Due Dates: Scandals, #1

By Kathy Clark

An inheritance brought her more than she ever could have imagined…

Killeen Ames has it all…beauty, brains, a college softball scholarship and a rich and handsome boyfriend who has helped to stretch her college funds and fill her social calendar.  He is the only boy she ever allowed past second base and now he's her baby daddy.  However, being a father was not in his short-range plans.  He graduates, then he splits, leaving Killeen to decide what she wants to do about the pregnancy…and to worry about how she's going to keep her scholarship.  With no marketable skills, no job, no home and medical bills for her and the baby on the horizon, she knows she must move forward.  A knock at the door of her boyfriend's apartment changes the game forever when an attorney gives her the news of an inheritance from an unknown dead relative and another due date looming.

After traveling to Austin, Killeen walks into the meeting and is surprised to find out that the relative was actually her birth father, and he had been a popular music star who recently died of an overdose.  Even more shocking are the four strangers who share the same absentee dad.  He has left them a highly successful private investigation agency, Scandals.  The catch is…they have to make the commitment to work there. 

Their introduction to the P.I. business almost gets them killed when a bomb goes off in the warehouse that sends Killeen to the hospital.  She has kept the secret of her pregnancy from everyone, including Christopher, the totally irresistible manager of Scandals.  Their hot night of wild sex in the office was a one-time thing…right?  She chalks up her attraction to him as just raging hormones.  They have no chance of a future together.  He's gorgeous, intelligent and successful.  He would never want anyone with so much baggage. 

Christopher has a secret of his own.  He's been investigation the possibility that, despite popular opinion, their father's death hadn't been an accidental overdose.  He thinks it was murder.

Even though the five siblings still haven't accepted the fact that they have a father who made no attempt to be a part of their lives, they join together to discover the truth about his death.  The search throws Killeen and Christopher together and their passion grows hotter.  As her feelings for him slowly become more serious, she knows she must tell him about the baby. 

After a fun day in the sun, an event happens that outs Killeen's secret.  Christopher, as expected, doesn't take the news well.  But they must continue to work together to track down a killer, especially since the killer has now focused on them.

Someone doesn't want them to stay and take over the business.  In fact, someone wants them all dead and now the decision on whether or not to be a part of the agency seems very unimportant compared to the job of trying to stop from being killed.

They set up a trap that goes terribly wrong.  Suddenly, Killeen must make a big decision.  Who should she save?  Her baby?  Christopher?  Her new brothers and sisters?  Their lives are in her hands. 

Due Dates is the first book in the Scandals New Adult series of romantic suspense.  Killer Date, the second book in this series will be released in Spring, 2014 and will tell Reno's story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nightwriter93
• Release date: Nov 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9780988343672

Kathy Clark

In 1987, Kathy Clark met Tahti Carter, an editor for Harlequin American at a writers' conference.  That started a six-year relationship that produced 12 award-winning novels for American and 2 more from Superromance.   For a complete list of books, screenplays, awards and more, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kathy Clark_(American_author)

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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He left me with two broken DVD cases, a pair of worn-out Nikes and a plus sign on my pee stick. 

I was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch with my legs stretched forward under the coffee table.  Sunlight filtered through the crack where the drapes didn’t quite meet, which told me it was morning... the morning after the worst night of my life. 

A banner saying Congratulations Graduate strung between the light fixture and the curtain rod.  A dozen maroon and gold balloons that had been bouncing on the ceiling last night now lay sadly on the floor, no longer buoyant.  I knew exactly how they felt...deflated and totally used.  Their short, happy lives were over.  Just like mine. 

Bottles, beer cans, red Solo cups and other trash covered every surface imaginable.  Somebody was going to have to clean all this shit up.  That somebody was not going to be me. 

Fuck Brandon!  I thought we were going to be together forever.  Well, apparently, he had a different definition of forever than I did.  Last night was supposed to have been really special.  His graduation party and our pregnancy.  I’m just glad I was smart enough not to announce it at the party.  No, I waited until everyone had left to tell him.  I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but I hadn’t thought he would have a meltdown. 

I knew it would be a surprise.  It had been for me.  A baby was the absolute last thing I needed in my life right now.  Brandon was the only guy I’d ever gone past second base with in my life.  Imagine that!  I was an eighteen-year-old virgin two years ago when we met.  That’s like finding a unicorn in a used car lot. 

I was a freshman and he was a junior.  Tall, athletic and gorgeous, he was very popular.  We bumped into each other at a fraternity party.  I wasn’t much of a partier, so it was unusual for me to even be out after hours.  I’m here on a full-boat athletic scholarship because I can throw a softball 75 mph with enough accuracy to pick a dragonfly off a barbed wire fence.  I know this because it was one of the ways my dad used to make me a better pitcher.  Actually, he was my step-dad, but he married my mother when I was three, so he was the only dad I’ve ever known. 

Dad.  He’d been a dad because he wanted to be.  Brandon was going to be a dad and he definitely didn’t want to be.  Anyway, we met at a party and sort of hit it off even though he was way out of my league.  When I told him that, he had laughed and hugged me and told me that I looked the part, but didn’t act like a snob.  I hadn’t been sure what he meant about that, but I loved the way he seemed so proud of me.  We dated for over a year before he asked me to move in with him.  I had free room and board with the team, so I couldn’t really move out of the dorm.  But who, in their right mind, would stay in a stinky, crowded dorm when they could live in a roomy one-bedroom apartment with a real kitchen and a private bathroom?  Well, almost private.  Of course, I had to share it with Brandon, but that was better than jostling for position with twenty other girls in front of the mirror. 

So, for all practical purposes I had been living here, with him for the last six months.  I even spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve at his family’s house.  I mean that was pretty serious stuff, wasn’t it?

He told me he always used protection.  I’d seen him put the condoms on.  I had even helped him sometimes.  Did the protection fail or had we just gotten lazy in the heat of the moment?  I wasn’t much of a drinker, strict training and all, but there had been a couple of nights that I didn’t remember.  Could it have been then?  I wasn’t sure.  Math isn’t one of my strong subjects, and I hadn’t tried to figure back to the exact date it happened.  It didn’t really matter when, did it?  All that mattered was that I was pregnant and the baby daddy had split.  I was truly screwed.

I’m a dollar short and two weeks late. Yeah, I feel sorry for me.  I remembered those words from a country song I’d heard.  That’s me. 

God!  This really sucks!

My legs started to cramp.  I vaguely remember sinking to the floor after Brandon left last night.  I must have cried myself to sleep, but at least for now, all my tears were gone.  I stared at the front door that led outside. 

I could still hear him yelling, You’re not going to trap me with a baby.  I’ve got plans for my life.  He had jerked the door open with such force that the door knob had punched a hole in the wall.  I’m spending the summer in Europe, then I’m going to stay in Minneapolis and work with my dad. That baby is your problem, Killeen, not mine.  Let me know how much it costs to take care of it. 

Take care of it? I repeated, not really sure what he meant.

Go to one of those women’s clinics and get rid of it.  He paused and leveled a cold look at me.  I paid the apartment up through the end of June.  Leave it clean.  I want my security deposit back. 

What an ass!  He had acted like it was all my fault.  I didn’t do this by myself shithole!  Out from under the party debris in front of me on the coffee table I picked up the small terracotta donkey statue we had bought in Mexico last summer and threw it full speed at the front door.  Strike three!  You’re out!  It shattered into a gazillion red clay pieces and left a satisfying stain on the door.  That felt so good that I looked around for something else that was at arm’s length. 

I reached for a beer bottle but as it got closer, the nauseating smell of stale, sour beer reached my nose.  I felt my stomach roll and the bitter taste of bile filled my mouth.  Frantically, I scrambled to my feet with one hand over my mouth and ran for the bathroom.  Dropping to the floor on my knees, I barely made it before I tossed my cookies...and everything else I had eaten yesterday.  This had, unfortunately, become a daily ritual.

Funny thing about morning sickness, as soon as everything was out, I felt better and was crazy hungry.  I brushed my teeth and splashed cold water on my face, avoiding looking into the mirror.  I knew I looked like shit, and I didn’t need that humiliation on top of everything else. 

I returned to the scene of the crime and looked around critically.  The place looked like a bomb had gone off.  I had spent hours cleaning it yesterday and getting everything ready for the party.  Leave it clean!  Not a chance. 

The trays on the counter that had held meat and cheese were completely stripped clean except for some wilted lettuce leaves.  There were still a few celery sticks on the fruit and veggie tray, and I picked them up and started munching on them.  I hadn’t really expected anything to be left.  College kids were like locust.  They showed up, ate everything in sight, then moved on. 

A look inside the refrigerator confirmed my worst fears...it was empty except for a cardboard case that had once held 24 cans of beer.  Of course, there was no beer left.  Not that I could have drank it anyway.  Damn.  I had zero money for groceries, and I had maxed out my credit card for Brandon’s friggin’ party.  I nibbled on another celery stick and considered my options. 

Just yesterday we had been talking about the summer and part-time jobs and maybe spending a week at Lake Powell again.  Now he’s sitting on the Left Bank, eating a brie sandwich, drinking wine and gazing at the Eiffel Tower.  And I’m eating shriveled, leftover vegetables and wishing he would fall into the Seine and drown.

I sighed.  With the end of June less than three weeks away and the baby on automatic, I knew I would have to reach deep down and take control of my life rather than just sit here and get beat up by it.  I was going to have to find a job and a place to stay until they opened the dorms in the fall. 

I lifted the hem of my t-shirt and spread my hand on my stomach.  It was still flat and tight.  I worked out every day, along with hours of softball, so I was in great shape.  The guys who came to our games always whistled and yelled whenever I took the mound.  Brandon hadn’t been jealous.  In fact, he liked that he had something other guys wanted.  He often told me how hot it was when my uniform pants stretched tight across my ass when my leg kicked up and then stretched out to deliver the ball.  Now?  If I go through with this, I’ve got at least ten months of extreme non-hotness. 

I knew so little about pregnancy or babies.  I’d never actually been around a pregnant woman or held a baby.  Obviously, I hadn’t paid enough attention to my basic biology and health classes.  How long would it take before I started to show?  How big would I be in the fall?  Would I be able to hide it so I could stay in school?  Or do I want to find a women’s clinic and end this pregnancy like Brandon had suggested? 

This was so far from what I thought I’d be worrying about at the end of my sophomore year that I simply couldn’t wrap my head around it.  A baby would definitely complicate my life.  I can’t imagine being responsible for another human being.  I can barely take care of myself.

I can’t really blame Brandon for running away.  If I could run away, I would, too. 

Maybe he just needed time to think.  I’d known about the pregnancy for almost a week.  He’d had it dropped on him yesterday.  Once he let it sink it, surely he’d see how lucky we are, how lucky he is, and he’ll come running back to me.  Possibly even today.  Together we can talk this through and consider our options.  I can change his mind...change his heart.  I’d point out how much his parents liked me and that this baby would be their first grandchild.  We’d have really cute babies together.  I’ll just convince him to take me with him to his parents and we’ll talk with them.  I can’t believe they would want their grandchild given up for adoption...or aborted.   They’ll help him see the light. 

I looked at the clock on the microwave.  By now he’s awake, wherever he is, and he’s thought about how much he misses me.  You just don’t say I’m out of here in the same breath as you said you’re pregnant?  Do you?  Really?  What kind of person would do that?  Not the Brandon I knew.

I should call him.  I went back to the coffee table and shuffled through the pile of bottles, cans, glasses and plates, then got down on my knees, searching for my phone.  It had somehow managed to fall off the table and slide under the couch.  As soon as I retrieved it, I checked to see if he had called. 

Shit.  No messages.  No missed calls.  His number was on my favorites list and my finger hovered over it.  Still, I hesitated.  The fact that he hadn’t called me spoke volumes.  Was I willing to beg?  Was I willing to agree to an abortion just to placate him?  Was I willing to promise him anything if he would come back? 

No, I didn’t want to be one of those girls.  I put the phone down on the table.  I didn’t know what I was going to do yet, and as much as I wanted him to help me make a decision, I knew this one had to be all mine.

I needed to take care of myself and work through this, one way or the other.  I should assume he’s not going to come back and that he doesn’t want anything to do with me or our baby. 

What to do first?  Pitching softball is straight forward.  My catcher tells me what pitch she wants, locates the target with her glove and I throw the ball.  Batters swung and missed.  I felt powerful and in control. 

Hah!  Joke’s on me.

It would help if I had someone to talk to.  Let’s see...no parents, no brothers, no sisters, and definitely not my coach or the school counselor.  I want to hang on to my scholarship as long as possible.  Depending on my decision, they might never need to know anything.  I need to check and see if my student medical insurance covers kids...abortion, adoption, childbirth?  However, my first priority was to get a job. 

I looked around the apartment, hoping in his haste to pack his things, Brandon had forgotten his laptop.  I dug through the debris on the desk, and underneath a pizza box, there it sat.  Relief rushed over me.  That would make my search much easier because I wouldn’t have to go to the computer lab on campus.  I opened the pizza box and smiled.  Score!  There was one slice of pepperoni and mushroom left.  Okay, that didn’t turn this sucky day into a winner, but at least I had something to eat.  I picked it up and sniffed it.  It smelled semi-fresh, so I took a bite and headed to the bathroom.  Cold pizza...breakfast of champions.

I turned on the shower so it would have time to get hot while I finished my pizza.  A glance in the mirror told me that crying myself to sleep last night didn’t sit well on my face.  My eyes were puffy and there were mascara streaks down both cheeks.  Even my long blond hair that was usually one of my best features was tangled and limp. 

I stripped out of my rumpled clothes and stepped into the shower stall.  The shower head in Brandon’s apartment was so much better than the ones on campus.  High pressure and you didn’t get scalded every time someone flushed a toilet on the floor.  I reached for the shampoo and saw that jerk-face Brandon had taken it.  Oh well, shampoo was a fair trade for a laptop.  I squeezed some body soap into my hands and used that on my hair. 

Fifteen minutes later, I was clean and felt a little better.  I stepped out and grabbed the closest towel.  It smelled like Brandon which made me both sad and angry.  In a futile show of defiance, I used it to wipe my ass and between my legs, threw it in the corner and picked up a clean towel to dry the rest of my body.  I searched through the cabinet for the hair dryer, but it, too, was gone, which left me no option but to let my hair air dry.

I dressed in a pair of short shorts and layered tank tops, then chose a more visible sign of insolence and picked up a bottle of nail polish called Ladybug Red.  Brandon hated it.  That made it the perfect choice. 

Once my toes and fingertips were a vivid shade of shiny red, I hobbled back to the living room, being careful not to let anything touch the wet polish. 

I made a mental list of things I needed to buy, like shampoo, Hot Pockets and other student basics like mac and cheese and Top Ramen, as long as it didn’t total more than twenty dollars.  That would have to last me until my first pay check...assuming I got a job soon.  Hopefully, that would be in a fast food place.  The pay would suck, but I wouldn’t starve.

One flip-flop was by the couch, but I was looking for the other one when a knock echoed through the apartment. 

Brandon had come back, was my first thought.  I ran to the door, then stopped and took a deep breath.  I didn’t want to appear too excited.  After all, the bastard had to pay for being so mean to me.  I forced my expression to be calm as my fingers wrapped around the doorknob.  I pulled the door open...and gasped.

CHAPTER TWO

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A gray-haired man wearing a black cowboy hat, an expensive pin-striped suit and ostrich-skin boots stood on the open porch that ran along the entire front of the apartment building.  He removed his hat and extended his right hand.  Hello.  I’m Harlan Gooding.  I’m sorry...were you expecting someone else?

How stupid was I?  Never mind, it was a rhetorical question.  I already knew the answer.  "I thought you might be my boyfriend...my ex-boyfriend.  I shook his hand.  If you’re here to see Brandon, I don’t know where he is."

Oh no.  Actually I’m looking for Killeen Ames.  That’s you, I assume.

Why do you ask?  Of course, he probably already knew Brandon was gone.  This guy was likely some high-powered process server that Brandon’s dad already hired to haul my ass into court to take my baby...or make me pay rent...or to keep away from his precious son. 

Actually I just flew in from Austin today to speak with you about a very personal matter.  Do you have a few minutes?  Harlan must have sensed my reluctance.  We could grab a cup of coffee nearby if you would be more comfortable.  Here’s my card.  He handed me a business card.

I took the card and read it.  Harlan Gooding, Attorney.  Real attorney or crafty Kinko’s customer?  As much as I didn’t know whether or not to trust this stranger, I wanted a public discussion about my baby even less.  No one can know about this until I have a plan.  I looked up at Harlan and smiled politely.  No, here’s fine...come on in.  I was about to leave, but I have a few minutes.  I held the door open for him.

Harlan stopped just inside the apartment.  His eyes glanced around the living room and eat-in kitchen.  He shifted on his feet and the sound of the broken clay donkey crunched under his cowboy boots.  He glanced down.  Maid’s day off?

We had a graduation party last night.  Brandon’s, I added, although I had the feeling he already knew.  There was something in his eyes that told me he knew way more about me than I would have liked.  We can sit on the couch over here... I knocked a couple beer cans to the floor, clearing a spot for him. 

Harlan’s face remained expressionless as he started to sit, then stood back up, reached under the cushion and pulled out an empty tequila bottle.  Without a word, I took the bottle from him and set it on the coffee table.  He settled gingerly on the cushion and set his briefcase on the floor.  Reminds me of my college days, he said before turning to face me.  Let me get straight to the point, Miss Ames.  I’ve been retained by a man who passed on recently.  I have reason to believe that you are related to him and, if so, you have been named in his will.  I cannot, at this time, share with you who this person is, but I can tell you he had a very large, somewhat complicated estate. 

I stared at him blankly for a moment, then laughed.  Yeah right.  Someone on the team is punking me, aren’t they?  Who is it?  Shanna?  Morgan?  Brittany?  I glanced around the room, half-way expecting to see cameras.  What a relief it would be if the last twenty-four hours were just a really bad joke. 

I can assure you, Miss Ames, this is no prank. 

I shook my head.  These things just don’t happen...especially not to me.  Still not convinced, I sat back on the couch and waited for the punch line.

Harlan, too leaned back as if my skepticism was expected.  I know this probably sounds really odd.  Frankly, in nearly twenty years of practicing law, this is a first for me.  I know I’m not going to convince you this is for real just by talking. 

He reached down, picked up his briefcase and placed it on his lap.  He clicked the latches, opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper.  Let me assure you this is on the up and up.  Here is a list of testing offices around Phoenix.  I need you to go to one of them as soon as possible and tell them you’re there for a DNA test. They’ll take a swab from the inside of your mouth and then run a DNA test.  I’ve pre-registered for you, and of course, it won’t cost you anything but a few minutes of your time.

Can’t you just do it now?  You know like they do on those cop shows?

Harlan’s smile was indulgent.  It’s a contamination issue.  I wouldn’t want anyone to be able to question the chain of custody.  All you’ll need is a photo ID...like a driver’s license or passport.  I’m afraid your university ID won’t do.

I still knew the possibility that I was the person they were looking for was about as likely as me winning the lottery, but if it didn’t cost me anything, I had nothing to lose.  All I had right now was spare time.  So, what if I am related?  Then what?

"Once your DNA match is confirmed, you’ll have to come to Austin for a couple of weeks.  I’ll make all your travel arrangements, and of course, all the expenses will be paid by this person’s estate.

Of course, I echoed as if I received offers like this every day.

Now I know this imposes a real hardship on your ability to earn money for the summer, Harlan continued. I’ve figured you would likely earn about $5,000 for the summer, so I will send you a cashier’s check for that amount with the travel information.

$5,000?  No strings attached?  Okay, now he had my attention. 

No strings.  Use it for whatever you want.  Rent?  Car payment?  Money for your fall semester?  Clothes?  It’s yours to spend.  Any questions?

Plenty, but nothing you’d probably answer.  Except...if I do go to Austin, when would that be?

Friday, June 13thif I get the test results back in time.  Will that work for you?

Friday, the 13th?  Really?  Athletes, as a rule, were superstitious, and that seemed like a bad omen.  I’ll check with my boss and see if I can get off.  The lie slipped out.  I didn’t have a job or a boyfriend or a life, but for some reason, I didn’t want him to know that I was a total loser.

Harlan closed his briefcase and stood up.  I’ll be in touch.  If you have any questions or can’t get that swab done in the next few days, please call me.

I felt like I was in a trance as I stood, walked him to the door and opened it for him.  Well my day just got a lot more interesting.

He held out his hand again, and I shook it with more enthusiasm than before.  As did mine.  So long, Miss Ames.  I hope to see you in Austin.

It was really nice to meet you.  I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to go to Austin, but I sure did want the $5,000. 

Now that I’ve finally met you, I’m pretty confident how the DNA test is going to come out.  I don’t mean to be forward, but your ice-blue eyes are amazing...exactly like his.  Good day. Harlan smiled, put his hat on and dipped the brim toward me. 

I watched as he walked down the stairs, out to the parking lot and to the big black Lincoln in the visitor’s spot.  Nice car!  Probably a rental, but impressive none the less. 

After I shut the door, I looked down at the sheet of paper still clenched in my hand.  If this was a joke, it was pretty elaborate.  I would know soon enough.  If the DNA center didn’t have me registered, then it would all be over.  I didn’t want to get my hopes up because in my experience if anything was too good to be true...it was too good to be true. 

At least it was a welcome distraction from the whole baby-boyfriend-softball dilemma.  Well, first things first.  There was a testing location just down the street from the grocery store.  If they’re open today, I might as well get this over with. 

I returned to my search for the missing flip-flop.  Aha, there it was, next to the TV stand.  I matched it to the other one, slipped my feet into them, stuck my phone in my pocket and grabbed my purse.  I paused for a moment to look into the oval mirror with a seashell frame that Brandon had bought for me when we went to Cabo on spring break.  Ice-blue eyes, the lawyer had said.  They were one of my most striking assets and people often commented on their crystal blue color, like the sky on a hot summer day.  Was it possible that someone else had eyes exactly like mine? 

I still didn’t believe anything would come of all this, but I was intrigued.

CHAPTER THREE

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My feet were killing me and after two shifts, I was ready to go home.  I limped over to an empty booth and sat down.  I think I pulled my hamstring earlier today when my foot slid on the grease near the fryers.  The Band-Aid on my heel had worn off and I could feel the ooze from my blister sticking to the back of my tennis shoe.  I should have replaced it, but I was too busy on Harry’s Kids-Eat-Free Wednesdays to stop waiting tables.  Actually, this was my first Wednesday working at Harry’s, but it didn’t take me long to recognize a bad thing when I saw it.

I emptied my pockets onto the tabletop and separated the bills from the coins as I counted them.  I was a pretty good waitress, and I usually got generous tips.  Parents were better tippers than college kids, so tonight’s take of $27.75 was decent.  There would be another hundred dollars or so from credit card receipts.  That would certainly come in handy.  I hadn’t been able to afford shampoo, and I had to get this disgusting smoky barbecue smell out of my hair. 

I looked at the clock on the wall in the kitchen.  Eleven on the nose.  We had been closed for an hour.  What the hell was I still doing here?  I just needed to cash out my tips and beg someone to drive me home.  The thought of waiting outside for a bus was mind-numbing. 

I limped over to the bar where Jerry, the manager, was running totals on the tickets.  I handed him my tips. 

$27.75, I told him. 

He punched some numbers into a calculator, then told me, After tipping out the bartender, that leaves you a grand total of $89.75.

I brightened.  That’s not bad.

Oh, I almost forgot...the tray of drinks you dropped on that family at lunch?  I had to comp their meals.  Even with our discount, I have to deduct $40.25 from your tips.  Really sorry.  He counted out $49.50 and pushed it toward me.

I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as I stared at the tip money.  Less than fifty dollars for 16 long, hard hours.  That was barely three dollars an hour.  What happened to minimum