The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 3) (24 page)

ELEVEN

Morgan took her time walking back to her apartment, trying to enjoy the summer heat and failing miserably. She had started getting stomach aches that she couldn’t explain, and there were times when the thought of food got her close to vomiting.

She was wondering what kind of bug she might have when a hand reached out from an alleyway and pulled her against a wall.

“What did you do with her?”

A stocky man with thinning brown hair held her against the wall of the alley, his forearm pressed hard into her sternum.

Morgan feigned fear, her eyes widening and her breath erratic. “With who? What are you talking about? Who are you?” she demanded, her voice frantic.

The man didn’t budge. “Don’t play games with me, lady. You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Now I’ll ask you again. Where did you take her?”

“Really, I simply have no idea what you’re talking about,” Morgan said, but this time her gaze was mocking. She wasn’t afraid of this moron. She’d faced down worse on a Monday morning alone.

The man shoved her back against the wall and Morgan cringed. It would be time to turn the tables, soon.

“Tell me!” he shouted, spit flecking her face. His breath smelled like skunks.

“You really should brush your teeth before you go out in the morning, you know,” Morgan said, and the man slammed her against the wall again.

“You think this is some kind of game? My niece’s life is at stake here!”

Morgan stared at him. “Your niece’s life, or your life?” she asked, glaring at him.

The man glanced down, but held his grip firm.

“You think I don’t know what you were about to subject that girl to?” Morgan said, her glare hardening. “I’ve been trying to dig you assholes out for a long, long time. You got in with the mob. Good money, right? But then you couldn’t pay your debts. So what do you do? Kidnap your niece and bide your time while you wait for the next truck to arrive. I imagine that’s why her guard ‘took a break,’ right? He was getting the truck ready for departure.”

The man, obviously Uncle Rick, stared at Morgan with dark, tired eyes. His shoulders slumped, and his grip slackened just a tiny bit. “I had no choice,” he said, his voice hoarse. “They were going to kill me.”

“And you were willing to trade in your niece so you could live,” Morgan said, her voice laced with disgust.

“I tell you I had no choice!” he screamed, holding her tight against the wall again.

Morgan’s glance darted out onto the street, and she gave him a cold grin. “Well, you certainly don’t now,” she said, as three cops descended into the alley, pulling Rick off of her and onto the sidewalk.

She walked out into the sunlight as one of her former colleagues stated Miranda rights to the man now pinned against the ground, handcuffed.

As they loaded him into a cop car and drove away, the small crowd began to disperse, and Morgan’s old Sergeant approached her. Together, they watched the cop car wail out of sight.

“That was good work you did there, Morgan,” Sergeant Brown said, still staring in the direction of the police car.

“Thanks. And thanks for tracking my phone,” Morgan replied, not meeting his gaze either. “How many were found?”

“Twelve girls, packed into a white truck, all of ‘em scared to death. It’s scum like that that make me want to retire.”

“Then how would those girls have been saved?” Morgan asked, finally casting a glance at her former boss.

The man looked back at her. “There was another discovery, by the truck, that you might be interested to hear about,” he said slowly. “Your old partner, Brett. Turns out he was the one making deals to line his pockets.”

Morgan nodded. “Can’t say I’m surprised. As much as he pretended to care about justice, what he really cared about was a new watch, a second home, or a fancy new car.”

The Sergeant sighed. “I’m sorry, Morgan. I should have listened to you. Now I’m out two officers—one of which was the best I’ve ever had. Say, would you consider coming back, now that he’s out of the way?”

Morgan thought about it. There was appeal to being an officer of the law. She would have so much more support than she’d had on her own. For this case she had known that working with the police was the best option to really bring those monsters down, and she had been right. Still, on her own she had freedom. Her thoughts drifted to Hassan, as they often did. What would Hassan do?

“I can’t do it, sir. I’m sorry. But if you ever want to collaborate again, I’m always happy to work alongside you.”

The Sergeant nodded. “I figured as much. You take good care of yourself, Morgan. And, for what it’s worth, great work today.”

“And you,” Morgan said, turning and shaking her old boss’ hand before turning back toward home.

When she got there, she closed the door behind her and ran a hand across her eyes, allowing herself to feel the situation for the first time.

She had saved twelve girls. Twelve girls who would be all right—would be safe in the loving arms of their families.

Completely out of the blue, Morgan began to sob. She pressed her back against the door and slid to the ground as waves of emotion rushed over her, and she cried herself into exhaustion.

***

After some time, she rose, wiping her swollen face as she changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. She’d been craving ice cream for a week now, which was also strange. Morgan had never been a big ice cream fan, but it seemed to be all she wanted to eat these days, and she turned on a movie as she enjoyed a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. A knock at her door had her setting down her spoon and rising to see who it was.

When she opened the door a crack, Stephen’s tanned face was peeking in at her.

“Hi, beautiful!” he said, and Morgan bit back a sigh as she closed the door and unhitched the chain, opening it fully.

“Hi, Stephen. What can I do for you?”

Stephen held up a Styrofoam container. “I’ve got lots of Chinese food and no one to share it with. Care to join?”

Morgan took a look at the container. Truthfully, she’d developed a craving for Chinese after smelling it at the restaurant earlier.

She grinned at Stephen and stepped aside to let him in, and he walked past her toward the couch, plopping down and opening the container.

“Can you grab us some forks? I don’t know where you keep them,” he said.

Morgan repressed a sigh. She’d had a terribly eventful day, her emotions were going haywire, and all she wanted to do was enjoy some peace and quiet by herself.

Still, not wanting to be rude, she walked to the kitchen area of her tiny apartment and grabbed two forks, handing one to Stephen as she joined him on the couch. It did not escape her notice that he scooted a little closer to her as they shared long strands of shrimp lo mein noodles.

“What are you watching?” Stephen asked.

Morgan glanced at the TV. “
Pride and Prejudice
,” she replied. It had always been her go-to movie for relaxing. Something about the calm scenery, the epic love story between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett. So what if she’d been imagining Hassan as the rich Darcy and herself as Lizzy Bennett? That’s what daydreaming was for.

Stephen made a face. “Is there anything else we can watch? That’s such a chick movie.”

Morgan did sigh then, moving to change the movie out for something else, but Stephen reached out and grabbed her hand before it could touch the remote.

“Sorry. We can watch whatever you want, Morgan. I’m sure it’s been a rough day.”

“You could say that,” she agreed, moving her hand back.

Stephen held onto it, and her stomach twisted.

“Maybe I can help you relax,” he said, leaning in.

Morgan watched him as though in slow motion. Stephen’s head dipped down toward hers, his thin lips pressing against her mouth, moving up and down. His tongue tried to press her mouth open, but she kept it shut. Part of her tried to enjoy the embrace, but her stomach butterflies stayed firmly shut in their cocoons.

Nothing. No feeling. No heart racing. It was like kissing her brother.

When Stephen pulled away, he was smiling. “That was amazing,” he said, gazing down at her. Seeing the look on her face, his smile faded. “You didn’t like it?” he asked, his expression hurt.

Damnit.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it. You’re a great guy, Stephen. You’ve always been so fun to hang with, and I love all the free Chinese food,” she said with a wry grin, aiming to lessen the blow with some humor.

It didn’t work.

“Morgan, you’re an amazing woman. Any man would be lucky to have you, but none of them would treat you as good as I would. I can make your life heaven. I can support you and give you everything that you need.”

“And what do I need?” Morgan asked, her temper flaring. Who was this guy that he thought he could just barge in and tell her what was best for her?

Stephen sat back. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, I can give it to you!” he said, still grasping onto her hands.

Morgan gently pried them away, placing hers on top of his. “No, Stephen. You can’t,” she said, her tone final.

Stephen frowned. “Come on, Morgan. Just let me in. You don’t want to die alone, do you?”

“Better alone than with the wrong man,” she said.

Stephen’s looked devastated at that statement, but if he wasn’t going to get the hints she’d been sending all this time, brutal honesty would have to do the trick.

Stephen rose then and headed toward the door. Morgan followed him.

“Do you want your Chinese?” she asked, lamely.

Stephen opened the door and stepped out. “Keep it, Morgan. Keep all of it. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said before heading down the hall and back to his own apartment.

Morgan closed the door and locked it again, turning toward her cold Chinese food and Mr. Darcy. A strange sense of relief washed over her as she sat back down and watched her movie in peace.

At least Stephen would get some closure now. That was far more than she would ever get, from the one man who continued to haunt her dreams.

TWELVE

Hassan cradled Morgan’s face in his calloused hand, gazing adoringly into her eyes.

“I love you, you know,” he said, dipping his head down to kiss her. Morgan met him in his kiss, stoking the passion they had ignited that night on the rocks, under the stars.

She pulled him onto her bed as Hassan rolled above her, tearing at her clothing. She was ready to make love to him again when a terribly obnoxious beep started sounding from far away.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted.

“Leave me alone!”

Morgan sat upright in her bed. She’d been dreaming about Hassan every night since she left. Taking a steadying breath, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, trying to eliminate the images her mind had conjured up, again.

For the thousandth time she told herself to get over it, not to dwell on the past. Hassan wasn’t in a place to settle down, and he certainly wouldn’t want to join her back in Houston. That was also assuming they would even work out as a couple. Morgan barely knew the man, after all.

Morgan took a shower, allowing the hot water to relax her tense muscles as she cleaned up for the day. It was always nice to take a break after a big success, but Morgan was easily bored. Still, the money Hassan’s parents had given her was still making itself useful, and she planned to use some of it to get an upgrade on her coffee that morning.

Dressing in jeans and a simple white blouse, she strolled across the street to a local coffee shop, her planner in hand. It would be a good morning to organize her life a bit and make sure that she could pencil in some jobs before the end of the month.

The barista smiled at her as she entered, a young blonde with big blue eyes and a bright smile.

“Hi Morgan!” she chirped.

Morgan grinned. “Hi, Michelle,” she replied, ordering her usual drink and leaving a few bucks in the tip jar.

Taking a seat by the window, she took a few sips of her hot beverage, relaxing into her chair as she watched people rushing by. Busy people, speeding their way to jobs they probably hated, just like she used to.

Morgan placed her planner on the table and began looking at her past jobs, writing in check marks for those she had completed. As she was scanning the page, she realized something was missing.

The little dot she used to track her cycle. Why wasn’t it on the page?

Morgan’s stomach dropped as she flipped through week after week, realizing that her period hadn’t come in far too long.

Oh, God.

Leaving her coffee on the table, she tossed her planner back in her purse and ran to the nearest convenience store, buying three pregnancy tests and rushing back home. She used all three boxes, which each contained two tests, and all six of them told her exactly what she didn’t want to hear.

Morgan was pregnant.

She sat on her bed with her head pressed against her knees, trying to breathe. What was she going to do now? She’d thought they’d been careful, but obviously they hadn’t been careful enough. Replaying the night in her mind, she realized just how careless they had been, lost in the splendor of night, the desert, and the stars.

Morgan sat like that for some time, trying to decide what to do. Realizing that Hassan had a right to have a say in this, her stomach twisted as she accepted that she would have to find him again.

Packing a light bag, Morgan stopped by the bank to take out a wad of cash before she pointed her car west and headed back to New Mexico—another nine-hour drive.

She realized she was having to stop far more frequently for bathroom breaks than the last time she’d made the drive, and that some of the gas stations she stopped at had a more pungent smell than she remembered. How could she not have realized that she was pregnant? She tried to distract herself with country music, but the songs often hit a little too close to home. A couple of times she actually burst into tears, devastated by this turn of events and feeling completely and totally alone.

What was she going to do? For all she knew, Hassan could be halfway to China by now, his bike sitting on a ferry boat while he lived out his wild, adventurous life. How would there be any room in that life for a baby?

Morgan fought back waves of panic as she drove on and on, finally reaching the bar where she had first laid eyes on Hassan. Taking a glance at the parking lot, she noted that his bike wasn’t there. She did her best to remember the road to his cabin, keeping an eye on the hillside he had guided them to all those weeks ago.

A small dirt road opened up, and Morgan squeezed her car onto the pathway until she couldn’t drive any further.

Exiting the car, she walked up the rest of the way. Hassan’s shack was right where she remembered, but there was still no motorcycle. Not knowing where else to go, Morgan hiked up the path they had taken that night until she reached the peak overlooking the New Mexico landscape.

Gazing out into the sunset, Morgan allowed herself a moment to reminisce on the beautiful night they had spent there. Laying on the warm rocks, she permitted herself to enjoy that spot, letting her mind take a small break from the meltdown she’d been having since realizing the reality of her condition.

Morgan had never particularly wanted children, but she hadn’t
not
wanted them either. It was more that her life had been so disjointed that she had never really had time to consider what it would be like having a child. There was no stability in her life, nothing that would be suitable for raising another human being, at least. Now she would have to consider all of that—every aspect of her life. If Hassan didn’t want the child, there was a chance she’d end up a single mother. Maybe she would have to take up her mother’s offer and move to Florida, as disheartening as that concept was.

Morgan shivered as the sky transformed from creamy oranges and pinks to bluish indigo. She had been biding her time, not wanting to face the truth of her situation, but there was no getting away from it now. Rising, she hiked back down to Hassan’s shack, noting the absence of his bike once again.

Opening the door, she peeked inside, looking for some clue as to where she might be able to find him. The place smelled like him—earthy and spicy all at once. She felt a sudden pang in her heart, missing him more fiercely than she had in the weeks that had passed since their night together.

Finding nothing inside, Morgan stepped outside the door and kicked at ground in frustration. A tattered old beermat appeared from under a pile of dirt, and Morgan picked it up. It was extremely weathered, but she could still make out the name on the front: Roundup Motel.

Maybe that was another one of Hassan’s hideouts?

It was the only lead she had, so Morgan walked briskly back to her car and slowly backed down to the main road, where her cell phone regained service.

Looking up the Roundup Motel, she turned her car in that direction and headed north for a while before she saw a flat, unassuming building come up on the right.

The flashing neon lasso lit up as she pulled into the parking lot. There, parked outside the building, was Hassan’s motorcycle.

She’d found him!

Stepping out into the growing darkness, Morgan walked into the small motel lobby and glanced behind the desk. When no one arrived she slammed her hand down on a rusty silver bell, and an older man appeared from a door in the back.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, his voice like gravel.

Morgan gave him her most winning smile. “Hi there. I’m supposed to meet my friend here, the guy who drove in on that motorcycle?” she said, gesturing to Hassan’s bike.

The man stared at her. “I don’t know what vehicle belongs to what person, lady,” he said, crossing his arms.

Morgan’s cheer didn’t falter; she found that it was always best to try to catch flies with honey, rather than vinegar.

“Of course not, I’m sorry. I’m not from around here,” she said.

“Clearly,” he mumbled.

Morgan stayed the course, grinning a conspiratorial grin.

“The friend I’m looking for is olive-skinned with a slight accent. Does that help?”

“You some kind of prostitute or somethin’?”

Morgan’s patience began to wane. She frowned. “No. I’m just looking for my friend. I’ve come so far to find him and he’s not answering his phone and I don’t know what else to do!”

With that, Morgan broke down in tears. Half of them were real, the other half a charade to bring out some sympathy in the motel clerk. The tactic worked. Men hate a crying woman.

“Okay, okay, there’s no need to cry about it. Your friend is in room 6, right at the end there. Don’t get hysterical now,” the man said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Composing herself, Morgan thanked him and walked out, dabbing the moisture from her eyes. She didn’t want to be a complete mess the first time she saw Hassan again, but, given the circumstances, there may be no avoiding that anyway.

Hoping that her eyes weren’t too puffy, Morgan strolled over to the last door in the line of motel rooms. She glanced up as a gust of wind blew against the window at the end of the corridor; a storm was rolling in, and it looked like a doozy.

She stood outside of Hassan’s door for a second, preparing herself for every possible outcome she had thought of on the long drive out, and then she knocked.

A moment later the door opened a crack, and Morgan saw Hassan peeking out past the chain holding it in place. She watched his dark eyes widen in surprise.

“Morgan?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

Quickly, he closed the door and she heard the chain slide from its lock. The door opened fully then, and there he was, in all his handsome splendor—shirtless.

Morgan gulped as her eyes darted to his abs and back up to his eyes, her face burning, and Hassan glanced back at her, grinning.

“Am I too indecent? I can put on a shirt. Come on in—I wasn’t expecting company,” he said, his tone cheerful.

Morgan walked in, trying not to stare at his smooth, bare skin. Her fingertips itched to dance along his muscular shoulders, and she almost found it a relief when he slid into a plain white T-shirt and turned back to her with a smile.

“It’s so good to see you, Morgan. I’ve thought about you a lot since you left. I’ve thought about a lot of things…”

Morgan sat on the bed, stalling. She had big news. Life-changing news. She wanted to experience the feeling of carefree comradery for a few moments before she dropped the bomb on him.

“I’ve thought about you, too,” she said, her voice quavering.

Hassan sat down next to her, settling an arm around her shoulder. “Have you been crying Morgan? What’s wrong? Did something happen to you?”

The concern in his eyes was enough to tear down Morgan’s last bit of strength. Throwing herself into his arms, she wept openly, finally allowing herself to process the enormity of what was going to happen. Hassan held her quietly, supporting her until she was ready to talk.

When she pulled back, she wiped away a tear, and said what she’d been too scared to say.

“Hassan, I’m pregnant.”

Instantly, his eyebrows knit with concern, and his gaze darted to her stomach and back to her face. Gently, he pushed a strand of errant hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“I hate to ask this, but are you sure it’s mine?” he said quietly, his hand lightly grasping hers, like a lifeline.

Morgan nodded. “There’s been no one else since our night together.”

Looking down, Hassan was lost in thought for a moment. When he looked back up, he was grinning.

“I’m going to be a father?” he whispered, moving his hand to her still-flat belly. “I’m going to be a father!” he exclaimed, standing and pulling her up, swinging her in a joyful circle.