Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4)

by Manda Mellett

  “Then you’ll get the next assignment that comes up. As a CPO.”

  It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but as they do, a full smile comes to my face when I understand that, in front of everyone, I’ve just been promoted. That working with Sean isn’t going to be a one-off, he’s suggesting a proper operative role! As the others rush to congratulate me, Ben waves away my thanks and a bolt of excitement hits me. This is what I’ve aimed for, and what I’ve been working so hard toward. At last, Ben’s agreed I’m going to be sent out in the field.

  As the others stand and leave the room, I sink back down into the chair and put my head in my hands. The first woman CPO at Grade A. Wow!

  A baby’s wail from out in the corridor brings me back to my senses. Shit, before I get sent out on a proper assignment I’m going to have to help Sean find the mother of his child; to work alongside a very real reminder of the worst thing that ever happened to me.

  What the hell do I do? Torture myself by being placed in an impossible situation? I wait a few moments, thoughts racing round my head. Babies and I do not mix. After a few minutes, I leave the room, make my way further up the corridor, and rap on an office door.

  “Enter.” I do so, and find Ben relaxing back on his large manager’s chair, his hands laced behind his neck. “Ah, Van, have you had some thoughts on Sean’s little problem?” He smirks at his own joke.

  Not too sure how to put my concerns, I pull out the seat on the other side of the desk and I sit down, my posture stiff. “Not exactly, Ben. I came to say I don’t think I should be the one to work with Sean.”

  Slowly he slides his hands down from his neck, his arms extending until his elbows are resting on the table. His eyes probe mine. “Strange,” he tuts, “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

  I look down and worry at a snag on one of my nails. How can I explain? “I just don’t think I’m right for this case.”

  His fingers move in a gimme gesture; I haven’t explained enough. “You know my background, Ben. I don’t want to be around a baby.”

  His brow furrows, “I understand your worries, Van, but I asked you to work with Sean. I didn’t pick you for any maternal skills you may or may not have. I don’t expect you to act as a babysitter, so get that out of your head if that’s what you’re thinking. I didn’t select you because you’re a woman.” He sighs, “Look, Van, I know you think I’ve been holding you back, but I need to know you’re properly prepared and can put your training to use out on a mission. I realise you’re desperate to get out working a protection role, but like any of my team, you need to prove yourself before you can take the lead on a case. Sean’s one of our best men, and you could learn a lot from him. Plus, there’ll be some puzzles to solve, and that’s your strong point. I put the two of you together because I thought it would work.”

  “But Ben…”

  “No, listen to me, Van. How would it be if everyone wanted to pick and choose the jobs they were assigned to? It would be chaos, and you know that. I know two years ago, you trusted me with what happened to you, and I supported you then. I let you undertake training that I know you wanted to do, partly to help put what happened behind you. And now I need you to prove yourself. Are you asking me to vet all cases I assign you to? What if a mother with a child needs a CPO? Are you telling me that I wouldn’t be able to use you on that? If you can’t take on whatever I give you, maybe this kind of work isn’t for you after all.”

  “Ben, you know how hard I’ve worked.” I’ve done all the requisite training, spent hours at the shooting range getting top scores, and suffered more than enough bruises honing my hand to hand combat skills. I don’t have to tell him that, he’ll have got all the reports. “It’s just this particular case…”

  “It’s this case, or nothing, Van. I need people I can rely on. If you’ve a problem, tell me.”

  I stare down at my hands and mumble, “I don’t think I can work with Sean.”

  “Now, unless you can give me a professional reason as to why you can’t work with him, then you’ll either suck it up or revert to your office role.” He sits back again, folding his arms, “And let me tell you now, having a dislike for the way he conducts himself in his private life is not sufficient reason not to want to be his partner. I’m not asking you to jump into bed with the man. Christ, that’s the last thing I want. Operatives getting involved?” He shakes his head to emphasis the point.

  I go to speak, but he hasn’t finished.

  “In fact, Van, I’m reassured to find you don’t like him very much. It means that’s one worry off my mind. But I expect you to have his back, just the same as if I’d sent one of the men with him.”

  I’ve been pushed into a corner; any argument would come back to the fact I’m female. None of the men would use an objection to his sexuality as an excuse not to team up with him. If I want this new role, I’ll just have to suck it up. “Of course, I’ll have Sean’s back, Ben. You can rely on me.”

  Now he looks smug, “I know I can. And hopefully wrapping this up won’t take long, and we can see what else there is to offer you.”

  He’s left me no choice. Either I work with Sean and help him find his baby mamma, or I give up a chance to work as a CPO.

  Chapter 8

  Sean

  I’ve never even considered the possibility of having children. Well, for a start I always believed you’d need to settle down for that, and I’m about as far from a settling down type you can get! So how the fuck did I get into this position?

  Walking into my flat carrying a gurgling baby in my arms, I stare down at her, unable to comprehend where she’s come from. If she’s actually mine, why didn’t this Dannie or Danielle person tell me she was pregnant? Didn’t I deserve to know, even if it was a mistake? Did she just assume I wouldn’t want to be involved? But if that was the case, ruefully, I accept that she could have had a point. Nothing about me screams paternal instinct.

  Or could it be that Dannie just hazarded a guess as to who the father was? Surely that’s more likely? Not wanting to become involved in a relationship, I only play with like-minded women who know the score, so anyone I slept with is likely to have morals as loose as my own. Shit, what a debacle. If she’s in trouble she might have picked me as I work for Grade A. But how would she have known who I was or my job? If I didn’t know her name, I doubt I’d have given her mine.

  A shuffling in my arms warns me Mollie’s awake now, but she seems happy enough. Well, she should be given the amount of attention she was getting on the tube. No one, fucking no one, on the underground system in London ever looks another person in the eye. Never. That is, unless you happen to be carrying a baby who’s kicking off the blankets just for the entertainment of seeing her adult carer pick them up time and time again. An activity which caused everyone around me to smile and even laugh, including the person who kindly gave up their seat for me. Someone giving up their seat? Un-fucking-heard of.

  “Jeez, Moll,” I suppose I might as well be talking to myself as to a baby, but as she swings those blue eyes, already seeming to shine with intelligence, round to meet mine, I’m certain she can understand the sentiment, if not the words. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?” She stares at me intently, then, slowly, her face starts to pucker and grow red, and she begins to grow rigid in my arms. Shit, is she having some kind of fit? Her smile has gone, her cheeks are clenched. Suddenly there’s a loud farting sound―too loud to come from such a small creature―and a stench fills the air. Oh, shit! Literally. What the fuck do I do now? And then she giggles as if she’s done the funniest thing in the world. Yeah, right. Perhaps she is mine after all!

  When I’d left Grade A today, it had taken me a while to get out of the office. Everyone wanted to coo at the sweet baby that had arrived in such an unusual way, and I’d had lots of offers of help. Thankfully, one of the girls at the office, who had a young baby of her own, had run out to get the stuff she expected I’d need to see me through tonight. In fact, another had eve
n offered to take Mollie for me, but already something I can’t describe makes me reluctant to let her out of my sight. But at least I’m prepared with everything I need, even if I know fuck all about how to use it.

  Is she mine? Shaking my head, I dismiss the question. As soon as I saw my eyes mirrored in hers, I knew I didn’t have to wait for the DNA test results; I already know I sired her. And no one else is going to be fucking looking after her.

  Carrying her through to the bathroom, still not quite believing I, Sean Cooper, a Grade A CPO and a Master Dom, am now removing a cute little baby’s all-in-one Babygro, and attempting to take off a dirty nappy. Christ, how could one tiny baby shit so much? Is it normal? It’s gone everywhere! I look round, fuck, what the hell do I do? I can’t use these flimsy wipes; there’s far too much crap for that. Trying to balance a shitty baby on my arm I reach over to switch on the bath taps, before realising that she’s probably too young to use the big tub. Fucking hell, though, she needs a bath. Reaching the only conclusion I can, I decide there’s nothing for it, but to get in with her.

  So, that’s how it comes about that I’m lying naked with the youngest girl I’ve ever had in my arms in a bath half full of water, far cooler than I’d usually have it. And I’m loving every second. Her giggling, as I splash water over her little body, is infectious. She seems to find it one big joke as I hold her awkwardly and try to wash her, and at the same time, clean myself up. Fuck, how did I get crap in my hair?

  Finally, and admittedly clumsily, I manage it. Both of us clean, I get her out, dry her, lay her on a towel and have her into a new nappy and clothes, before I even notice the cooling drops of water causing goosebumps on my own skin. Huh! That’s the Dom instinct for you, putting someone else’s needs before my own.

  ****

  It’s a bit like déjà vu when I arrive at the office the next morning. Sandra might have added a probing look as I entered the lobby, but her cheery ‘Good Morning’ is exactly the same as it was yesterday and every day before that. It’s almost as if nothing had happened, and it would have been the same old same old had I not driven here from my mother’s house instead of taking public transport from my own home. And, of course, if I hadn’t still been reeling from a rather stern parental tongue lashing the night before.

  After my triumph with the bath yesterday evening I quickly discovered babies need more attention than I knew how to provide. Soon, I was regretting my rather rash decision to take Mollie home with me and finally admitted that I needed help. And there was one point of call for that. Mum.

  I might have long been out of nappies myself, but I’d wilted as my mother had left me in no doubt how disappointed she was with the whole situation. The problem wasn’t that I was presenting her with a possible grandchild, but the admittedly rather unsavoury fact that I hadn’t introduced a serious girlfriend to her first and, not the least, that I had no fucking idea who the mother was. Oh yes, my one surviving parent didn’t pull her punches on that one. But that didn’t stop her getting down to business and sorting out what was to be done with the little one. I’d left her this morning surfing the net researching modern child care methods. She is, after all, thirty-six years out of date. I’m not abdicating my responsibility for Mollie, just admitting I’m going to require some support if I’m going to look after her.

  Last night I’d slept in mum’s guestroom with a baby curled up by my side; cushions and pillows plumped around to keep her safe and to prevent me rolling on her. And although now I might be bleary eyed and having to suppress a yawn, there’s a sense of pride that I managed the night feeds and changes without asking for help. And waking up to that smiling face and being greeted with baby gurgles, which I like to interpret as a ‘Hi Dad’? Well, that made the lack of sleep worthwhile.

  Now I’m back at Grade A, Mollie safely left in the already doting care of her new grandmother. Exiting the lift on the third floor, a couple of people glance at my empty hands as if they’d expected me to bring the baby in with me, and a couple throw me quizzical looks, as though wondering what I’ve done with her. I’d already had to ignore Sandra’s pointed looks and now want to evade the rest of the inquisition. I make my way to the same conference room where we assembled only yesterday. It might only be twenty-four hours ago, but it seems a lifetime away when I was a single man with no responsibilities. Pausing before entering, I think about the devastating change to my life that’s happened in such a short time. Yesterday morning I was a carefree bachelor, now I find I’m a father. Talk about a shock to the bloody system.

  It’s a few minutes before nine, and already half the team is assembled when I push open the door and join them. Glancing around before entering, I see rest of my colleagues either exiting the lift behind me or, having arrived earlier, coming out of their office doors carrying cups of their preferred brew.

  It’s soon evident that lack of sleep has shortened my temper and it doesn’t take long before I start to get fed up of explaining where Mollie is, and start giving people the short version consisting of just one word. “Mum’s.” I need to explain no further, my mother has a sort of notoriety around Grade A―her cupcakes are famous, and she often makes batches to bring in for someone’s birthday. Being her only son, I’m still somewhat spoilt even at my advanced age. And then, of course, her chosen career is always a topic of interest. Being a scriptwriter, people are often trying to pry and try to find out what’s going to happen on one of the popular soaps. But to no avail, mum never lets on, even to me.

  Ben’s the last to enter, and he gives me a querying look before taking his seat. Suspecting I know what his silent question is, I respond with a quick shake of my head, confirming I’ve had no news as yet. But as I’m giving him the negative signal my phone buzzes with a text coming through, an out of place sound to interrupt our meeting. But today I’ve kept my phone switched on lying on the table in front of me, now vibrating and threatening to jump onto the floor.

  We’re meeting for just one reason today, and there’s no point starting until I read the gist of the message and let the others know what it says. My hand hovers in the air, knowing the confirmation I want to read, dreading it in case I’m wrong. I hope my colleagues can’t see me crossing the fingers of my other hand under the table.

  Taking the plunge, I pick up the phone then nod to show that it was indeed the text I’d been waiting for. As I read the results I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Briefly, I roll my head back on my neck, letting the words sink in, trying to analyse my feelings, a mixture of fear and elation, but no disappointment. I knew it from the moment I saw her. There was never any doubt.

  Ben’s cough makes me look up. They’re all looking at me, trying to interpret my reaction, so I quickly put them out of my misery. “She’s mine. Mollie is mine!” I repeat, trying to keep the triumph out of my voice.

  “Good news?” Jon glances over at me. He would take it that way, Mia, his wife, is eight months pregnant and after her miscarriage would count any baby as precious.

  However unprepared I feel to be a father, however much I never expected to be in this position, I feel I’ve won the lottery with the news. I smile tentatively, as I reply, “Yes.”

  My reaction is clearly unexpected, but apart from varying degrees of amusement and incredulity being exchanged, no one says anything. I glance down and re-read the text, astounded by the feeling of elation that I am that beautiful baby girl’s father. But just as quickly reality sets in. How the fuck can I raise a daughter? I’m simply not that kind of man; my lifestyle has no room for a child. That Mollie’s mine is amazing. That I could ever look after her by myself is impossible. Dragging my hand across my eyes, I grasp what’s now most important. “We have to find her mother.” And return the baby to her proper place. I can’t understand why that thought causes my stomach to drop.

  Ben, like the others, is watching me, giving me time to process the life-changing news I’ve just received, and I’m grateful when he simply says, “That’s what we’
re here for. We’ve got this, brother.”

  Brother. Yes, this team is family. We work together, have each other’s backs in dangerous situations, and often, well, some of us at least, we play together. They might rib me, but they’ll support and help me too.

  I nod in thanks, then pose that all-important question, “So where the fuck is she, and why did she drop Mollie off?” Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the table and cup my chin. “Mollie’s been well-looked after. She’s a well fed, happy child. So, what made her mother leave her with me?”

  “Postnatal depression? Could be any one of a number of reasons.” Harry’s obviously been thinking about it. “That can be a nasty thing. If she’s suffering from anxiety, she might not think the baby is safe with her. She might be worried she’d hurt her, or not be able to look after her.”

  With a dip of my head, I acknowledge the possibility. But, “I don’t like the wording of the note.” I’m thinking out loud. “The way it was written, phrased, it’s like she was panicking and had no other option. You might be right, Harry, it might something of that ilk, but I have to find out.”

  Obviously, Ben agrees, as indicated by his next words. “Van, Nafisa. You’ve done some digging already. What have you managed to come up with?”

  Van had had a curious expression on her face as I’d disclosed the results, one I couldn’t read. Now I examine her carefully, seeing a flush on her face as she shakes her head, and after only a moment’s hesitation begins to speak, “Not a lot. We tried the obvious route first. The address on the birth certificate was a false one. Well, the house and street exist, but a Danielle Smith never lived there. The house has been owned and occupied for fifty years by a couple now in their eighties. They have no children and no knowledge of a recently pregnant woman. Just in case they were hiding anything we queried enough of the neighbours to know it’s a dead end.” As she finishes her spiel, she glances across at me, catches me watching her, and looks back down at her tablet with a frown. Her blush deepens.