Chapter Twenty-Five

"I-I'm going to be a father?"

"Yes."

"And you're positive?" Fox asked.

"Dr. Russell ran a blood test. She's certain," Theresa replied.

"I'm going to be a father," he stated calmly. His eyes widened, and his face broke out into a broad grin as her words finally sank in. His calmness gave way to exuberance. "I'm going to be a father! A baby? We're having a baby? We're having a baby!"

Fox swept Theresa off her feet, spinning her around. She giggled at the sensation as her head swam from both the motion and the joy.

Suddenly realizing her more delicate state, Fox gently set her feet on the ground, though he steadied her from the dizzying motion. Her eyes sought his, and relief washed over her as she saw the love and joy she felt reflected in those eyes.

A stray tear trickled down her cheek. "I had hoped you would be happy. I know this must come as an enormous shock."

"Sshhhh," he whispered as he gently touched his lips to her cheek, kissing away the tear. Tenderly he moved his right hand over her still-flat abdomen. She placed her hand over his. "How could I possibly be anything but happy? I love you, Theresa. So much! I would die for you. For you—and for our son or daughter."

A chill ran up and down Theresa's spine. "Don't talk about dying, Fox. Let's talk about living. We have so much living ahead of us!"

"How long will we have to wait for the baby?"

"It's still early. About seven months."

He groaned. "That's such a long time, and I've never been a patient man."

"You know what they say? Good things come…."

"…To those who wait," he finished. "I always hated that cliché. Mother used to make mention of it promptly whenever she would buy something for my brother and deny me whatever I wanted."

Theresa reached out and ran her slender fingers through his blonde hair. "This is our chance, Fox. The possibilities are endless. We can be good parents to this baby."

Fox nodded. "This child will not have the type of childhood I did, Theresa. I am going to smother him or her with love and attention and teddy bears and …."

She laughed.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"You. You make me so happy."

His mouth descended upon hers. She was so warm and tasted so sweet as his tongue swept into her mouth. Her tongue rubbed against his own, stirring urges within them both.

He pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. "You drive me insane with your kisses."

"The feeling's mutual." She looked out at the ocean, though she still clung to him. "What a couple of days this has been. Everything has changed. The world looks more vivid to me now. I feel so alive."

Fox chuckled. "And we're about to turn the world on its ear."

"I do suppose when everyone finds out, it's going to create quite a scandal. Of course, neither of us is a stranger to scandals."

"The black sheep—and for a time--the supposed black widow." Fox squinted. "You know, the police never did find out who tried to kill my father."

"That's not the only secret lurking in the Crane Mansion," Theresa replied. "Fox, you and I know that the wedding between Julian and me in Bermuda was nothing more than a farce concocted by Bruce, but no one else does. I'd like to keep it that way…for just a few more days."

"Why?"

"Theresa Crane can pull more strings than Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald."

"What are you up to?"

"Justice. Vindication. Fox, I have to restore my reputation for the sake of both of us and our baby."

"Theresa, who the hell cares what my family or the public think? This is our life—not theirs."

Theresa swallowed hard. "I do."

"Theresa…"

"No, I know it's silly. And I also know that it's hard for you to understand, but I didn't grow up with as many privileges as you did. The one thing my mother told me that I had, which was far more valuable than riches, was my reputation and my integrity. I want to be able to look in the mirror and truly like what I see. I want my son or daughter to have a mother that he or she can be proud of, not one that people will point to and talk about."

"Damn." Fox shook his head and laughed despite himself. "Will you ever let me win an argument?"

"Perhaps from time to time. After all, I can't have you getting discouraged," she teased back.

"From all this talk, I'm assuming you have a plan."

With a twinkle in her eye, Theresa replied, "Don't I always?"

When Jimmy Stafford first started working as a security guard at the fish cannery twelve years ago, the stench of fish parts had been overwhelming. At night when he went home, even after he showered, he could still smell fish. It was everywhere. In his clothes. In his hair. In his very skin.

And then it seemed to fade. After all that time spent on the job, he barely smelled the fish anymore. He did, however, notice that he seemed rather popular with the neighborhood cats.

His appeal to his wife did not improve, however. She'd left him two years ago and was shacking up with some damn clothing store clerk. Some damn pretty boy with his fancy leather penny loafers.

Jimmy's diligent work paid off, though. That, and his acute sense of hearing, which Alistair Crane seemed to find quite beneficial from time to time.

He was promoted several times, resulting in ultimately being named the head of security at the cannery. It wasn't a particularly demanding job. After all, how many security breaches, other than the night Julian Crane was shot, did the cannery have?

No, it was an easy job. Jimmy watched over the cannery during the day from his enclosed security booth. It really was state-of-the-art. Monitors showed him in real-time all the goings-on, and security cameras filmed the events for posterity.

At night, when no one was present, the cameras kept watch.

And so he took one last look at the settings before he reached behind him to get his coat.

"Mr. Stafford?"

Jimmy looked up at the petite dark haired woman who stood before him. Her features were striking; he would know her anywhere.

"Mrs, Crane! I-I wasn't expecting to see you this evening."

Theresa smiled reassuringly. "I wasn't exactly planning on being here this evening, but I had to come."

"H-here?"

"Oh, yes. You see, Mr. Stafford, I am in desperate need of help, and you're the only one who can give me what I need."

The man felt himself relaxing. "Please, call me Jimmy."

"Jimmy. That's such a nice name. It suits you. I have to confess something. I know you're about to leave for the day, but do you have a few minutes?"

"For you? Of course, Mrs. Crane."

"Oh, thank you. You see, it's been over a year since my husband, Julian Crane, was violently attacked in this cannery."

"Didn't you take the blame for it, Mrs. Crane?"

Theresa smiled ruefully, her thick eyelashes dropping subtly as she licked her lips. "Yes. Foolishly, I did. I was trying to protect someone I believed to be guilty. But in doing so, I may have let the person who truly committed the crime get away. I am so terribly concerned for my husband's safety. Just knowing that this mad person is out there still…it…well, it makes it difficult to sleep at night."

"How can I make you sleep better, Mrs. Crane?"

"You can give me information. On the night my husband was attacked, December 31, 2001, were the security cameras surveying the cannery?"

"Yes, just as they do each night."

"Do you still have the surveillance video?"

"Not here. It's archived at the Crane Industries headquarters."

"Oh," Theresa replied, crestfallen.

Jimmy watched her mournful expression. Quickly, he added, "I don't know this for sure, so you didn't hear it from me, but I've heard that only Alistair or Julian Crane themselves have access to the archives. But maybe you can get your husband to let you in. I know that if you were my wife, you'd have me wrapped around your little finger, if you don't mind me saying so."

Like hell Julian would let her into the archive. He hated her, and the feeling was mutual.

He certainly was not going to help her clear her name.

There had to be some way to gain access to the video. Some way….

Theresa did work at Crane Industries. Perhaps she could….

Then she paused and smiled. Of course. Of course.

Maybe she could wrap Julian around her little finger without him realizing it.

Oh, yes. She knew exactly what to do.

Julian Crane poured himself brandy, his second drink in less than fifteen minutes. It was becoming his habit more and more as of late. Come home from work, amble to the living room, and imbibe the dark liquid. Somehow, everything became more bearable.

His father was very displeased with him. What else was new?

At times he considered his excursion into "death" to be one of the highlights of his life. It was the first and only time he'd managed to escape from the glaring magnifying glass under which his father perpetually held him.

"Put the drink down, Julian," Alistair Crane's voice boomed over the loud speaker. "You cannot afford to lose any more brain cells."

Obediently, Julian set the brandy on the table.

"What do you want me to say, Father? Ethan himself acknowledges that what happened was an accident. I did manage to keep the news of the scuffle out of the newspapers."

"But do you know what was going on behind the scenes? Or were you too busy chasing another skirt?"

"Father, I don't know what you mean. It was an accident. Case closed."

"I underestimated you, Julian."

Julian straightened somewhat, stunned to be on the receiving end of a compliment. "Thank you, Father."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment! I underestimated just how pathetic and useless you truly are!" The speaker clicked, indicating the end of the conversation.

"Well, that went well," Julian commented wryly as he once again picked up his glass.

"Business as usual, Julian?" Theresa asked as she walked into the living room.

"Well, if it isn't my little temptress herself. Look but don't touch. Isn't that your motto?" he asked.

"That's certainly my motto where you're concerned," Theresa replied. "Have you seen my mother? I heard she was down here."

"I'm most decidedly not Pee-lar's social secretary," Julian sniffed.

"Of course not. Your life is far too busy. What, with your pastime of swimming with the fishes, so to speak?"

Julian's nose wrinkled as he remembered the stench at the cannery the night he was pursued by his would-be killer. "Don't remind me."

"It must be terrible knowing that the person who wanted you dead is still out there somewhere. Watching. Waiting."

"For all I know, I'm looking right at her."

Theresa smiled. "Oh, surely you know better than that, Julian. It really is too bad that person will never be punished. I always thought you to be more cunning than that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, obviously my mother is not in here. Goodnight, Julian, and I hope you'll sleep well….if you can."

Theresa strolled out of the room and walked into the foyer, pausing outside the door of the living room out Julian's sight.

"Theresa does have a point," Julian uttered. "But how do I find out?"

The tapes, Julian, Theresa thought.

"The police have all but filed this case away. Unsolved. Inefficient oafs."

Come on. The tapes, Julian, Theresa thought.

Julian scratched his chin. "Then again, there were a number of people who threatened me with bodily harm. How to determine, which, if any was the culprit…."

Think, Julian! Think! The tapes!

"The security tapes! Yes, that's it. Something must have been caught on one of those."

Ding, ding. Bingo. Thank God people in this town have a habit of talking to themselves!

Theresa rubbed her hand across her tummy. Mama's going to make you so proud, little one.

Feeling pleased, Theresa continued on her way.