Camille had chosen Jacob as his second name. She’d said the baby wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Jake.
Well, hell, she was right about that.
James Jacob Eckart.
Not bad…except for the surname. This innocent baby’s father was a vicious gangster.
Which was why Jake had figured he’d despise Camille. After all, she was married to the man. Well, had been married to him. By the time Jake had made contact with her, she was divorcing the scumbag.
Only her husband objected.
The baby squirmed in his sleep, and Jake gently rubbed his tiny tummy.
“It’s okay, little guy. You’re safe.”
He’d met Camille while he was working the case against her husband. Without a lot of success. He’d trailed Vincent Eckart one day and discovered Vince was trailing a beautiful blonde.
Stalking, more like. When he figured out she was the man’s wife and was in the process of divorcing him, Jake had been ordered to make friends with her.
Their friendship had gotten off to a rocky start. She hadn’t wanted any new friends, particularly men. Finally, he’d identified himself as FBI. She’d insisted on seeing proof.
Then she’d cooperated, giving the FBI all the information she had. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much. As soon as she’d realized the kind of work her husband did was criminal, she’d left him.
“Jake?” Camille whispered from the doorway.
He spun around. “What? Is something wrong?”
“No, but…you didn’t come out. I was afraid Jamie was giving you problems.”
“No. I—I was just thinking.”
She crossed to stand beside him, way too close for comfort. Her rounded feminine body was clad in a lightweight robe that her warmth easily penetrated as she brushed against him. He tried to control the shiver that was his unwanted response. Just hormones, he told himself.
Leaning over, she ran one finger down her son’s soft cheek. “I’m grateful.”
“For what?”
“For the protection you’ve given me.”
“I’m just doing my job.” His voice was brusque, clipped, and he was afraid he’d offended her.
“And your friendship.”
He wasn’t comfortable with this conversation. In spite of the attraction he felt, or maybe because of it, he’d worked hard to keep his distance.
“I’ve been wanting to thank you for coming into the delivery room with me. I—I was scared.”
He’d known that, and he’d broken his own rule. No personal involvement. And things had gotten very personal in the delivery room. He’d held her hand, caressed her brow, whispered encouragement. He’d held her son, then passed him to Camille’s waiting arms, trying hard to hide the tears that had filled his eyes.
He cleared his throat now. Since then, he’d worked hard to maintain a cool distance.
“Just doing my job,” he muttered again.
Camille raised one delicate eyebrow. “The FBI provides surrogate fathers? Amazing. Do they advertise?”
Her teasing sarcasm rocked him. He took a step back from the baby bed. “Camille,” he protested, his voice carrying a warning.
“Why are you so afraid to be called a friend?” she asked. “Is it because of who I am? A gangster’s ex-wife? Is it because, through me, Vince has hurt other people?”
“What he does isn’t your fault,” Jake assured her.
She stood beside him, her head down, saying nothing. Just as he was ready to ease himself away from her, she spoke. “Will you promise me something, Jake?”
“What?” he asked, his voice harsh as he feared what she might demand of him.
“If—if something happens to me, would you make sure Vince doesn’t get Jamie? Would you ask your mother to find him a good home?”
“Camille— Yeah, I promise.” He wanted to deny the possibility of her being hurt…killed. But he was too honest for that.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and turned to leave the room.
He breathed a sigh of relief that she’d taken herself out of his reach. Out of temptation’s way. It was just hormones, he reminded himself.
She reached the door and paused. “By the way, should I send the FBI a thank-you note for your delivery room duties? I really am grateful.”
He ground his teeth, trying to think of an answer, but she didn’t wait. The door closed quietly behind her.
CAMILLE PULLED the sheet over herself in the darkness and tried to fall asleep. After all, with Jamie demanding to be fed every four hours, she needed the rest.
But her thoughts remained fixed on the big man she’d left standing beside her son’s little bed. Jake Maitland. It wasn’t just that he was handsome, with a trim, muscular body, dark hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Bluebonnet eyes, she’d decided, after seeing the Texas state flower bloom this spring.
No, it wasn’t his looks. After all, Vince was handsome, too. In a twisted sort of way.
And it shouldn’t be the care Jake had given her, either, since, as he’d told her so often, it was his job.
When the FBI had offered her protection, she’d asked for Jake. She’d come to trust him—not an easy thing after she’d found out how badly she’d misjudged Vince.
Jake had tried to talk her out of choosing him. But she’d just discovered she was pregnant, and for the sake of her child, she wanted the best. And the best was Jake.
In so many ways.
When he’d identified himself to her as FBI, he’d suddenly become standoffish. The friendliness he’d feigned to gain her trust had disappeared. He’d let her see his skepticism when she told him she hadn’t known about her husband’s illegal activities.
Fair enough. She didn’t blame him. She had trouble believing she’d been so gullible herself. But she’d been vulnerable, willing to reach out for warmth. Her parents had just died in an automobile accident, leaving her alone in the world. Most of her friends were married, and many had moved away from Washington, D.C., her home. Her job as librarian didn’t lend itself to making new friends. The other employees were older, set in their ways.
Vince had come along when she longed for human contact. He’d teased her, laughed with her, encouraged her to rely on him. A month later, she married him, believing she’d found a new family.
Instead, she’d found a nightmare.
Vince wasn’t a considerate lover, but she wasn’t very experienced. She thought things would improve with time. But once the challenge of capturing her was gone, Vince changed. He didn’t bother with charm any longer. Instead he issued orders. The first time she failed to obey, daring to question him, he’d slapped her.
Stunned, Camille had withdrawn. He’d turned on the charm again, teasing her into believing he’d had a bad day. It wouldn’t happen again. But he pointed out that he wouldn’t have had to slap her at all if she’d trusted him, as a wife should, and done as he’d told her.
Several other events alerted her to something rotten in the woodpile. She began to put offhand comments together. The second time he struck her, she waited until the next day, when he’d left the house. Then she gathered her belongings and as much cash as she could find, got in her car and drove away.
She should’ve known he wouldn’t let her go so easily.
He’d