Free Black Market Baby by Tabra Jordan

 
     
    CHAPTER ONE
     
    “I
love you,” Jillian whispered, as she draped a red necktie around her husband’s
neck. “You work too hard, Lake. You know—we really need to get away.”
    Lake
fixed the collar on his white shirt. “It’s hard to believe you don’t have a job,
and yet your social calendar is tighter than mine.”
    Jillian
beamed. “Mother keeps me busy with garden parties, and tea parties. I swear,
those women will celebrate anything.”
     “I
know.” He smoothed his tie into place. “Secretly, your mother is a closet party
animal.” A chortle rumbled in his chest. “She’ll find any reason to break out
the champagne.”
    “Lake.”
Lake always had a healthy dose of humor. But this time, Jillian saw sincerity
in her husband’s emerald eyes.
    “Well
it’s true.” He raised a brow. “Don’t deny it.”
    Pretending
to be angry, Jillian marched to the window and opened the drapes. Immediately,
the sunshine revealed their tousled and unmade bed. “Don’t ever let her hear
you saying that. Mother is sensitive.”
    “Okay,”
he teased, throwing his voice toward the window. “Mother Ester, you’re a lush,
sweetheart. Go to rehab.”
     “Stop
that!” Jillian shook her head. Delighted by her husband’s bad jokes, she
gathered his terry robe from the floor.
    “All
right.” Half dressed; Lake sat down on the lounger, and then pulled his wife
upon his lap. She tumbled about him with a giggle. “You win,” he admitted, with
a half-smile. “Try to relax today.” Lake placed his fingers beneath his wife’s
chin and studied her weary face. “Are those bags under these beautiful brown eyes?”
    “I
don’t have bags.” She pushed his hand away.
    “That’s
enough. You’re staying home today. You need to rest.”
    Wringing
her hands, Jillian became anxious. She turned from her husband’s suspicious
gaze. “Mother isn’t working me too hard, Lake. It’s the dreams. They’ve come
back.”
    “Oh,
darling. I’m so sorry.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her
head. “Just look at you. You’re a nervous wreck.”
    Jillian
moved from her husband’s grasp and stood up. “I’ve been seeing the therapist,
again.” She closed her long silk robe, and then turned off the lamp beside the
bed.
     Appearing
miffed, Lake got up and swaggered toward the bathroom. “I told you that woman
was an impostor. You need professional help. I’m not paying her a mint just so
you can wallow in and out of nightmares almost every night?”
    “I
know, sweetheart.” With a hopeful glint, she turned to face her husband. “You’ve
never had faith in Dr. Vega. But this time, we’re on to something. I think we
know why I’m having these crazy nightmares.”
    Lake
picked up his dress shoes, then sat down on the side of the bed. “It’s the same
dream over and over. You dream some man is taking you from your crib, right?”
    “Yes,
Lake. I keep dreaming some man is taking me from my bed.” Instinctively, she
covered her nose. “He smells terrible. If I ever encountered that horrible odor,
I’d remember. Mother assured me, I was well protected as an infant. I have no
idea why I’m so petrified in those dreams.”
    “Perhaps
the gardener heard you crying and came into the nursery.”
    “Jesus
doesn’t scare me. Plus, he doesn’t smoke.”
    “So,
there was smoke?” He slipped on his shoes and stood up.
     Jillian
walked to the window. “Yes. I distinctly smelled smoke.”
    “Was
there a fire, perhaps?” Lake reached on the bed for his belt.
    “No.”
She stroked her forehead, then picked up her hair brush. “We’ve ruled that out.
But, it was a strange odor—like burning rags. It’s an odor I just can’t
forget.”
    “Honey.”
Lake gently pushed Jillian onto her padded dressing chair. “I’m not saying that
something didn’t happen to you. Apparently, you were very young. But right now,
you’re fine. You’ve completed your degree, and you're learning about the