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Anne’s directions through the city streets to a high-rise apartment building. He needed to think this whole thing through, but thought proved impossible at the moment. Who would imagine one small baby could make that much noise?
    He took a deep breath as the cry reached a decibel level that had to be against the law inside a small car. Okay, he could handle this. It was no worse than artillery fire, was it?
    Besides, it would soon be over. He’d deposit them at Anne’s and call a cab. He’d be back in Bedford Creek in a few hours, and the only contact he’d have with Anne Morden and her baby would be when the DNA test came back, proving he hadn’t fathered this child.
    A padded, mirrored elevator whooshed themswiftly to the tenth floor. He took the baby, wincing at her cries, while Anne unlocked the door. He wanted only to hand her back and get out of there.
    She scooped the baby into her arms as the door swung open, and her eyes met his. “This may not be the best time, but I think we should talk the situation over, if you don’t mind waiting while I get the baby settled.” She managed a half smile. “It won’t take as long as you might think. She’s so exhausted, she’s going to crash as soon as she’s been fed.”
    He pushed down the desire to flee, nodded, and followed her into the apartment. Anne disappeared into the back with the baby, and he sank onto the couch, wondering when the ringing in his ears would stop.
    Anne had sold the house she’d talked about and moved here with the baby. He’d found that out in the quick background check he’d run. He glanced around. Expensively casual—that was the only way to describe her apartment. Chintz couches, a soft plush carpet, a wall of books on built-in shelves with what was probably a state-of-the-art entertainment center discreetly hidden behind closed doors—all said money. Assistant public defenders didn’t make enough to support this life-style, but there was wealth in her family. This woman was really out of his league.
    No question of that, anyway. All she wanted fromhim was his signature on the parental rights termination—not friendship, certainly nothing more.
    Sometime in the last twenty-four hours he’d given up any thought that Anne was somehow attempting to frame him. No, all she wanted was to safeguard her child.
    Unfortunately the one thing she wanted, he couldn’t give her. Someone else had dated the unfortunate Tina; someone else had fathered her child. But who? And why on earth had the girl said his name? The answers, if they could be found at all, must lie in Bedford Creek.
    The baby’s cries from the back of the apartment ceased abruptly. Anne must have put some food in Emilie’s mouth.
    He got up, paced to the window, then paced back. What did Anne want to talk to him about? What was there left to say?
    He sat back down on the couch, sinking into its comfortable depths, and reached automatically for the book on the lamp table. A Bible. It nestled into his hand, and he flipped it open to the dedication page. To my new sister in Christ from Helen. The date was only two years ago.
    Anne came back into the room, her step light and quick. She glanced questioningly at the Bible in his hand, and he closed it and put it back where he’d found it.
    â€œShe settled down, did she?”
    â€œOut like a light.”
    Anne sat in the chair across from him. Her dark hair curled around a face that was lightly flushed, probably from bending over the crib.
    â€œYou’re probably as beat as she is by this time.” She’d put in a couple of high-stress days, driving all the way with a baby, and on a mission like this.
    â€œI could sleep a day or two. But Emilie won’t let me.”
    She leaned forward and her hair brushed her shoulders, moving like a living thing. He had an insane desire to reach out, let it curl around his fingers, use it to