His Secret Baby: The Agent's Secret Baby

“There is in the kinds of books Adam deals in,” Eve told the older man. Something unnamed and protective had risen up inside of her.

As if Adam needed protectors, she quietly jeered.

“Still dealing in rare first editions, then?” Josiah asked, his eyebrows raised in query.

“Yes.”

“And how is that done, exactly? Where do you find these treasures?” Josiah wanted to know.

Definitely grilling him, Adam thought. “I go to estate sales. You’d be surprised what you can find if you look hard enough,” Adam replied.

“I’m sure I would be,” Josiah agreed thoughtfully. He glanced toward the kitchen where Lucas was rinsing off plates and stacking them into the dishwasher. “My driver has an affinity for murder-mystery books. Would you by any chance have a first edition of an Agatha Christie book?” he asked, then became more specific in his choice. “The Mousetrap.”

Adam chuckled. He had just had a mousetrap set for him. Lucky thing he had minored in English in college while working on his degree in criminology.

“The Mousetrap,” he informed Josiah needlessly, “was a play, not a book.”

The older man seemed properly embarrassed. “Ah, my error.” His expression slowly turned hopeful. “Perhaps one of her other efforts?”

As it turned out, he actually had something to sell to Josiah—if the man wanted to continue with the charade. “I have The Man in the Brown Suit.”

“Excellent,” Josiah declared with just the right amount of enthusiasm. “If you give me the address to your shop, I’ll make a point of stopping by next Wednesday. Christmas is coming, you know.”

“It usually does after Thanksgiving,” Adam commented drily. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. In the interest of maintaining his cover, he carried several business cards with him at all times and offered one to the other man.

Taking the card, Josiah studied it for a moment before tucking it into his own pocket. “Next Wednesday,” he repeated.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Adam told him.

The old man was up to something. He would bet his last dollar on it. But what? That was the part that didn’t make sense. Could it just be that the man was looking out for Eve? Or was there something else involved?

He’d been at this too long, Adam thought darkly. Being undercover for two years had a way of getting to a man. Now a rose was no longer a rose, but could very well be an elaborate listening device.

He missed the days of roses.

“Anyone for dessert?” Eve offered. But just as she rose to her feet, Brooklyn made a low announcement, letting it be known that she had woken up from her nap and now wanted someone—or everyone—to pay attention to her. Eve sighed, then flashed an apologetic smile at her guests. Dessert was going to have to wait. “Looks like I’m being paged.”

“Why don’t you do what you need to do?” Josiah suggested gently. “I can entertain your little bundle of joy for a few minutes. If I’m not mistaken, I haven’t had the pleasing experience of holding the young lady yet,” he added.

Bless Josiah, she thought. “All right, then, she’s all yours.” She turned to look at Adam. “Adam, could you please—”

She didn’t have to finish her request. He knew what she needed him to do. Pushing himself away from the table, Adam rose to his feet. “No problem. I’ll go get her for you.”

Brooklyn had napped in the family room where the baby could easily be seen by her parents during dinner. Walking into the family room now, Adam bent over the port-a-crib and picked his daughter up.

A quick check of her diaper told him she was still miraculously dry, although he had to admit that the thought of depositing a slightly soggy infant onto Josiah’s lap did have its appeal. Something about the older man didn’t sit quite right. It was only a matter of time before he figured out why.

Holding his daughter, aware of her every movement and how incredibly soft she felt against him, Adam crossed back to the dining room. He made his way over to Josiah.

“Ah, there’s the lovely lady. The spitting image of her mother,” Josiah declared, his thin lips curving in a faint smile. He put out his arms, looking forward to holding the little girl.

Adam hesitated for a beat. “You know how to hold a baby?” he heard himself asking.

Damn, when had that happened? When had he begun making noises like some overprotective, clucking mother hen?

Josiah raised his gray eyes to look at him. The steely eyes reminded him of laser beams. “I’ve held a few babies in my time, Mr. Smythe,” Josiah answered.

Banking down a reluctance that had no rhyme or reason to it, Adam handed his daughter over to the other man. Josiah accepted the small, wriggling bundle, a look akin to awe gracing the gaunt face.

It was Adam’s turn to study the old man. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness. Josiah held the little girl as if he’d had infinite practice doing so. And then he remembered.

“Eve told me that you have a daughter.”

“I do. And a granddaughter,” Josiah added, never taking his eyes away from the baby in his arms.

“So I guess that makes you an old hand at this.” Adam found that if he engaged someone in conversation enough times, eventually, he found what he was after.

Josiah spared him the most fleeting of glances, his attention completely focused on the tiny human being in his arms. “I wasn’t around very much when my daughter was this age and by the time her daughter was, they were in England, so no, I’m not an old hand at this. Some things just require the right instincts,” he pronounced.

The man became more and more of an enigma. “And what is it that you did for a living when you worked?” Adam asked, turning the tables on the older man.

“Whatever I had to,” Josiah replied quietly, his attention still exclusively focused on the bright, animated small face before him. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips as he added, “You might say I was a jack-of-all-trades. Good at all,” he added, changing the old saying to suit him. “The fact that I survived attests to my ability to remain alive even in the most adverse conditions.”

He knew even less than he knew before, Adam thought. But now wasn’t the time to continue digging. He had a strong suspicion that Josiah enjoyed weaving answers that went around in circles.

Adam nodded toward the kitchen. “If you’re okay, I’ll go lend Eve a hand.”

“Of course I’m okay.” Josiah addressed his answer to Brooklyn. He looked—and felt—younger just by holding this radiant life form. Powerful medicine, he mused, these newborns. “Why shouldn’t I be?” he challenged mildly, finally looking up at Adam. “Go, help Eve. She isn’t as strong as she’d like to believe she is. It usually takes more than a month to recover from bringing a child into the world.”

Josiah said it with authority, as if familiar with the process. Just who was this old man who saw himself as Eve’s benefactor and secret guardian? He hadn’t a clue. Yet. But he would, he promised himself. He would.

Adam went to the kitchen, crossing paths with Lucas. The driver, finished loading the dishwasher, was on his way back to the dining room. The man nodded at him the way one tenant passing another in an apartment complex might, anonymous but friendly.

What was his story? Adam couldn’t help wondering. Lucas looked a little too robust, too buff under his uniform to be just a driver. Did he double as the old man’s bodyguard? And why would Josiah need a bodyguard?

“How much do you know about Josiah?” Adam asked Eve, lowering his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard by the men in the other room.

The question surprised her. She regarded Josiah with nothing but deep affection. Being around the older man made her feel as if a piece of her father was still alive. “I’ve known Josiah all my life.”

That didn’t answer his question. He was certain that there’d been people who’d known Ted Bundy all their lives—or thought they had.

“But what do you know about him?” Adam pressed.

She stopped decorating the pumpkin dessert and turned to face Adam. “That he’s a lonely old man who’s very sweet and occasionally takes in rescued dogs when his own pass on.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, trying to guess what this was actually all about. “Why?”

Adam shrugged dismissively. “No reason. He’s just trying to stare me down.”

“He’s curious about you,” she corrected, going back to putting the finishing touches on one of the desserts. Shaking the can of whipped cream, she added a swirl right on the top, then drizzled the finished product with a handful of crushed pecans. “He thinks my judgment might be influenced by the fact that you are, after all, very good-looking and you’re Brooklyn’s father.”