Sidney Sheldon's Chasing Tomorrow (Tracy Whitney #2)(10)

Jeff laughed. “No one’s gonna steal anything.”

Rebecca Mortimer wandered over. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. Tracy noticed that her accent was cut-glass Oxbridge, and that she didn’t look particularly sorry. “But we really ought to get started in a minute. Jeff?”

She touched his arm, only for a second. It was a tiny gesture, almost unnoticeable, but it implied a certain intimacy between her and Jeff that Tracy didn’t like. At all.

“He’ll be with you in a moment,” she said coldly.

Rebecca took the hint and walked away.

“My, my,” murmured Jeff, sotto voce, an amused look on his face. “You really are jealous.”

“It must be my hormones.” Tracy beamed back at him. “We pregnant women can get terribly overemotional, you know.”

It took a few seconds for the impact of her words to sink in. When they did, Jeff swept her up into his arms with a whoop of delight and kissed her on the lips for a very long time. The assembled volunteers all turned to gawk at them.

“Really?” said Jeff, finally coming up for air. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” said Tracy. “Four tests can’t all be wrong.”

“That’s wonderful. The most wonderful news ever. I’ll take you out to dinner tonight to celebrate.”

Tracy felt a warm wave of elation flow over her.

Jeff walked over to begin his lecture and she turned to go.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw the young intern, Rebecca, shoot her a resentful look.

DINNER WAS WONDERFUL. JEFF took her to Como Lario in Belgravia, one of their favorites. Tracy ate the carciofi e radicchio followed by a perfectly tender scaloppine al limone. Jeff wolfed down his filet steak, despite barely being able to chew thanks to the smile plastered across his face. Tracy wasn’t drinking, but Jeff insisted on two flutes of champagne for a toast.

“To our future. Our family. To Jeff Stevens Junior!”

Tracy laughed. “Sexist pig. Who says it’s a boy?”

“It’s a boy.”

“Well, if it is, over my dead body are we calling him Jeff Junior. No offense, darling, but I’m not sure the world could cope with two Jeff Stevenses.”

Later, in bed, Tracy slipped into her sexiest Rigby & Peller negligee, a tiny silk slip in buttermilk with white lace trim. “Enjoy it while you can.” She snuggled up to Jeff, running her fingers languidly through the tangle of hair on his chest. “Soon I’ll be the size of a house. You’ll need to use a forklift to move me.”

“Nonsense. You’ll be the most beautiful pregnant woman on earth,” said Jeff, kissing her gently on the mouth.

“Do you ever miss the old days?” Tracy asked him suddenly. “The adrenaline? The challenge? You, me and Gunther against the world?”

“Never.”

He said it with such sincerity and finality that Tracy felt silly for asking.

“Besides, as I remember it, half of ‘the old days’ was you against me, or me against you. As for dearest Gunther, he was always out for himself, playing each of us off against the other.”

“That’s true,” Tracy admitted, smiling to herself at the memory. “But it was only playing, wasn’t it? It was a game, between the three of us. A wonderful game.”


“It was.” Jeff stroked her face tenderly. “And you, my love, were the world champion. But we went out on a high, didn’t we? And the life we have now . . . well, it’s perfect.” He ran a hand over Tracy’s still-flat belly in wonder. Was there really a new life in there? A person who they had created?

“I love you.”

“How much?” Tracy murmured in his ear. She reached down to touch his erection but Jeff stopped her hand.

“Very much. But I don’t think we should be fooling around. It might hurt the baby.”

And with that, to Tracy’s astonishment, he turned out the light, rolled over and fell into a deep and instant sleep.

For a split second she felt irritated, but she soon snuffed out the feeling. Today was too special, too perfect to be spoiled with petty resentments. He’s only being careful because he loves me. When we go to see Dr. McBride together, he can explain to Jeff that it’s perfectly safe to make love.

Too excited to sleep, Tracy’s mind began to wander. Oddly, it wasn’t the baby she was thinking about, but the things she’d seen at the museum today. She thought about the young girl Jeff worked with. Was she being paranoid? Or had the girl given her a dirty look right after Jeff kissed her?

It doesn’t matter anyway, Tracy told herself. I trust Jeff.

Her mind quickly shifted to the exhibition of Saxon gold Jeff had told her about, and the images she’d seen on the screen. Tracy still couldn’t quite believe that an important institution like the British Museum would allow elderly volunteers to handle an event of such importance. These untrained, older people had effectively unfettered access to millions of pounds’ worth of artifacts. And yet even Jeff seemed to think nothing of it. Tracy thought back to the complex security systems at the Prado, and at other famous galleries and jewelers that she and Jeff had stolen from back in their heyday. Imagine if the only person guarding Goya’s Puerto in Madrid had been a shortsighted old biddy. How easy our lives would have been!