She set down her glass, propped her fists on her hips and cocked her head. “You have no idea what’s wrong with you, do you?”
Ash spread his hands. “With me? What are you talking about?”
She stalked over to stand directly in front of him. “Come on, Ashton. It’s so obvious. Ash Kendall—Ashanova—” she held up her hands as if displaying headlines “—finally hoisted by his own petard.”
He stood, shaking his head and digging his car keys from his pocket. “You’re not making any sense. I’d better go. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Liar. You wanted me to tell you that everything is all Rachel’s fault. Well, I won’t. You can’t turn and walk away from her like you have every other woman you’ve dated.”
“I’m not planning to. I’ll provide for the baby.”
Natalie poked a finger into the middle of his chest. “You’ll do more than that. You might as well accept it. Rachel’s different, and not because of the baby. You’re in love with her. Everybody knows it. We’ve just been waiting for you to figure it out.”
“You’re nuts,” he said with a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “I’m not in love with her, and you’d better not say a word about this to anyone, especially not Aunt Angie and Uncle Craig. They’re upset enough as it is.”
“I won’t.”
“Swear?”
Natalie held up her right hand. “Swear. It’s going to be fun to watch you squirm. Because sooner or later it’s going to dawn on you that you haven’t stopped thinking about Rachel since the moment you first noticed her.”
Ash ignored her and headed for the door. He turned back. “Nat, you’re sure you’re all right?”
She nodded and smiled. “I’m fine. Thanks for taking care of me. Ash?”
“Yeah?”
“What happens now?”
He wasn’t sure which shocking event she was talking about—Rachel’s pregnancy or the reanalysis of the DNA.
“I mean, if Rick Campbell didn’t do it.”
He shrugged and let out a long breath. “Then I guess I’m going to have to find the man who did kill our parents.”
Chapter Four
By the next afternoon, Ash was sick of hearing Natalie’s voice in his head. You’re in love with her. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He didn’t fall in love. He had fun, sure, and he did love women. But there was no place in his life for a family. He’d decided a long time ago that he didn’t believe in forever.
“Okay, okay,” he muttered in a last-ditch effort to shut up Natalie’s nagging voice. “I’m working on a plan.” He’d start by apologizing to Rachel for being a jerk about her pregnancy and officially offer his help with raising the baby. He’d provide for the child’s rearing and education. And if Rachel agreed, he wanted to be a part of his son’s or daughter’s life.
He’d woken in the middle of the night and discovered, to his surprise, that he wanted his child to know him. He knew Rachel would eventually get married. But she wouldn’t refuse to let him see his child—would she?
He’d tried to call her but she hadn’t answered, so he’d gone over to her apartment. As he stepped up to the door, he noticed it wasn’t locked. It swung inward a fraction of an inch. He frowned. It wasn’t like Rachel to leave her door open. Then he saw the splintered wood on the far side of the door facing.
Rachel! Someone had broken the door in. Adrenaline surged through him, upping his heart rate and tensing his muscles in fight-or-flight response.
He instinctively rose to the balls of his feet as he glanced around at the other three doors off this breezeway, then pulled his Sig Sauer from the paddle holster at the small of his back.
For two seconds, he stood perfectly still, taking deep, long breaths, working to calm his pounding heart. Then he held his gun in his right hand, his left supporting it, took one more deep breath and angled around the door. The sight before him ratcheted up his racing pulse. Rachel’s living room had been turned upside down.
He eased forward, his gun held at the ready, as he took in the tossed couch cushions, DVDs scattered on the carpet, chairs overturned. Where was she? Was she hurt?
He didn’t dare call out until he’d cleared the apartment. He moved across the room to check the bedroom. It was a mess, too, mattresses on the floor, bedclothes scattered, drawers ransacked. But no sign of an intruder.
“Clear,” he whispered, glancing into the bathroom. Crossing to the kitchen, he eased around the door facing and saw Rachel.
She was sprawled on the floor, dark blood staining the crown of her head.
The sight sheared his breath. Only his strict military training and crime scene experience kept him from rushing to her side until he’d verified that there was no one else here. He checked the back door. Locked—a double dead bolt.
Then he crouched down beside Rachel. She was breathing. Relief doused him like cold water.
“Rach, wake up.” He put out a shaky hand. “It’s Ash. Are you okay?” The dark blood in her matted hair was wet and shiny. It had started to ooze down her neck and drip onto the floor.
She stirred, moaning. “Ash?” she muttered. “My head—” She moved to sit up, but he stopped her.
“Careful,” he said. “You’re bleeding from your scalp. Does anything else hurt?”
She turned her head so she could see him, and grimaced. “No. Maybe my knee. He pushed me down.” She got her hands under her and pushed. “Let me sit up,” she demanded.
“Just wait a second. I don’t know if you should move. What about—?” He reached out toward her stomach. “What about the baby?”
Rachel’s head snapped up and her golden eyes searched his. “The baby’s fine,” she said. “But I need to sit up.”
He helped her. When she did, he saw her keys on the floor under her.
She moaned a little, grimaced and then relaxed. She touched her head. Her hand came away stained with blood. “Oh,” she gasped.
Her pain, shock and especially fear rekindled Ash’s anger—not toward her this time but on her behalf. His hand tightened on the gun and his vision darkened. Whoever had hurt her would have to answer to him.
“How long has he been gone?” he asked as the urge to give chase tightened his leg muscles.
“I’m not sure—maybe five minutes.”
“Damn it.” Ash considered running outside to see if he saw anyone suspicious, but he’d already been here three or four minutes. The man was long gone by now.
She touched her head again. “I was afraid to move. Afraid he’d hit me again or kill me. When I first heard your footsteps, I thought he’d come back.”
“You’re sure it was a man?”
She nodded gingerly. “I could tell by his voice.”
“His voice? What did he say?”
“Nothing to me. He was muttering to himself and cursing.”
“Did you get a look at his face?”
“No.”
“His build? Complexion? Clothes?”
“I—don’t