KEEPING BABY SAFE.

Debra Webb.

About the Author.

DEBRA WEBB was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing aged nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams and tried some other occupations, including selling hoovers, working in a factory, a day-care centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the army, they moved to Berlin and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general's office. By 1985, they were back in the United States and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mysteries and film inspiration. You can write to Debra with your comments at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee, 37345, USA.

There is nothing more tragic than losing a child, Whether that child has been born or still sleeps Deep in a mother's womb. This book is.

Dedicated to Dakota Jeffrey, the grandchild I Will never hold in my arms but who will Always live in my heart.

Prologue.

In one fluid movement, Victoria Colby scooted onto the long vanity counter's smooth marble top. "Make yourself comfortable, Max," she insisted, with a wave of her hand toward the small sitting area.

Pierce Maxwell surveyed the sleek decor of the ladies' room and knew without question that getting comfortable would be virtually impossible. "I'll stand, thank you," he said politely, his smile equally courteous, since he didn't want to tick off the boss.

He and Victoria were meeting in the ladies' room because the rest of the fourth floor that housed the Colby Agency was currently standing in about three inches of water. The sprinkler system had gone haywire and flooded the place. Plumbers and cleanup personnel were scrambling to undo the damage p.r.o.nto. Since the tiled bathroom floors were equipped with drains, the men's and ladies' rooms were the only ones not requiring wading boots at the moment. Thus the expansive ladies' room now served as the boss's office and briefing room. Certainly no one would expect Victoria Colby to conduct business in the men's room.

"I have a case that I believe requires your particular expertise," Victoria began as she picked up a soggy manila folder and opened it to scan the meager contents. "As I recall, you spent a good deal of time in South America while involved with the DEA."

Max nodded. "Three long years." What most didn't know was that, while with the Drug Enforcement Agency, he had spent the vast majority of his time chasing leads from informants in those hot, steamy jungles. Max had been part of a special covert operations team that set up housekeeping in Colombia to facilitate the reduction in the flow of drugs onto American soil. When politics, American as well as Colombian, put an end to his team's operations, Max had grown disgusted with the bureaucracy and walked away. The Colby Agency had recruited him practically before the ink dried on his resignation papers.

"What's the situation?" he asked, his interest definitely piqued.

"An old acquaintance of mine, Harold Atkins, used to run a small private investigations firm down in Houston," Victoria explained. "He retired from the business a few years ago and took a more cushy job as head of security at Alexon."

Max was familiar with Alexon and its reputation. The corporation operated one of the foremost medical and biological research facilities in the country, right here in Chicago. They played the high stakes in a number of different arenas, from the latest in stem cell research to biological weaponry for defense purposes. Head of security for that kind of company would definitely be a "cushy" job, as Victoria put it.

Frowning thoughtfully, she closed the folder and continued, "According to Harold, Alexon set up a secret lab in the mountains near Bogota a couple years back to work on a high-priority military project. Obviously, they needed complete secrecy. Two weeks ago the lab was destroyed and the scientist heading the project was almost captured."

Max lifted an eyebrow skeptically. "Almost?" he queried. He couldn't imagine a scientist having the know-how to elude a band of Colombian rebels. h.e.l.l, he was a highly trained agent and he'd barely escaped with his life a time or two. The alternative, a team commissioned by a rival research company, would certainly be just as ruthless and difficult to evade.

"Apparently Alexon put a lot of thought into the safety of their lead scientist and designed a sort of hidden panic room for just this kind of situation." Now things were getting really interesting. "They need someone to go in, rescue him from his hiding place and bring him out, is that it?" Though Max wasn't fond of the place, he knew his way around the country well enough to feel completely comfortable with that kind of a.s.signment.

Victoria sighed and seemed to consider her words for a time before going on. "Harold has already sent in a recovery agent to do the retrieval, but something went wrong."

Right, Max mused. Good old Harold just hadn't picked the right man for the job. A good deal more than mere skill was involved. An intimate knowledge of the country was required. "So now we have two guys to rescue."

"One man and one woman," Victoria corrected.

"Dr. Samuel Kirstenof is the scientist and Olivia Jackson is the woman Harold hired to retrieve him."

"Where are they now?" Things had just gone from interesting to troubling. Trying to get a helpless scientist out of the country undetected would be problematic enough. But having a woman tagging along-one who likely wouldn't appreciate having to be rescued in the first place-would only make bad matters worse.

Victoria pa.s.sed the folder to Max. "You'll find all the pertinent information in here. Harold included the grid coordinates for the location from which he received the last transmission, two days ago."

Max sifted through the contents of the folder. Olivia Jackson was only twenty-two years old. He shook his head. No wonder she'd gotten herself trapped down there. She was barely old enough to drive, much less carry a weapon and elude militant rebels. What was Atkins thinking, sending a young woman like her to do an experienced man's job?

"Harold calls her Scout," Victoria said, drawing Max from his worrisome thoughts.

"Scout?" Max noted there was no photograph of Olivia Jackson, but there was a copy of Kirstenof's personnel badge. He looked to be about fifty, short and thin, with more hair on his chin than on his head.

"Olivia apparently prefers the nickname." Victoria eased off the counter and smoothed her neatly tailored suit with one hand. "Harold spoke highly of her, thinks of her as a daughter. He wanted me to relay how frightened he is for her welfare under current circ.u.mstances. And, of course, Alexon wants their scientist back unharmed."

Max's gaze met Victoria's. "Apparently," she added, her tone turning grave, "there has been a little war going on between Alexon and one of their compet.i.tors to come up with a certain new antidote the military needs. This could turn even nastier if that compet.i.tor is somehow involved."

Max shrugged mentally. Nasty compet.i.tion he could deal with; it was Scout Jackson that concerned him. She wouldn't like him coming in to do what she hadn't been able to. That he was a man probably wouldn't help.

He closed the folder and gave Victoria a rea.s.suring smile. "I'm on it. I'll take good care of the doc and the lady."

Victoria nodded once in acknowledgment. "Keep me informed of your progress. Doug will be providing backup for you."

Max resisted the urge to groan. Doug Cooper was the new guy at the Colby Agency. He was good, Max was certain; Victoria employed only the very best. But Doug was a rich kid who'd recently left his Martha's Vineyard roots and his Wall Street office behind to get a real job. Max liked him but wasn't sure he trusted his motives. Had he simply gotten bored with his daddy's yacht and his highbrow friends?

That was unfair and Max knew it. Doug was a nice guy. Time would tell about his motives. Judging prematurely was wrong. Max had to give his colleague a chance, just as Victoria had. She obviously had legitimate reasons for hiring him.

"Sounds good," Max told her, keeping his smile in place. "I'll bring him up to speed and then be on my way."

When he reached the door, Victoria's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"Be careful out there, Max," she said somberly. "The Colombian government is particularly restless right now. I don't want this agency to be responsible for an international incident, but more important, I don't want to lose you."

Max's smile hitched all the way to a grin this time. "Don't sweat it, Victoria. I know the place like the back of my hand. I'll be in and out of there before they even suspect I'm coming."

Chapter One.

The click of a weapon easing into c.o.c.ked mode echoed at the same time a cold steel barrel bored into the back of his skull.

Max froze.

Sweat trickled down his forehead; the bandanna he wore was already soaked through.

"Don't move."

Female.

American.

Could this be Olivia Jackson? Max wondered as the woman reached beneath his unb.u.t.toned shirt to remove his weapon from his shoulder holster. He sure as h.e.l.l hoped so. He'd been following the almost imperceptible trail she'd left for two days now. If he hadn't been a skilled tracker in this kind of environment he would have had no chance in h.e.l.l of even getting close. She was good. d.a.m.n good. He'd allowed her to sneak up on him now to speed up the process and leave her with her pride intact. Having him show up and take over wasn't going to sit well with her.

"Are you Olivia Jackson?" he asked, as nonchalantly as possible with her disarming him. Despite the knowledge that they were on the same team, he didn't like being at a disadvantage.

"Who's asking?"

"I'm-" The unexpected feel of her hands moving down the length of his legs momentarily derailed his train of thought. She didn't plan to take any chances. He gritted his teeth when she discovered and confiscated the backup piece in his ankle holster. "-Pierce Maxwell," he growled in answer to her question.

She stood, moved in close behind him and said, "Well, Pierce Maxwell, looks like you've got a bit of a problem. This is definitely not the kind of place a guy wants to be when he's unarmed." She backed up a step. "You can turn around now."

Max clenched his jaw. He'd climbed, crawled and hacked his way through this hot, steamy jungle for two days now. Not to mention lived in this h.e.l.lhole for three years not so long ago. He should just tell her that though she was good, she wasn't that good. The idea that she was enjoying this sent outrage rushing through his veins. But the last thing he needed was her on the defensive. Slowly he turned to face his captor.

He opened his mouth to demand to see some ID, but no words came out. His gaze riveted to long, silky black hair and clear gray eyes. The young woman staring back at him with her own expression of surprise looked as s.e.xy as she appeared capable. This was definitely not the type he'd expected to find in the middle of a South American jungle.

"Who sent you?" she demanded, leveling her nine-millimeter in perfect alignment with his forehead.

It wasn't until then that he noticed the man cowering behind her. Short, thin, shiny bald pate, gray scraggly beard and clutching a black leather satchel to his chest ... it was Kirstenof. Max needed no further ID.

"Harold Atkins sent me," he said brusquely. "He got worried when you didn't appear able to get Doc here-" he nodded toward the man beyond her "-back to American soil in a timely manner. I'm supposed to take the two of you home." He almost bit his tongue. Now he'd done it! Testosterone had obviously overridden his ability to maintain diplomacy.

The same outrage he'd felt moments ago now glinted in the steel-gray eyes glaring back at him. "Well, you're certainly off to a good start. And since no one but my uncle knows I'm here, I'm gonna trust you." She offered him his weapon and smiled, but the lovely face held no amus.e.m.e.nt. "What makes you think you can get us out of here when I haven't been able to?" The challenge in her tone was clear.

Max accepted his nine-millimeter, tucking it back into his shoulder holster. He'd already stepped in it; might as well follow through. "Lady, you'd be surprised at what I can do."

She gave him his .38 then, which he quickly slipped back into his ankle holster. "I suppose we'll see about that," she mused dryly. She shifted slightly so that the doc was in full view. "This is Dr. Samuel Kirstenof," she said. "His safety is top priority. We have to get him back home in one piece."

"Glad to see you're all right, sir," Max said by way of a greeting.

"I wouldn't be if Scout hadn't rescued me," he said, smiling weakly at the frustrating woman. "She arrived just in time. Another twenty-four hours and I would have been a goner for sure."

A frown worked its way across Max's forehead. The doc didn't look so good. In fact, he looked like h.e.l.l-ghostly pale, with heavy dark circles beneath his eyes. The thick lenses of his gla.s.ses only magnified the frailty.

Max turned to the woman. "Surely you had a backup plan or, at the very least, a secondary egress route?"

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Of course I did. When we tried to leave, both routes were covered. Someone sold me out," she said tightly. "No one knew the details of my plans except my uncle Harold and a few members of his staff. It had to be someone close to him." Her gaze narrowed as if she might just suspect him. "On second thought maybe I shouldn't trust you."

Max shrugged noncommittally. "That's something you'll have to take up with your uncle when you get back." He swiped the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve. "Now, if you'll just follow me, I'll get us out of here."

He ignored her muttered curses-adjectives not found in the dictionary, which she used to describe him on a very personal level-as he started to retrace his steps down the trail he'd hacked through the dense foliage. He imagined that desperation was the real reason she agreed to follow him. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. At least she had a sense of humor.

"Where the h.e.l.l are you going?" she snapped after only a couple of minutes of moving swiftly to keep up with him. "I promise you this is definitely not the way you want to go. There's a rebel camp just-"

He turned back to her. She stumbled in an effort to stop, but only succeeded in barreling into his chest. He steadied her, the feel of her skin beneath his fingers startling him. He released her as suddenly as he'd grabbed her, and blinked repeatedly to somehow dispel or deny the confusing sensations.

"Trust me," he said, irritated at himself all over again. "I know what I'm doing."

"Famous last words," she countered as she fell back into step behind him.

The next time Max glanced over his shoulder he noted that she'd placed the doc behind him and was now bringing up the rear. A good move, he decided. The doc would be more secure that way.

Max railed silently at himself all the way down the mountain. What the h.e.l.l had gotten into him? The moment he'd laid eyes on Scout Jackson he'd lost his balance. So she wasn't what he'd expected. That wasn't any reason to loose his perspective. It wasn't like he didn't have his share of female company. So why the h.e.l.l was he feeling as if he were trapped on a deserted island and she was his only hope for female companionship? He shook his head. He couldn't answer that question. The heat, maybe? Whatever the cause, there was definitely something about her that spoke to him, even when she wasn't talking. She was fairly tall, and from what he could tell had a nice, athletic figure beneath her baggy attire. But it was more than that. There was some kind of chemistry going on here.

And he definitely had to get a grip. One wrong step in this country and they could all end up dead.

SCOUT HAD TO HAND IT TO Mr. Pierce Maxwell. He'd gotten them down the mountain, but that wasn't such an incredible feat. The big deal was the way he'd led them around no less than three rebel camps between them and the route to freedom. Now that had taken some doing. She would never have taken the risk.

As fl.u.s.tered as she was at having to admit to needing help, his skill made the admission a little easier. She'd studied him as he moved. He was more than simply good, he was one with his environment. He had to have spent some time here. He meshed with the jungle too easily, knew all the places to avoid as well as those to utilize fully. Knew how to use the lush landscape to his advantage. The only slip he'd made was in allowing her to sneak up on him. She'd even wondered if he'd allowed that to happen just to put them on somewhat of an equal footing. He'd come here knowing he was going to usurp her control of the situation-not that she'd been in control, after all-and maybe he'd let her sneak up on him so she'd feel better about it. Then again, maybe not.

She watched his fluid movements, unable to stem her growing admiration for his predatory skills. The fact that he was extremely well built and d.a.m.n good-looking in a rugged sort of way only added insult to injury. He definitely had a great body.

Broad shoulders, muscled arms, lean waist and narrow hips. G.o.d, and those long legs. She'd suffered a heart palpitation or two as she'd patted him down. The face wasn't perfect, of course-a little rough, with sharp angles and firm lines, but not bad in any sense of the word. The blue eyes were an a.s.set. Coupled with the sandy-blond hair, they made him look a little like a California surfer, only stronger and far more dangerous.

Scout shivered, then frowned. She couldn't remember the last time she'd met a guy who rattled her so. There was something about his voice-deep, rich, laced with just enough lethal charm to let you know who was boss.

And she hated it.

She absolutely hated being at the mercy of a guy like that. Why was it that women couldn't resist men like him? The strong, silent hero come to the rescue. The hunk who was ninety percent eye candy and ten percent solid, rugged rock. She'd worked so hard to be tougher than that-not to allow silly, adolescent urges to own her.

All for nothing.

Here she was, trudging through a jungle with danger all around her, and all she could do was l.u.s.t after the guy.

Pathetic ... truly pathetic.

The sound of footsteps behind her drew her up short. Scout halted and listened intently. Maxwell froze as well, turning slightly and stopping Kirstenof with an uplifted hand. The sound hadn't come from any of them because they were all being particularly careful to be absolutely silent. No, the sound- An arm went around her neck and the barrel of a weapon plowed into her temple as someone dragged her back several steps.

"Detenganse! No se muevan!"

Scout swore. A rebel, judging by the sleeve of his threadbare uniform.

Maxwell remained stone still, then slowly raised his hands above his head. Dr. Kirstenof did the same.

Scout wanted to kick herself for not paying better attention. She should have heard this guy sooner. He'd probably been following them since they'd slipped past the last camp.

Slowly, very slowly, Maxwell turned the rest of the way around. Kirstenof didn't budge; he obviously took better heed of the order not to move than Maxwell did. Scout figured he didn't want to waste the time it would take to play this guy's game. Which meant she was in serious trouble here. She considered the cold steel currently jammed against her temple. If Maxwell made the wrong move she could end up dead.

She didn't like dead. Which, in her opinion, meant she had to do something before the hero got her killed. The rebel currently shaking in his boots right behind her no doubt had his own hopes of becoming a hero.

Maxwell took a step in their direction.

Scout's heart practically stopped. She didn't know him well enough to trust him this much.