Undercover Babies

Without thinking, Mac threw back the curtain.

“What is it…Grace? What’s wrong?”

Stark naked, she stared at him with wide eyes. Her mouth formed a perfect little O.

Even as he tried to reassure her that she was okay, he couldn’t help but absorb the details of her body.

An unexpected heat of desire knocked him on his heels. Good to know past betrayals hadn’t killed every impulse in his body, but talk about poor timing. He tried to turn away, but Grace ran shaky hands across her flat tummy.

And then he finally understood her distress.

Across her belly, vertical lines, so faint they were all but invisible.

The lines a woman’s abdomen acquires as her body stretches to accommodate a pregnancy.

She was somebody’s mother.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

As we ring in a new year, we have another great month of mystery and suspense coupled with steamy passion.

Here are some juicy highlights from our six-book lineup:

And don’t forget to look for Debra Webb’s special Signature Spotlight title this month: Dying To Play.

Hopefully we’ve whetted your appetite for January’s thrilling lineup. And be sure to check back every month to satisfy your craving for outstanding suspense reading.

Enjoy!

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

This book is dedicated, with love, to my son,

Officer Joseph Sharpe.

Alice Sharpe met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.

Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 755, Brownsville, OR 97327. SASE for reply is appreciated.

Grace—She wakes up in an alley, dressed in rags, with no idea who she is or where she belongs. Only an overpowering anxiety and the marks on her body that signify she has given birth keep her going.

Travis “Mac” MacBeth—The former whistle-blowing cop, now a private detective, was abandoned early in his life by his mother. He makes it his mission to reunite Grace with the baby she can’t remember.

Police Chief Barry—For political reasons, he’s mounting a vendetta against Mac that will keep him from reclaiming the career he loves. Is there nothing Barry won’t do to discredit Mac?

Beatrice Dally—Mac’s elderly aunt. She senses immediately that Grace isn’t a homeless addict and helps Mac recognize the first clue to her identity.

Elvis—Who is this flamboyant Elvis impersonator, and why does he keep showing up at the most opportune of times?

Casey Bellows—How does this terrifying killer always seem to stay one step ahead?

Doctor Daniel Priestly—The doctor of Boward Key, Florida. Has this arrogant, autocratic man set in motion the disaster that befalls Grace, or is it Grace’s past catching up with her as he insists?

Paula Priestly—Though she always has and still does support her husband without reservation, she’s also been a friend to Grace when she needed one.

Officer Neville Dryer—This lawman makes it clear he believes Grace’s unsavory past is responsible for her current problems.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

The minute she opened her eyes, she knew everything was wrong.

The coarse pavement on which she half sat, half lay. The iron stairs disappearing up the side of the cinder block building above. The row of padlocked doors, each with no number, no window. The Dumpster she leaned against. The crumpled cardboard boxes. The dark crevices. The pervading stink of rot and abandoned hope. All wrong.

And the rain. Half sleet. Cold. Icy. Miserable.

Wrong.

She tried sitting straighter and felt a sharp pain in her left shoulder. She rubbed it with numb fingers. The tattered sleeve of her red-and-black plaid coat alarmed her. She checked out the rest of her clothing. No hat. That explained the rain dripping off the end of her nose. Grungy gray pants, no socks, brown boots that looked and felt as though they belonged to someone else, a man, maybe.