Page 18 of How to: Hide a Baby

“When is he coming for Toni?”

“Not tonight.” He turned to face her. Deep shadows cut across his face and concealed his expression. “And not tomorrow night.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. Deep down, she knew. Knew and dreaded whatever he planned to say next.

“It means we’re in for a longer haul than I anticipated.” He moved into the light and she caught her breath, the full extent of his displeasure now visible. “Brand was calling from a plane. He’s followed Carina to Italy.”

From across the room, the baby let out a loud wail.

Grace hurried to Toni’s side and picked her up. “You said it, sweet pea,” she murmured, hugging the baby. Uneasily she recalled her promise to stay until Carina or Brand returned for Toni. She peeked nervously at Luc. From his cold, calculating look, he also remembered.

She closed her eyes and shivered. Oh, Lord. What had she gotten herself in to?

“Grace.The door. Now.”

“If you’d move out of my light, I’d get it open a lot faster. For such a ritzy apartment complex, they sure don’t light the hallways very well.”

“Grace...” His tone held an implacable warning. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to drop the strained spinach and squash surprise all over our feet.”

Grace blew a loose curl of hair out of her eyes and focused on the door to his apartment, and the stubborn lock that kept her on the wrong side of that door. “I told you when we were at the grocery store not to get the strained spinach, let alone the squash surprise. Babies this young don’t eat strained spinach or squash surprise. They drink milk, and some eat flaked cereal.”

“I wanted to be prepared, just in case.”

She gave up on trying to work the key while holding a squirming baby. “In case, what? In case Toni gets a sudden craving for big-boy beans and peachy peaches?”

“Dammit, Grace!” Luc peered into the bags. “I think I forgot the peaches.”

“Oh, dear. I’m crushed. And look at Toni. She’s crushed, too.”

“The only one in danger of being crushed is me. You’d better get that door open fast or—” The bottom of one of the bags ripped and jars tumbled to the floor. Luc let fly with a very nasty word.

“Is that any way to speak in front of an innocent baby?” Grace demanded in disgust.

“Yes!” he snarled. “That’s exactly how I speak in front of an innocent baby, when fifty pounds’ worth of baby food jars just nailed my big toe.”

“I told you—”

“I know. I know. Not to get any baby food. And I told you, I wanted to be prepared. I don’t know how long we’ll have to take care of Toni.”

“She won’t be ready to eat that stuff for months,” Grace snapped. “Are you planning on keeping her hidden away in here for that long? I think the police will have a thing or two to say about that.”

A door across the hall opened. “Mr. Salvatore? What’s going on out there? Who’s using profanity?”

“Mrs. Bumgartle,” Luc said, his smile less captivating than usual. He climbed over the spilled baby food jars. “Did we wake you? I’m so sorry.”

To Grace’s astonishment, Luc’s unfailing charm failed. Utterly. It was, without question, a first. The old woman adjusted her glasses on the tip of her long, narrow nose and scowled. “Is that a baby?”

“Where?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, that? Why, yes. That is a baby, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Bumgartle’s eyes narrowed. “I’m delighted we agree that it’s a baby. The question is, whose baby is it?”

“Whose baby...?”

“Yes, Mr. Salvatore.” She yanked the belt of her thick, woolen robe tight about her ample middle. “Whose baby do you have there?”

“It’s my brother’s baby,” Luc explained. “This is my niece. We’re babysitting her for a short time.”

“Just babysitting,” Grace confirmed. “That’s all we’re doing.”

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