A Valentine from Harlequin

fix this. I don’t know how to make you believe that I—” He broke off there. The fire popped and hissed in the darkness. He leaned over her, slid his arms around her, and gathered her close to him. Then he kissed her, the way he’d been dreaming of kissing her every single day since he’d broken her heart.
    She let him. She even kissed him back.
    When he lifted his head again, her eyes were sparkling. And she whispered, “Was that real, Michael, or just one more part of the beautiful lie you made me believe all those months ago?”
    He stared into her eyes, saw her tears, felt his own throat burn and tighten. “I’m going outside,” he said at length. “I need to turn on the gas to the kitchen stove, and split up some more firewood. I’ll be within earshot, okay?”
    “All right.”
    * * *
    Charlotte let him go, let the door close behind him, and she tried to erase the feelings his kiss had stirred to life inside her. God, she wanted to believe him. She wanted it so much.
    She had thought she needed to rest, but now she felt restless, agitated, nervous. Pent up energy sizzled inside her, and she got up off the sofa, picked up a lantern, and wandered the small cabin, taking in every part of it. But even while she explored, her mind was on Michael. What if she let him convince her that he still harbored feelings for her? What if she just gave over to the maddening temptation to believe his lies? What was the worst that could happen?
    Maybe he was still working the case, her mind warned. Maybe he was going to try to prove that she had been involved in her father’s crimes as well. What would happen to her baby if he managed to make a case against her?
    Would he do such a thing? Once she would have said absolutely not. But once she had thought she knew him. Now, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
    He was alive. God, that was one thing she hadn’t even fully processed yet. He was alive. She sank down onto softness, and lowered her head and wept with joy that the man she had loved and lost was alive. She had dreamed of this very thing, night after long lonely night. Even if he had lied to her, used her, betrayed her, she still couldn’t help but cherish the fact that he was alive.
    When her tears stopped, she lifted her head and looked around the room into which she had wandered. A bedroom with a soft four-poster double bed, made of pine logs, and an old-fashioned quilt. There was a window in one side, and beside the bed, a bedside stand with a framed photograph, glinting in the lamplight, and a spiral notebook in front of it.
    Blinking, she set the lamp down near the photo and saw that it was a picture of her. With trembling hands, she reached for the notebook and flipped it open. A pen marked the place where the last person to write in it had left off, and she recognized Michael’s scrawl across the page.
    “It’s been two months since I left her, and I can’t get her out of my mind. She loved me. I know she did. It must be killing her to think I’m dead. God knows it would kill me if I thought she was. But that’s just it—she will be if I go back. If I tell her any of this, it could get her killed. I have to nail Magenta. And then I can go back for her. I can tell her the truth and hope to God she can forgive me for the hell I’ve put her through. If she won’t—no. I can’t think about that. I’ll fix this; I swear to God I will. I’ll find some way to make it right again. And I’ll spend every minute in hell until then. I love her. I ache for her. It hurts to breathe knowing I can’t be with her. It hurts to breathe.”
    Hearing his footsteps crossing the threshold, she turned toward him, tears spilling over, ready to tell him that it was okay again. That she believed him. That she loved him.
    But it wasn’t Michael standing in the doorway.
    “What’s the matter, baby?” he asked. “Haven’t you got a warm welcome for your Uncle Carl?”

Chapter Five
    “Carl…how did you find me here?”
    He smiled. “I’ve been having you followed ever since you left Chicago, honey. I knew that cop of yours would come to you sooner or later. He was nuts about you. Anyone could see it.”
    She sniffed, lifted her head. “So you used me to get to him?”
    “More or less. We were having trouble keeping track of him. He’s a slippery one. Watching you was much easier.”
    A painful contraction gripped her, and she clenched her teeth, doubling over, and holding her belly. “Oh,