She looked at him as if he’d grown a third eye. “Excuse me?”
“Blackmail?” Logan repeated.
“And why exactly would I want to do that? I have money. As you probably know, I was the sole heir to my parents’ estate and it was worth several million. I can live quite well for the rest of my life.”
Yes, he did know that. “Maybe you wanted even more money. Or maybe you wanted to have some psychological hold over me because you feel I’ve wronged you. Or you feel that I owe you something. Maybe you’re connected to someone involved in a past case that I worked on.”
She huffed. “You’re sounding paranoid.”
He had a reason for that. “My ex-girlfriend made me paranoid about females in general. She used to like to follow me and make my life difficult.”
Her chin came up. “Well, I’m not your ex-girlfriend. And I had no idea who you were before I saw the file that’d been tucked inside mine.”
“You’re sure?” Logan pressed.
“Dead sure. Plus, the reason I chose insemination was so I wouldn’t have any moral or personal obligations—or for that matter, any contact whatsoever—with the sperm donor. That’s all you are to me, Logan McGrath. A sperm donor. It doesn’t matter if there was some kind of mix-up at Brighton. It doesn’t matter what you think I’ve done. You have no part in my life or Tanner’s life. Now, get out of my car.”
Tanner.
For some reason, hearing the baby’s name packed a huge wallop. Logan had experienced a similar feeling when he first held the little boy in his arms. Now, that little boy had a name. Tanner. And he was sleeping in the backseat just a few feet away.
Logan couldn’t see the baby because the infant carrier seat was facing away from him. And he was reasonably sure that it wasn’t a good idea for him to see his son. Not just yet, anyway. Not until he’d straightened out a few things with the boy’s mother.
Who might be actually telling the truth.
And this time, Logan knew it didn’t have anything to do with her hair and mouth. Nope. She was making sense. Well, sort of. She was making as much sense as there could be in their situation.
“If you didn’t set all of this up, then who did?” Logan asked.
“I honestly don’t know, but it could have been anyone at Brighton. It’s been all over the news about the illegal things they were doing there. Maybe that illegal activity included using DNA contributions without first getting permission from the donor.”
Yeah. Logan had thought of that. And he’d dismissed it. “Someone forged my name on a release form at Cryogen Labs. That person also paid a hefty testing and processing fee to make sure the semen was still viable. It would have been a lot cheaper just to pay a new donor.”
Her silence let him know that she was probably thinking about that. The silence didn’t last long. From the backseat, there was a tiny sound. Like a little grunt. That grunt was followed by some movement.
And then a kittenlike cry.
Mia put her forearm over her chest. Specifically, her breasts, and pressed hard. “Tanner’s crying makes my milk let down.”
He didn’t have a clue what that meant, and his blank stare must have conveyed that.
“I have to feed him,” she snapped.
“Oh.”
Well, that left him with a dilemma. He couldn’t leave, not until they had this mess figured out. But the baby was obviously hungry. The kittenlike sounds increased in both volume and intensity.
And that wasn’t all.
With everything else going on, Logan noticed the slow-moving dark-gray car that turned into the parking lot. Any car would have garnered his attention since the attack on him six and a half weeks earlier. But with the baby, Logan’s concerns were heightened.
Really heightened.
Man. This wasn’t good. He needed to view what was going on here objectively, and he couldn’t do that if he was worried about the baby. Still, he couldn’t totally dismiss the emotions and feelings that came with unexpected fatherhood.
Mia must have noticed his mental battle because she followed his gaze to the gray car that was now one row over from them. “Do you know the person in that car?”
“I don’t think so.”
Her breathing was suddenly a little choppy. “Maybe it’s your ex-girlfriend?”
“No.” But he almost wished it was Genevieve Devereux. The alternative scenarios were much, much worse than running into a lying, scheming, psycho ex with a penchant for stalking.
Logan had been on the job for nearly seven years. And never once had the job come home with him.
Not until six and a half weeks ago.
Then, he’d been shot in the leg while doing target practice on Christmas morning in the woods near his former training facility.
But was the job responsible for that and had the job followed him here? Had someone associated with the mission sent an assassin to try to put another bullet in him? He didn’t want to believe it was possible, but he was having a hard time coming up with theories that didn’t involve his last mission.
Or Mia Crandall.
“See what you can do to soothe the baby,” Logan insisted when the cries became louder. He eased his gun from his leather shoulder holster and fastened his attention to the gray car. The windows of the vehicle were heavily tinted so he couldn’t see the driver. The license plate had been obscured with mud.
“Oh, God,” he heard Mia say.
His attention snapped to her. She was looking at the gun and, judging from her expression, she didn’t care much for it. Tough. He wasn’t putting it away.
Mia drew in a series of sharp breaths and it seemed as if she were on the verge of hyperventilating. “Phobia,” she managed to say through those sharp breaths.
Logan shook his head. “What?”
“Phobia. A huge one. About the gun.”
She wasn’t kidding, either. He could see the sweat pop out above her upper lip. She was shaking. Actually shaking. Logan had read the police report of the incident involving the death of her parents fourteen years ago. Guns had been used.
And a switchblade.
Logan rethought that part about keeping his gun drawn. He didn’t want her to craze out on him. He eased his gun back inside his coat so that it would still be ready to use but would be out of sight.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Logan pushed that emotional response aside and tried to come up with a solution to this possible problem. His first instinct was to put Mia in the backseat with the baby so he could drive away. But it was broad daylight and they were outside a pediatric clinic. An assassin wasn’t likely to make his or her move here.
He hoped.
“Something is wrong,” she insisted.
She reached for her diaper bag. Without taking his eyes off the car, Logan snagged her wrist. He didn’t know if she had another can of pepper spray stashed inside and he didn’t want to take the chance that she might use it on him.
“I’m getting a pacifier,” she informed him through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to sit here in this parking lot any longer. Not with that car inching toward us like a killer shark.”
Logan heard something in her voice. Not fear. But familiarity with fear. Then, he remembered her saying that she’d been followed