Breathe.” He held both hands up. “Please, don’t pass out or anything.”

She took a deep breath and a drink of her chai.

“Look, Ms. Ferguson.”

“Kinncaid, actually. Or it was. Not sure if it still is. How do I find out?” How did she find out without calling Quin. She
needed
to call him. “Maybe I’ll ask him to come out here and then I can tell him.” She nodded. That was a better idea. “I could tell him we need to talk to work things out whichever way they go and I have something really important to talk to him about.” She frowned. “He’d come. Probably.” He’d been really pissed before. “Maybe.” Then again, maybe he’d expect her to come to him, and could she? The doctors told her to be careful with her previous history. No, if she told him it was serious, that she couldn’t come to him but she wanted and needed him to fly out here, he’d be here. She knew that—or hoped she did.