She burrowed deeper under the covers and tried hard not to let the tears escape. How could it hurt this much?

And suddenly she knew.

It wasn't about her.

It was about the baby.

His baby.

If he felt the time they'd shared had been a mistake, what would he consider the child they had created?

A mistake.

MAX RECLINED ON THE SOFA in the cluttered living room, forcing his body to relax. He'd turned out all the lights and ensured that all doors and windows were secured. Again he fought the urge to go back to her room, to somehow show her that she meant more to him than simply a case. That they had shared something special during those few days in isolation. But that would be a bad move.

The only way he could help her was to keep his head on straight here.

He needed evidence of her accusations and he had to know that she was telling him all there was to tell. He had to believe that she wasn't holding anything back. And right now he was certain she hadn't come completely clean with him.

She needed to grieve, but that would make her vulnerable. If she allowed that concession, she might just open up. But she might not do that with him close by.

A sound jerked him from his troubled musings.

He listened intently, straining to identify the source.

And then he knew.

Scout was crying ... no, sobbing.

He fought the urge to go to her.

He had to keep his distance or risk losing all perspective.

Her life depended on his making the right decisions.

Forcing his eyes to close, he did the only thing he could. He silently endured the pain and suffering ... hers and his own.

Chapter Seven.

The dream woke her from a restless sleep. Scout sat up in bed, perspiration beading on her skin, her heart pounding in her chest. It was always the same. She walked into the house to find her father dying on the living room floor. She'd tried to help ... but it had been too late. G.o.d, she hated that dream. Why, after all this time, didn't it just go away? She didn't want to think about it, much less recall the moment so vividly. As her respiration returned to normal, another fist of panic broadsided her.

Where was she?

She blinked.

Forced her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Her uncle's house.

He was dead.

Pain stabbed her deep in the heart.

She pressed her hand to her abdomen. But she still had her baby. No one would take her child from her.

Max.

He was here. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. He still didn't believe her-not completely, anyway. She could sense that he knew she was holding something back.

A mistake.

Tears burned in her eyes once more. Eyes that were already puffy from crying herself to sleep. It was the first time she'd cried since her father died.

She shoved the covers back and got out of the bed. He hadn't simply died. Someone had murdered him, just as her uncle had been murdered. Only this time she could identify the murderer. She knew his voice. And she would not rest until she brought him to justice.

That effort would also help her bring Alexon down. After all, it was one of Alexon's men who'd killed her uncle.

While she'd allowed herself to be vulnerable and cry for her latest losses, that of her beloved uncle and the father of her child, she'd come to one glaringly final conclusion: she did not need Pierce Maxwell. She could do this on her own. That's how she'd started out and how she intended to finish. She hadn't asked for his interference. In fact, the very enemy she sought to bring to its knees had hired him. And now that she knew his true feelings, she had no reason to trust him.

None whatsoever.

The past was, as he'd so eloquently put it, a mistake.

She would live with that.

She'd harbored no illusions of white picket fences or happily ever afters.

Now all she had to do was give him the slip.

Easier said than done, most likely.

There was the file, in any case. She needed to find the file her uncle had put together on the enemy-Alexon. She'd thoroughly searched his office, saving the file drawers, the most obvious storage place, for last. She'd come up empty-handed. Max had searched the kitchen and living room and come up with nothing. That left only the bedrooms and bathroom, which she would have checked earlier had she not fallen asleep.

There was no time like the present, she decided. The sooner she found the file or ensured that it was not in the house, the sooner she could be on her way.

Moving soundlessly, she eased across the hall to her uncle's room. After closing the door, she felt her way along the bed until she'd reached the night table. Inside the top drawer was a flashlight. For a few seconds she could only sit there and inhale the scent of her uncle. His unmade bed still held the sweet spicy smell of his aftershave. She squeezed her eyes shut to block the renewed sting of tears. Shaking her head to clear it, she opened her eyes and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. There was no time for any more grieving. The best thing she could do for her uncle now was bring his killer to justice. To do that, she needed that file.

Using the narrow beam of the flashlight, she searched her uncle's bedroom from top to bottom. Every drawer, the closet, the bed, the backs of mirrors, behind pictures on the wall and inside the frames. Nada. If the file was in the house, it was not in his bedroom.

Shutting off the light, she made her way back to the guest room and went through the same routine. Again she found nothing except a few fuzz bunnies in the back of the closet. Grabbing her duffel, she headed for the bathroom. If Max had heard her moving around, which he most likely had, he'd just think she was up early and preparing for the day.

If the G.o.ds were on her side, he wouldn't know she planned to leave until she was already gone.

MAX LISTENED to Scout move about, instinctively poised to go after her if she made a run for it, until he heard the spray of water in the shower. Then he relaxed. Since she hadn't checked to see if he was up, he had to a.s.sume she wanted to be left alone. That was fine by him. He didn't want to intrude on her solitude. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The bottom line was that he didn't feel quite prepared to face her just yet.

Pushing himself to his feet, he straightened his shirt and tugged on his shoulder holster. She could probably use a strong cup of coffee, the same as he could. That, at least, would give him an opening line when she emerged from the shower.

Max plowed his fingers through his hair and maneuvered his way through the kitchen. Flipping on the light, he thought about how he'd hardly slept at all for fear she'd take off on him. He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave and noted that it was only 5:00 a.m. He doubted Scout had had much sleep, either. But she was up now, and so was he.

If he was honest with himself he'd admit here and now that it wouldn't have mattered if she'd been chained and shackled last night. He still wouldn't have slept, not with his mind torturing him with perpetual replays of every moment they'd spent together four months ago. Tension had simmered just beneath the surface all night long as his senses recalled the feel of her ... the taste of her.

Max shivered and forced his mind to focus on the coffeemaker. He had a job to do. Scout needed him to do that job. End of subject.

He filled the carafe with water and set it aside while he located the filters and the coffee. Once a filter was in the basket, he opened the large red tin of coffee and snagged the scoop by the handle. He dug deeply into the rich, dark grounds, then frowned. The scoop caught on something. He stirred the grounds, digging more deeply, his heartbeat kicking into high gear.

Paper enclosed in a plastic resealable bag poked up from the bottom of the can. Max reached in, gripping the corner with his thumb and forefinger. He edged the can toward the sink and dragged the plastic bag out, allowing the coffee to scatter in the sink rather than on the counter. He shook off the remaining grounds and inspected the contents of the bag through the plastic. The doc.u.ments were folded in half, with the blank side showing.

His brow furrowed in concentration, Max carefully opened the bag and pulled the pages out by one corner. No one hid doc.u.ments in his coffee can unless he didn't want them found. And there was no reason to hide something unless it contained incriminating evidence.

This had to be the file Scout was looking for.

Max paused to listen for the sound of spraying water. She was still in the shower. Good. He wanted a chance to look at her uncle's evidence before he had to hand it over to her. If Harold Atkins, her uncle, the man who thought of her as a daughter, really did have evidence that Alexon had held her against her will or was involved in some wrongdoing where Scout was concerned, Max would bring in every last one of those involved.

But first he had to be sure it really was Alexon. The company had warned him that a compet.i.tor was in a race to develop the antidote first. Maybe Alexon was only trying to protect Scout. There was simply no way for him to be sure yet.

The plastic bag contained three pages. He opened each folded page and flattened it on the counter. Scrubbing his hand over his stubbled jaw, he studied each in turn. The craving for morning coffee slowly seeped out of conscious thought. His entire physical being stilled as he read the words again and then again in an effort to absorb fully all that they meant.

"... After years of research the answer to our K-141 dilemma has appeared to us completely by accident. With the mother's immunity on record, it is without doubt that the key to the antidote lies in the stem cells of the unborn child. These cells must be harvested by whatever means possible... ."

Max blinked. This couldn't mean ... It's me they want ... just me... .

He reread the pages. "... With the mother's immunity on record ... stem cells of the unborn child ..."

His gut clenched.

Scout was pregnant.

Adrenaline sent his heart into a faster rhythm as he searched for a date on the doc.u.ments. There was none, no indication of when this decision had been made. She'd said that Alexon had been holding her prisoner. But she didn't look pregnant, so surely she couldn't be very far along. And certainly it had taken a few weeks for her to discover that she was pregnant. Max exhaled a disgusted breath and rubbed his forehead. Maybe not. With today's technology, wasn't it possible to discover a pregnancy within days of conception?

He swore. How the h.e.l.l did he know? He hadn't thought about pregnancies or kids. He'd expected marriage to come first. The realization that he hadn't used protection with Scout while they were in isolation slammed into his brain. And why would he? They were supposed to be dying! He blinked rapidly and fought the shock grabbing him by the throat.

Okay. Hold up. Maybe he was jumping the gun here. There was the old boyfriend. Gage what's-his-name. Max gritted his teeth to hold back a string of expletives at just the thought of the guy.

He couldn't think about that right now. He had to know if Scout really was pregnant and ...

What was he thinking? Yes! She was pregnant. The proof was right here on paper. Sure, it didn't state her name, but he knew. She was the "mother" who'd proved to be immune to K-141. No one they knew of had survived it until he and Scout had.

So the only real question here was whose child was she carrying? The doc.u.ment didn't mention paternity. If Max was the father, wouldn't his own immunity be mentioned?

Feeling suddenly numb, he folded the pages and stuffed them into his back pocket. He had to know what this meant. Antic.i.p.ation abruptly hurtled through his veins, ushering him forward until he reached the hall and beat against the still-closed bathroom door. Was this what she'd been holding back?

"Scout! We need to talk!"

If she was carrying his child and she hadn't told him... Fury whipped through him. Why would she let all this time pa.s.s and so many events transpire and not give him a chance to help? She had to know that he cared. That he would be there for her ... for their child.

The truth hit him then. Because he'd walked away just as she had. Sure, he'd tried to call a couple of times, but he hadn't put forth any real effort. He hadn't wanted to go out on that limb alone. If she'd wanted to continue a relationship she would have said something, called ... or returned his call.

He pounded on the door once more. "Scout, come on out of there. We need to talk!"

No answer. He frowned. The water continued to shower down beyond the door, but there was no other sound.

Yet another epiphany hit him and he tried the door. It wasn't locked. He shoved it open, allowing it to bang against the wall as he barged into the steamy room. He jerked the shower curtain to one side, and his latest a.s.sumption proved accurate.

She was gone.

Max shut off the water and stormed back into the hall. He checked both bedrooms and found the window in her uncle's room open. He'd already noted her duffel was missing from the room where she'd slept. But her "home office" bag was still there. Obviously it didn't contain anything important-or if it had, she'd have taken that with her.

Grinding his teeth to hold back a litany of self-deprecating curses, he started to climb through the window, but a sound echoing down the hall stopped him.

He paused, listened intently.

The sound reached him again.

Front door ... k.n.o.b turning.

Someone was trying to get in the house. It was still pretty dark outside even with the tendrils of dawn reaching from the east. Drawing his weapon, Max eased into the hall. One thing was certain, it sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't be Scout. Whoever it was, Max didn't have time to play games. He had to get on Scout's trail. She couldn't have gotten far.

Just as he reached the front door, it swung inward.

Instinctively he leveled his weapon on the intruder.

The shiny steel barrel of a Beretta nine-millimeter stared back at him. Beyond the hand gripping the b.u.t.t of the weapon stood a man-not quite as tall as Max and with dark features. He seemed as startled to see Max as Max no doubt looked at seeing him.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" the intruder rasped.

Max didn't flinch as he stared more fully into those dark eyes. "Since you're the one doing the breaking and entering I think maybe you'd better identify yourself first."

"This is Harold Atkins's house. Unless you're a long-lost son I'm unaware of, I can't imagine what business you have here," the stranger retorted just as boldly.

Max didn't have time for this c.r.a.p. He c.o.c.ked his weapon. "Who are you?"

The stranger's conviction faded visibly. "I'm Gage Kimble. I'm looking for Scout."

Gage.

The ex-boyfriend. The one Scout had been on the rebound from four months ago. Former special forces. He worked in personal security now, if Max recalled correctly. Max disliked the other man on sight. He was most likely the reason she'd walked away from Max so easily. And probably why she hadn't bothered to return his calls.

Why was he showing up now? Scout hadn't mentioned him.

"Why do you want to see her?" Max demanded. He wanted to kick himself when the curtness of his own tone reflected exactly how jealous he felt at the moment. He'd expected Gage to be some jerk who was most comfortable on a sofa watching a ball game. What he hadn't expected was a guy who looked every bit as fit as Max himself, and who sported a weapon just as lethal as the one Max now held pointed at Gage's face.