That's My Baby!. Vicki Lewis Thompson

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СКАЧАТЬ helping Jessica create a romantic homecoming surprise for Nat. During the year Nat and Jessica had been secretly involved, Bonnie had set up many of their rendezvous locations, and she’d seemed to relish the role of matchmaker.

      When Nat and Jessica had separated, Bonnie had called Jessica, urging her to try to patch things up. Jessica had refused, convinced that Nat had meant for the affair to end from the beginning, which was why he’d kept it such a secret. But when her pregnancy was confirmed, she’d called Bonnie and learned that Nat was out of the country and unreachable. Since then, Jessica had made use of her friendship with the secretary to find out exactly when Nat was due back.

      The escalator foiled Jessica’s plans to catch up with him. People and wheeled carry-ons bunched onto the grooved metal steps between them and made it impossible for her to get close. But she didn’t really want to confront him here, anyway, she finally realized. Her news was upsetting enough without being delivered under harsh overhead lights with the din of people and the clatter of baggage to interfere with an emotional conversation.

      He’d undoubtedly take a taxi from the airport to his hotel. She’d follow in another taxi and catch him in the lobby. Much better. Maybe they could go for a drink to discuss their options.

      The chill of an October night cooled her overheated system as she bustled outside and followed him toward the taxi stand. She gained some valuable time as he convinced the cabdriver to let him ride in front. How like Nat to hate the idea of being chauffeured. She’d been drawn to his democratic instincts from the beginning.

      She hated being chauffeured, too, but she didn’t have time to discuss that with the driver of the next taxi in line. With a quick no thanks, she brushed aside his offer to help with her backpack. “I’m in a big hurry,” she said as she hopped in the back seat.

      “Right.” The driver hustled himself behind the wheel. “Where to?”

      “Follow that cab,” she said, pointing to the one Nat had entered.

      He swiveled in the seat to stare at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

      “No, I am not kidding!” She panicked as the other cab pulled away from the curb. “That one! And don’t lose it!”

      “You better have money,” the cabbie muttered as he started after Nat’s cab. “You better not be some nutcase who’s watched one too many James Bond movies, or I’ll drive you straight to the nearest precinct station and turn you over to the cops.”

      “I have money.” Jessica watched Nat’s cab gain a little distance and clenched her jaw. “Just keep up with them. That cab has a vee-shaped scratch on the trunk. Did you notice that? That’s how you’ll know which one to follow.”

      “I see the cab. I just wanna know what’s with the cops-and-robbers routine. I don’t wanna be a whatchamacallit—accomplice.”

      “I’m not breaking the law.” Jessica was losing patience with the cabbie. She was pretty much out of patience, anyway, and being back in New York put her even more on edge. The closer they came to the jeweled city on the horizon, the more she felt the tug of her father’s influence.

      “I don’t wanna get mixed up in anything,” the driver said. “I just wanna do my job, y’know?”

      “In the movies, the cabdriver never complains about having to follow another taxi,” Jessica pointed out. “He just does it.”

      “See? What did I tell you? You think you’re in a damn movie or somethin’! I’ll bet they just let you out of the nuthouse. Gave you a pack of meds and told you to have a nice life. And it’s my bad luck that you picked my cab to act out your delusions.”

      “I’m perfectly sane.” Jessica might not like being chauffeured, but she was used to it, and she’d never had a driver question her the way this one was doing. Of course, she was used to limos. And this guy didn’t know who she was. He didn’t know the paper beside him on the front seat was the product of her father’s news empire. “Quick, he just changed lanes!”

      The driver sounded highly insulted. “I can see that he changed lanes, lady. I didn’t start driving yesterday. Do you even know who’s in that cab?”

      “Yes.”

      “Yeah, right. You probably think it’s Elvis.”

      “I know who’s in the cab. I need to talk to him.”

      “Why? Who is it?”

      Many times as a child Jessica had watched her mother deal with questions she didn’t want to answer. Her mother would stiffen her spine and speak in what Jessica thought of as her to-the-manner-born voice. Jessica had never tried the technique, but she decided to give it a whirl.

      Straightening in her seat, she lifted her chin and said, “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

      Her effort seemed lost on the cabbie. “It sure as hell is my business! I’m transportin’ you in my cab! And I’d appreciate it if you’d lay off the high-and-mighty tone, unless you’re about to tell me you’re kissing cousins to the Rockefellers, which I sincerely doubt.”

      Close, Jessica thought. But apparently she didn’t have the presence to carry it off. Then again, she did look like a bag lady. Maybe her mother’s success in turning aside impertinent questions had as much to do with her elegant clothes and her position in society as her tone of voice. Yet in her heart of hearts, Jessica believed that even dressed in rags with no fortune to command, her mother would make people do her bidding. She’d certainly kept her husband and daughter in line for years.

      Jessica sighed. Barring a personality transplant, she’d need to give the cabbie some explanation for why they were tailing another cab into the city, or she was liable to be dumped by the side of the road. “The man in the other cab is an old boyfriend,” she said. “I’ve changed since we last met, and he didn’t recognize me, but I really need to talk to him.”

      “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

      “Maybe not,” she acknowledged, “but I have some information he needs to hear.”

      “Aw, jeez, I know where this is goin’. We’re talkin’ about the patter of little feet, right?”

      Jessica couldn’t think of anything but the truth. “You might say that.”

      “Poor bastard. But them that plays, pays. I learned that one the hard way. Do you have any idea where he’s goin’?”

      “To a hotel in the city, I imagine.”

      The cabbie heaved a sigh. “All right, then. I’ll catch him for ya.”

      “Thank you.” Jessica settled back against the seat as the sparkling skyscrapers of Manhattan hovered ever nearer. Habit caused her to pick out the Franklin Publishing Tower dangling between sky and earth like one of her mother’s diamond chokers.

      She spoke only briefly with her parents these days, stopping long enough in her flight to put in a quick call every couple of weeks. They thought she was “seeing the country.” None of her conversations with them in the past few years had been significant, anyway, and she hadn’t seen them since she’d left home.

      They didn’t approve of her decision СКАЧАТЬ