Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
As the sterile scent of the OR weakens, I lean toward the incubator and whisper promises I’ll die striving to keep. I assure him that everything will be fine and that I will always be there for him. As long as he wants me, I’ll be on his team.
The more I talk to him, the calmer he becomes. He seems at ease, as if he believes in me.
My heart swells with pride as I recall my father’s face when he carried my siblings through the front door of our home. He made similar pledges to them, and I believed every word he spoke.
As far as I am aware, I’m the only child he didn’t keep his promise to.
Sighing so hard it sinks my chest, I steer the incubator toward the elevator that will take us to the nursery. When the doors open, Crew bursts through them, almost knocking over the nursing assistant.
Suddenly, he freezes before he jackknifes back. His pupils dilate when his eyes lock onto the bundle of blue wedged between us. He looks stunned, like he’s seen a ghost. Then his expression shifts to horrified.
“Is she…?”
He can’t finish his sentence, and I’m glad. I can’t think of Macy like that. I refuse.
When he searches my face, needing answers, I murmur, “She’s still fighting.” I should say more and offer him the comfort I need, but I can’t speak. The words are trapped in my throat, as tangled and messy as my heart feels when Crew’s rigid form sinks back enough for me to spot his co-riders.
Alex, Brandon, Adeline, and Markwell stare at me, their faces awash with worry. Their presence is a reminder that we’re not going through this alone. The bureau is family before anything else.
The support takes me aback, but one figure stands out more than the rest.
My dad is in the corner of the elevator, barking orders into his phone. His low, commanding tone exposes that he knows what I don’t want to admit. Aspects of Macy’s attack don’t add up. She was getting close to the outfit responsible for the baby-making trade on this side of the country. They could have attacked her to silence her, but why would they orchestrate that coup in a parking lot miles from her home base?
They also injected a sedative into her neck, most likely to induce labor, and used the elderly-lady-in-need ruse. They’re not calling cards of a baby-making syndicate. They keep their surrogates in prime breeding condition. They’d never risk damaging the merchandise by forcing a mother into preterm labor. That would increase the chance of a caesarean, which would lower the number of children they could produce.
Even with my head a blur of confusion, my profile on this case would steer my law enforcement colleagues to a criminal entity that has members capable of befriending mothers-to-be so they can steal their babies from their wombs and sell them to the highest bidder.
I freeze as a thought too disturbing to consider pulsates through the sludge.
“Macy said Cameron’s name while she was fighting for her life. More than once.” The words flow from my mouth with as much conviction now as they did when I told Cameron I was in love with Macy. “She wouldn’t have done that unless it was urgent. Jealousy doesn’t guide Macy’s motives. Ever.”
Alex nods first, and then a collective whirr of agreeing murmurs follows his lead.
“Cameron’s stomach also folded. She stood up to me. She pressed herself right against me”—I pat on the area of my stomach where our bodies collided when she tried to intimidate me into backing down—“but her stomach didn’t wiggle against me. It folded. It fucking folded.” Once I discover one truth, the deluge continues. “Her stomach was also the same size last night as it was in surveillance footage from eight weeks ago. She said she was five months along, so she shouldn’t have had a bump in the footage.”
Agent Markwell is coordinating with on-scene agents to bring Cameron in, but I still feel like I have to prove myself and earn their trust. “I think Cameron had something to do with Macy’s assault. She arrived at the Lamaze class after Samuel announced it was free of agents, but neither her name nor her alias was on any of the class lists. They attacked Macy in the parking lot of her building minutes after I told Cameron I loved Macy.”
“Keep going,” my father encourages, stepping closer. “Give us what we need to bring the people who did this to Macy to justice, and then go back to doing everything you can to bring your family home.”
The worry lines etched on his face are deeper. However, his eyes still hold the same steady, unwavering control they’ve always had.
This is him. Protective. Brave. He isn’t the antagonist Cameron painted him to be.