One Night, So Pregnant!

‘She came to see me, last week.’ He paused, the niggling suspicion that had been digging away at the back of his mind ever since their meeting making him feel uneasy. ‘She says she’s pregnant.’

Zane’s eyebrows rose a fraction and his smile died. ‘That’s a complication.’

‘It’s not mine,’ Nate replied flatly, but the certainty he’d had a week ago failed to materialise. Why couldn’t he get that look of anguish in her face out of his head? Why hadn’t she argued? Why hadn’t she even attempted to persuade him? It didn’t add up.

‘You sure about that?’ Zane asked.

Nate thrust a hand through his hair, not liking the flat note in Zane’s voice. ‘I used a condom.’

‘Condoms fail,’ Zane replied, placing his beer down on the table with steely calm. ‘If a woman I slept with got knocked up, I’d want to know for sure it wasn’t mine.’

Nate realised he should have expected this response. Had probably wanted it on some level. The circumstances of Zane’s birth and his childhood meant that he took a hard line when it came to fathering children without taking responsibility. And who could blame him?

‘Which is where you come in,’ Nate replied. ‘I want you to get one of your guys to check it out. Find out if she’s actually pregnant. And whether I’m the father or not. I’ll pay the going rate.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘What? Why not?’ Nate growled, annoyed. He might have expected this reaction, but getting Zane involved was the obvious solution.

Zane owned and ran the most prestigious private detective agency on the West Coast. Based in a huge glass office overlooking Big Sur, Montoya Investigations had a well-earned reputation for being classy, efficient, discreet and painstakingly thorough. And Graystone Enterprises had helped with the start-up finance four years ago, right after Zane had quit the LAPD. They were friends. Surely that should stand for something?

He and Zane had a history. They had grown up together in the huge coastal mansion his great-grandfather had built. They were as good as brothers. The familiar agony flickered through his consciousness as he ruthlessly cut off the wayward thought. Right now, he needed a friend, damn it, not another critic.

Zane scowled, not looking very friendly. ‘Montoya doesn’t take that kind of domestic work if we can help it. And getting your girlfriend investigated is a bit cold, don’t you think?’

Nate felt the headache that had been brewing most of the week pound against his temple. ‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ he clarified. But the accusation still stung.

He wasn’t cold. He was cautious. He’d been burned once before. No way in hell was he going to get burned again.

‘And this isn’t just dirty laundry,’ he snapped back. ‘This is about whether Tess Tremaine is telling the truth or not.’

He wanted a conclusive answer. Proof that she had been lying to him. Then he could stop thinking about the reproach in her eyes. What was so wrong about that?

‘Damn it, Nate, if you want to know the truth, you need to get out of your ivory tower and go have a conversation with the woman, like any regular guy.’

Nate flinched, the accusation slicing right through his composure and his control. ‘I’m not my father.’ He rubbed a clammy palm on the denim of his jeans, acknowledged the vicious stab of guilt at the mention of the man they both despised.

Zane’s face hardened, his crystal blue eyes glittering with enmity in the shadowy booth. ‘Yeah?’ He ground out the single word, then reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flicked a ten-dollar bill on the table.

Nate’s fingers fisted under the table. ‘What the hell makes you think she’d tell me the truth anyway?’ he said, still determined to get Zane on side. Tess Tremaine had an unpredictable effect on him that he wasn’t sure he could control. She’d proved that twice already. And until he knew he could control it, he didn’t want to go anywhere near the woman.

Zane stood, his eyes softening. ‘Look, man, not every woman’s Marlena.’

Nate stiffened.

Zane tucked his hands into his back pockets. ‘And you’re not your old man. I wouldn’t give a damn about you if you were.’ Zane’s voice sobered. ‘But that’s exactly why you’ve gotta clean up your own mess. You don’t need a private investigator. Go talk to her. It’s that simple.’ He cursed under his breath. ‘If you’re still stuck after you’ve spoken to her, I’ll make a few calls. But you’ll need a DNA test to find out for sure if you’re the father. I’m a detective, not a doctor.’ A mocking smile edged the corners of his mouth. ‘Then again, you could always find a convenient closet and seduce the truth out of her.’

‘Good thinking, Batman,’ Nate muttered, annoyed by the familiar surge of heat. ‘That’s what got me into this fix in the first place, remember.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Zane drawled before taking one last slug of his beer. ‘Good luck, Kemosabe—and stay the hell away from janitors’ closets.’

Nate watched as his friend sauntered over to the waitress’s station and whispered something into the young woman’s ear. The girl laughed flirtatiously and gave Zane a playful punch on the arm, then gazed dreamily at his retreating back as he strolled out of the door.

The band around Nate’s temples tightened into a vice.

Sure it was simple for Zane. Zane understood women as well as any mortal man could. He actually seemed to enjoy uncovering those dark secrets that most men couldn’t even begin to fathom.

But even a guy like Zane would have trouble handling someone as unpredictable as Tess Tremaine.

CHAPTER FOUR

NATE clicked on his smart phone to double-check the address Zane had texted as he sat in his Jeep on the tree-lined street in Parnassus. Then stared at the duplex opposite.

Four-Five-Six Carl, Apartment Two. The address listed on a Miss Theresa Tremaine’s driver’s licence.

He contemplated the building’s pale yellow frontage, the row of buzzers on the door panel, and the shutters covering the second-floor window. Then glanced down the street at the Japanese caf'e on the corner.

This was nuts. How could he possibly have fathered a child with someone whose apartment he’d never even been inside of?

Because you’ve been inside her, you dumbass.

He shifted in his seat, disconcerted by the inevitable swell of heat that accompanied the thought. The possibility she had been telling the truth might be slight, but it was there.

She hadn’t contacted him since that one brief meeting in his office, which kind of confirmed his suspicions. She’d been there to ask him for money and, when she’d realised he wasn’t playing ball, she’d decided not to push her luck.

But that image of her face, the distress in her eyes, still refused to go away, so he’d speak to her one last time—to make sure.