by Vanessa Skye
Rather than dwell on that, she’d headed out to Finn’s in The Loop where, thanks to the blabbing in the elevator, she knew Big John law firm associates preferred to get their drunk on.
She located the indiscreet young man almost immediately and found he was all too happy to continue being chatty as long as a pretty lady was footing the Jägermeister tab.
With liquid courage filling his confidence to the brim, and the barstool keeping him upright, he had no problem letting Berg know all the water-cooler gossip. “Rumor has it she fucked Edwin, the senior partner, soon after he hired her. God knows why he’d touch her, but he’s ancient, so maybe he just takes any pussy he can get. I heard she has a video of him in some pretty unconventional positions, if you get my drift. That’s not going to go down well with the wife or the other senior partners.” He took another swig of his drink. “She also threatened to sue him for sexual harassment. Ever since she’s had old Edwin by the nuts; she’s been allowed to do anything she wants. She’s got this huge office. And she’s not even lead paralegal—there’s no such thing—she had that put on her office door herself!”
Berg, having heard more than enough, tried to excuse herself—albeit with some objections from her overly friendly new drinking buddy who obviously thought he was getting lucky. He had heard many rumors, but knew very little first hand, making his use as a witness nil and less than zero to Berg. None of what she had gotten from him was helpful in terms of a warrant, of course, but it did serve to further cement her belief that Elizabeth had either paid or coerced Buchanan into killing her sister. The idea of such premeditated evil, and with no justification, made her shiver.
The information might have been interesting, but she was happy to get out of there. Her stomach still didn’t feel right. As soon as she got home, she made herself some dry toast. Factoring in the strange cramps, she recognized the icing on the crap cake that was her week and opened her diary to make a note of her impending period, as she always did.
She flicked back a couple of pages.
And a couple more.
Frowning, she flicked through an entire month’s worth of pages then, frantically, another month. And another.
Oh fuck . . .
Grabbing her keys and purse, she rushed out of the apartment and down to the drug store a block away.
Ten minutes later, she was pacing back and forth in her bedroom, biting her nails to nubs as the pregnancy test developed. She hadn’t prayed since she was a teenager—seeing as how thoroughly it had failed her then—but she seriously considered it now.
Oh, please no. This. Cannot. Be. Happening.
She checked her watch and rushed inside to check the stick.
A big plus sign mocked her with its garish pink color.
OhfuckwhatamIgonnadowhatamIgonnadowho’sthefatherthiscan’tbehappening . . .
He mother laughed with glee in her head.
The irony, of course, being that her mother had always expected her to turn up pregnant as a teenager—having the firm opinion that her daughter was a whore.
Mom had missed out on the timing, but boy, how right she’d been. Midthirties, pregnant, single, and no idea what she was going to do.
What a clusterfuck.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. If she was as pregnant as she thought she was, there was only one possibility, and making him a father would be the same as giving birth to the progeny of Satan—Armageddon couldn’t be far behind.
What the fuck am I going to do?
Her panic attack was interrupted by a knock at her door.
Stumbling out of her bathroom on autopilot, she opened her door in a daze.
“Hey, Berg,” Arena said, barging in uninvited. “So I spoke to the legal department of—” Obviously undeterred by the fact that it was covered in pee, Arena plucked the forgotten stick out of Berg’s shaking hand. “Is this what I think it is?” He read the display. “Holy . . . shit?” It looked as if his legs gave out when he practically collapsed on the couch. “Guess it wasn’t food poisoning after all.”
Berg shook her head.
He sighed. “And . . . the father?” he asked.
Berg shook her head again, unable to speak, but recognizing that Arena was still holding the stick. She snatched it back and stalked over to the trashcan. Opening it, she threw it in viciously, and for a second, she longed to throw herself in after it like the garbage she was.
How could I be so fucking stupid?
She turned around and almost ran into Arena, who was directly behind her on one knee.
He grabbed her hands. “Marry me,” he said.
The utter ridiculousness of the situation finally snapped Berg out of her glassy-eyed, speechless state. “What . . . the fuck?” She jerked her hands away. She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh hysterically or cry.
“This is perfect. Marry me. You need a husband, and that baby needs a father. Marry me? Please?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Arena. Get up. This isn’t 1950.” She walked around him to the couch and sat down.
He followed suit, sitting down carefully next to her before asking, “What are you going to do?” The concern in his voice seemed genuine.
Berg shrugged. “It literally just happened, Arena. I haven’t had time to process the situation yet.”
He nodded. “Well, my offer’s still good, for when you figure it out. I want to be there for you. I want to help. I-I-I didn’t plan on it, but I’ve come to really care about you, Berg.”
Berg was actually touched through her shock and confusion. “Thanks.”
They were silent for a moment.
Arena picked up her hand and held it.
“So . . . why are you here exactly?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been checking out Realm of Blood. Turns out, Elizabeth could have been sending messages to Buchanan via the instant chat feature they’ve got on there. It would be perfect for her—no e-mail trail, no face-to-face meetings, no records or server involvement.”
“Any way to check?” Berg asked, relieved to be talking about work and not about her impending motherhood.
I’m going to be a mother . . . fuck!
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I put in a call to the legal department of the company, but they have strict privacy laws. They’re going to get back to me. Of course, we need to prove she was playing the game in the first place before we can speculate that she was talking to him via the game.”
“Hey, didn’t I hear something about some boys in Sweden who were convicted of murder after discussing it on an online game?”
“I think they were stupid enough to chat about it with other players. What are the chances Elizabeth was that stupid? I’ll check, though. Did you get to Finn’s?”
“Yeah. That associate pretty much confirmed what we suspected about Elizabeth. He thinks she’s blackmailing the senior partner with a sex tape. Apparently, she does whatever she wants and no one says boo.”
“Shit. You know, if we could establish a pattern of behavior, we might be able to get a sympathetic judge to give us a warrant.”
“How?”
“Hudson said Emma felt she was always behind the eight ball at school and college.”
“Yeah.”
“So why don’t we interview the faculty at both? Maybe we’ll get something usable on Elizabeth, or at least enough of a profile to convince someone to give us a warrant.”
“That’s a good idea, Arena,” Berg said.
“No need to sound surprised. I do occasionally have them. Like us getting married. That’s the best idea I’ve had all year.” Arena’s phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he rejected the call, almost punching his finger straight through the display. It rang again almost immediately, and he did the same before turning the phone on silent.
“Girlfriend?” Berg wiggled her eyebrows and grinned in her best attempt at teasing.
“Ha! No. Just not someone I want to talk to again. Ever. Hey, where’s your bathroom?”
&nb
sp; Berg pointed down the hall.
His cell lit up again as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut.
Unable to resist, Berg made a mental note of the number on the display.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I want them to know it’s me.
It’s on my head.
I’ll point the finger at me.
It’s on my head.
–Faith No More, “Ashes to Ashes”
The ultrasound technician squeezed cold goo onto Berg’s stomach. “Okay, let’s have a look at what’s going on in there.” She grabbed the ultrasound wand and turned on the monitor. “I’ll try the external first, and if we can’t see anything this way, I’ll have to use the internal wand. It’s up to you if you want your husband in the room or not if we get to that,” she said, referring to Arena seated next to Berg and stubbornly refusing to leave.
“He’s not my—”
“Thank you.” Arena smiled.
Berg shot him an annoyed look, but since he had been the one to secure her an emergency appointment with a family friend who happened to be an ob-gyn, she put up with it. He was trying to be supportive. Fact was, he was all she had right now. No one else was lining up to take responsibility for her . . . or the baby.
He tried to grab her hand and hold it, but she pulled away. She knew he was just trying to be kind, but she had her limits.
The ultrasound dug into her belly on its seek and find mission.
Berg and Arena looked up at the screen, and saw what looked like a jellybean on a string jumping in her stomach.
“Somebody’s got the hiccups.” The technician grinned. “If the baby will stay still long enough, I’ll get some measurements.”
Berg watched the baby bounce up and down as if her uterus was a trampoline. It seemed weird that this was happening inside her and she felt nothing.
Finally, the jellybean seemed to settle down for a nap and the technician took a few quick pictures.
Berg watched the process, a growing fear spreading throughout her chest. The baby had to be the judge’s.
While most of what he had subjected her to that night could not possibly result in a child, he had enjoyed fucking her the more traditional way at the end of their session, when she was broken and bloody and semiconscious—just the way he liked it. He usually used a condom, but she had no idea if he had that night. She hadn’t been in a fit state to care or ask.
“I’m guessing about three months?” Berg asked with trepidation.
Fuck!
If it was his, she knew what she would do. She had to. There was no way she would saddle herself to that sadist by having his spawn.
“No, at least a month more,” the technician said. “Judging by your measurements, you’re in the sixteenth week. Good strong heartbeat.”
Sixteen weeks? That’s not possible.
She had been celibate and deep in recovery four months ago. She hadn’t even thought about slipping back then.
She opened her mouth to ask the woman to check again when it hit her.
There was one night . . .
One perfect night when pent-up passion had two lovers throwing caution to the wind—one single, perfect night with the man she loved. The night she absolutely never allowed herself to think about so she could stay sane while watching Maroney posture around Jay possessively.
She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. This possibility opened up so many more complications. If it had been the judge, then the decision would’ve been easy. But now?
The woman wiped the wand and put it away. “You’re well overdue for your blood work and first trimester scan,” she said, turning off the monitor. “I’m going to schedule those for you right away, and you can pick up your appointment time and care plan from the front desk on your way out. I’ll leave you two alone. And congratulations!”
Arena reached for Berg’s hand again and grasped it tightly. “How are you?” he asked with concern.
“I have no idea.”
It was the truth—she wasn’t sure how she felt about any of it. Should she tell Jay, or leave him be? Maybe he would want to know? But he was with Maroney now. Maybe she should transfer before she started to show. Could she be a single mother?
She realized, with a jolt, that she was already thinking in the long-term. Like she was actually planning on having the baby.
Motherhood wasn’t something she had ever considered with any seriousness. Not only because she had never had a long-term relationship, but also because . . . well, her life was a mess. She was a sex addict with depression. She was shocked she had even gotten pregnant. She had assumed that she’d been unable to have children. She had never, ever had a pregnancy scare before, despite all her sexual activity. Granted, she had almost always been careful.
But still . . .
Arena was oblivious to her inner tug-of-war. “Berg? Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.” He smiled.
Berg looked over at him. “You realize this baby’s not yours, right?”
Arena shot her a glance that could cut glass. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but I’m not. I do know that biology doesn’t make a daddy.” Arena shifted and awkwardly shoved his hands in his pockets. “And in case my feelings aren’t obvious . . . I-I-I’m in love with you, and I want to make us a family. You, me, and the baby.”
“Arena—”
“Don’t say it. I’m guessing, as no one else showed up here today, whoever the father is isn’t lining up to do his job?”
Berg remained silent.
“We’re doing this,” he said, bobbing his head once firmly.
“And if I told you I wanted to transfer?”
“Then I’m coming, too. In fact, that’s a great idea! Let’s start fresh, away from . . .” He flung his hands up and gestured at nothing, his lipped pressed tight together, but Berg knew exactly to what—or more accurately, whom—he was referring.
Jay.
Berg sighed. She had no fucking idea what to do.
Babies need a father, right? But Arena?
There was no point in arguing right now. She wouldn’t be able to make a dent in that thick skull. She was willing to bet if there had been a preacher anywhere in the medical facility he would’ve dragged her down the aisle kicking and screaming and married her right then and there.
“Come on,” she said, sitting up and reaching for her clothes. “We’ve got a warrant to get.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I am a woman on a mission.
Nothing can stop me I’m stronger than ever,
I wanna see this through.
I am a woman on a mission.
Whatever it takes I will do what I gotta do.
–Gabriella Cilmi, “On a Mission”
Berg knocked on the double wooden doors and resisted the urge to either throw up or run away. Or both. Simultaneously.
She heard footsteps on the cold marble inside.
Damn it, he’s home.
“Alicia! Dare I hope that you’ve reconsidered my offer?” he asked, smiling and practically salivating at the idea of moving her in permanently and ensuring her final transformation into an irreparably fucked-up mess.
“No. I’m not here for that. I need a warrant.”
“Oh,” he said, looking disappointed. “Come in, then. I assume this is a spurious circumstance, and I’m your last resort?”
You have no clue.
“You assume correctly.”
She outlined the Young case and her suspicions about Elizabeth. She was also able to add the profile information that she and Arena had managed to compile thanks to interviews with Elizabeth and Emma Young’s old high school guidance counselor over the past two weeks.
Tracking him via one of the many alumni websites, he had been very reluctant to be drawn into conversation on the sisters, but after considerable pressure, he’d admitted that he had spoken to the girls after seeing consistent bruising on Emma. Once he completed several sessions with both of them, he’d conclud
ed that Elizabeth had a pathological jealousy and deep hatred of her sister. He’d recommended that Elizabeth’s parents have her treated in a psychiatric facility for a severe personality disorder, after which Elizabeth had ripped her clothes and given herself a black eye, and accused him of making a pass at her. She had been fourteen at the time.
He had insisted the allegation was false, but it had dogged him his entire career. Eventually, he had given up, left the education system, and become a private therapist. As far as he was aware, Elizabeth had never been treated for her problems.
The portrait he had painted of Elizabeth was disturbing, to say the least, but while their suspicions, the profile, the doctor’s statement about Emma’s healed wounds, and the counselor’s statement all added up to Elizabeth being disturbed, it wasn’t enough evidence to accuse her of killing her sister or probable cause for a warrant—and the judge knew it.
“This is entirely circumstantial.” He waved the paperwork and shook his head. “If I do this for you, what are you going to do for me?” The judge smirked and cocked his brow. “My room is ready and waiting. No one fills it quite like you, you know. My other visitors break long before you do.”
“I’m not doing that tonight,” Berg replied, not interested in doing anything that might put Jay’s baby at risk. It was a part of him and she loved it. She caressed her stomach covertly with a fingertip and wondered if it would be a boy or a girl.
Amazingly, she had passed her first trimester scans with flying colors. The next fetal scan was in a few weeks, so she still had a little while to decide what she was going to do about Jay . . . and Arena, who was at her place so often he’d practically moved in.
“Then what incentive do I have to give you a warrant without probable cause? A warrant that could potentially damage my reputation and career?”
He spoke so easily, so sure, that Berg knew he had used this particular form of blackmail many times in the past. She had chosen to be there, and most of the time she didn’t care if she lived or died.