In Protective Custody

Max knew he could explain the situation to her, try to make her understand, but that would take valuable time he didn’t have. He had to get back on the road. Quickly.

Besides, as she’d put it, why should she believe him? He’d already lied to her—lies that nettled his conscience but which he’d deemed necessary to get results. He glanced down at his charge. Emily’s son.

Yes, results were what mattered.

However, if he didn’t say something to answer the suspicion blazing from her turquoise eyes, she’d be on her cell phone to the cops the minute she left his driveway.

Max released a breath that hissed through his teeth. “It’s…not what you think.”

“Oh? And what am I thinking?” She crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow.

The pose emphasized the swell of her breasts, and Max’s libido kicked hard. He’d been trying not to let her beautiful figure distract him. But like any red-blooded male, he’d noticed and appreciated her lush curves anyway. If his current circumstances were different…

The baby whimpered louder, and he cringed. The woman had nailed it when she suggested he wasn’t prepared to care for a baby. She didn’t know how right she was.

He took the woman by the arm and tugged her toward the door. “I really don’t have time now to explain, but I’m perfectly within my rights to have this child. His mother knows he’s with me. That’s how she wants it. Now, if you’d just go—”

She shrugged out of his grip. “And the baby’s father? What does he want?” Her incisive gaze dared him to contradict his previous assertion that he was the infant’s father.

He thought of the baby’s real father, Joe. A man involved with drugs—smuggling, most likely, since his father owned a shipping company. A man who’d put Max’s sister in harm’s way, whose enemy had murdered him and shot Emily, whose family now tried to usurp custody of Emily’s son. What a scum. Anger for what Joe had cost Emily heated Max’s blood. The baby was better off without Joe’s negative influence.

For all intents and purposes, Max was his nephew’s father for the time being.

But Max also knew the Rialtos would show up at his door any minute, and he didn’t have time to explain the nuances of the situation, hoping to convince her of the truth. Anthony Rialto’s message made it clear his energy was better used getting the baby out of town. Hidden. This unplanned return to his house, thanks to his car being trapped at the accident, was costing him valuable time.

Max decided changing his story concerning the baby’s paternity now would be counterproductive. And the woman’s suspicions already ran high.

“I’m his father. I don’t need anyone’s permission to have my son with me, and I don’t owe you any explanations beyond that.” With a hand at the small of her back, he tried again to hustle the woman toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get moving. I promise to make a trip to the grocery for diapers and baby food, okay?”

He fished in his pocket for her car keys and extended them to her.

She stepped forward and snatched the keys, her gaze darting briefly to his sobbing nephew. “Formula.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

She flipped her mane of golden waves over her shoulder with an impatient huff. She turned her attention to the baby, shifting her weight uneasily, clearly chomping at the bit to try her hand again at quieting the squalling baby. “A newborn doesn’t eat baby food,” she said loud enough to be heard over his nephew’s screams. “They drink mother’s milk or formula. Do you know what brand to buy? Did his doctor say anything about soy?”

Soy? Formula? Damn. She could speak a foreign language, and he’d have a better chance of making sense of it. Frustration and impatience roiled inside him. He didn’t have time for this!

“Formula, milk, whatever! I’ll figure it out. Lady, I’m in a hurry here—”

“So you’ve said. Why the hurry? What’s going on here?”

The resounding wails of his nephew, letting them know in no uncertain terms what he thought of his uncle’s ability to care for him, fed his agitation. A pang of sympathy for the baby, stuck with his inept uncle, jabbed his gut. Bouncing the baby on his arm, Max fell back on what he did best when under stress. Pace.

He needed a plan.

In this case, his goal was simply to get rid of this woman and get out of town before the Rialtos came knocking.

“Don’t do that!” The blonde scowled and reached for the baby.

“Don’t do what?” Feelings of futility sharpened his tone. He hated the sense of helplessness and ignorance that had swamped him the minute he stepped out of the hospital.

“Ever heard of shaken baby syndrome?” She plucked his nephew from his hands and cuddled the infant to her chest. “You can’t bounce him around like that. He’s too little and that much shaking can damage his brain.”

Hell! Brain damage?

He noted with satisfaction that his nephew didn’t calm down for her, either. With a flash of envy, he watched the baby nuzzle his face into her breast. Lucky kid.

She shot him an accusing look. “Didn’t they tell you at the hospital not to jostle or shake him?”

Obviously, he was way out of his element, and if someone didn’t help him, he feared he’d hurt Emily’s son due to plain ignorance regarding babies.

He ran a hand down his face, sighing his fatigue. “No, they didn’t tell me anything about brain damage or soy or where to send him to college. Yeah, I’m new at this. No, I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m trying to get it right, so would you cut me some slack?”

Her expression softened, but her eyes still blazed with conviction. “If we were discussing your new iPod, that would wash. But this is a baby. A helpless, dependent little human being.”

“I’m well aware of that!” He raised his voice to be heard over the volume of his nephew’s cries. “For God’s sake, can you please quiet him down!”

The pressure that had been building inside him since he received the call about Emily’s injuries reached a boiling point. He felt ready to explode. Taking a step back from the woman, he raked both hands through his hair and bit out an expletive that would singe dirt. “Damn it, I don’t have time to debate with you! They could be here any minute!”

“Would you stop yelling?” she fussed. “You’re not helping matters….”

A movement on his driveway distracted him from the rest of her tirade. Through his front window, he watched two large sedans pull up to his house. Alarm streaked through him, tensing every muscle. He was too late.

A tall, linebacker-sized man climbed from the driver’s side of the first car. Reaching under his windbreaker, the linebacker pulled a gun from his shoulder holster and checked the chamber.

Max’s mouth went dry. Keeping a close watch out the window, he grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her behind him.

“Hey! Wh—”

“Do exactly what I say. No questions. Got it?” The gravity of his tone obviously told her something was wrong.

“Who’s out there?”

“Remember the nice guy making threats on the answering machine?”

“What!” He heard the concern in her voice. His own disconcertion echoed hers with the thundering of his pulse. Fortunately, he did his best work under pressure. The guys at the station called him the Ice Man for his ability to keep his cool amid the smoke, flames and chaos of a fire call.

The station alarm was sounding. Time to get to work.

“Give me back your keys.” He thrust his hand at her.

“Why?”

“I said no questions. You’re gonna have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” she shrieked.