The Shifter's Secret Baby Girl

by T. S. Ryder

  “It was never my area, so I can’t help you there.”

  Marguerite repressed a sigh of relief. “Could you direct me to Dr. Bell’s current location? I haven’t been able to find anything past his employment here.”

  Moose hummed in his throat, rocking on his heels and not meeting her eye. Avoidance tactics. “You have to understand, at the end there, Bell was . . . well, to put it bluntly, he was going crazy. His little girl died from ALS, and he became so obsessive that it was a matter of concern for the rest of us. Eventually, he was fired for unethical practices.”

  “What sort of practices?”

  “He was experimenting on people without going through the proper channels. Some of the experiments were on kids.” Moose’s expression darkened. “If you’ve got a former patient of his, then you’ve got someone who was screwed up.”

  Marguerite shook her head, her heart jumping to her throat. “I never said I had a former patient.”

  Moose’s brow furrowed. “Ah. I guess I just assumed . . . I’ve got a copy of some of his notes if you want them, anyway.”

  “Yes.” Marguerite took the USB drive that he handed her, her heart pounding and hands trembling. “And, uh, thanks. Oh, if there’s anybody else involved in ALS research that you could direct me to—"

  “Already taken care of it for you. I heard that Bell got hired by the military after he left, but I couldn’t tell you more than that. Oh, here are those ALS experts.” Moose handed her a piece of paper with names and numbers written on it. “Good luck with whatever you’re doing.”

  “Thanks. This is more than I hoped for.” Her heart pounded as she tucked the USB into her pocket. Her nerves were on end, making her want to run back to the car and plug in the drive immediately.

  Moose’s smile widened. “Well, when a pretty girl asks me for help, I deliver. I looked you up after your call . . . I have to say that the picture doesn’t do you justice.”

  Was he hitting on her? She managed to flash a smile and thank him again before taking her leave. As she walked to the car, it felt like there were springs attached to the bottom of her feet. Each step took longer than it should have since she had to force herself not to run. Moose had already back inside by the time she had turned on her engine. She pulled away without another glance.

  ***

  The USB contained more information than she dreamed of ever finding. Marguerite had forced herself to hold off from looking into it until a night where she claimed to be tired and retired to the guest room to sit on the floor with her computer while Elena slept. Her heart pounded as she sifted through the notes and finally came to the patients that Simon Bell treated – or experimented on, rather.

  It was almost one by the time she found Everett’s file. The name above his picture was Everett Jacobson. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more – that he had remembered and kept his first name or how frail he looked in his picture. Thin, wasting away. Not at all like the strong, healthy, robust person she knew.

  The real question was what was missing. There were dozens of people listed to be in Bell’s study, but Everett and Kristen hadn’t escaped from this lab. So they must have stayed with Bell after he was fired and then transferred to a new location to continue the experiments. Had they willingly gone with him? It was conceivable . . . If they were afraid that they were going to die, then they might have agreed to anything as long as Bell promised to make them well again.

  Elena rolled over and yawned.

  Marguerite shut the laptop and smiled at her. “Hey, sweetie. You ready to wake up?”

  Her daughter frowned at her. “Mommy, is Evett my daddy?”

  “Wha—” Marguerite cut herself off.

  With everything that had happened, she hadn’t told Elena that Everett was her father. Although it was partly because she forgot about it when there was a moment calm enough to tell her, there was also a part of her that didn’t know how to say it. And another part that feared what the consequences might be.

  She wanted them to bond, but they had a life and she had a practicum way on the other side of the country. This was a quick trip, or not-so-quick trip, but packing up, moving, and restarting her life wasn’t that easy. And it would only cause Elena more pain to have a father that she never saw, wouldn’t it?

  “Yes, honey,” she finally said. “He is your dad.”

  “Evett said he was. He said that sometimes mommies and daddies aren’t married. Why didn’t you marry him?” Elena sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  Oh, boy. That was a pretty heavy question. “It wasn’t right for us. But I love you. With all my heart and a thousand paper cranes.”

  Elena smiled and hopped out of her bed. “Okay. I’m going to see if Evett’s awake yet.”

  She bounded out of the room and Marguerite let out a sigh of relief. This relationship was tricky enough to navigate. She really shouldn’t have slept with him. Although she couldn’t muster up any true regret. A smile spread across her face as she remembered how attentive he was. Her eyes drifted closed and she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they could have another go . . . or two . . . or more . . . once this was over.

  Her laptop whirled, bringing her back to the present, and she set it aside with a frown. Everett had been diagnosed with ALS shortly before he came to Bell’s research. There was a note that he had had no family or friends and was suitable for the ‘phase two’ testing.

  But there had been dozens of names. Moose said that there were deaths . . . but could only two out of dozens have survived? Or did Bell have other experiments out there who, like Kristen and Everett, were alone and afraid? And, perhaps more importantly, could she find them? Could she help them?

  “Mommy,” Elena called from the other room. “Evett is awake. Can we go to the park? Or maybe we can drive out to the forest and go catch frogs!”

  ***

  The next few days were marked by Marguerite slogging through the notes that Bell had written up.

  Even though each patient had their own profile, the actual notes only referred to them as numbers. She thought that patient 37 was Everett since the details matched him best, but it was impossible to say for certain. Voice clips of notes that hadn’t been transcribed lulled her to sleep at night, and in the day, she dropped Elena off at daycare and then went to the library to pore over the notes so that she didn’t accidentally keep her laptop open when Everett came home.

  Actual leads were buried in so much information that Marguerite felt like she was back in school, overworking herself as she muddled through it all. Ten days after she had arrived at Everett’s apartment, however, she finally hit pay dirt. Simon Bell’s ex-wife’s phone number.

  “Simon?” Eliza repeated in surprise when Marguerite phoned her. “Simon and I separated shortly after our little girl passed away. It was just too painful. And he . . . his determination to find a cure kept coming between us. I needed to grieve, and I felt like he didn’t care about our loss. He just kept talking about how her sacrifice was going to save lives. But it wasn’t a sacrifice. She was taken . . . ”’

  “Do you have any idea where he might be? I think he might have valuable insights—”

  Eliza sighed over the phone. “I didn’t talk to him for years. And I didn’t want to. But he did reach out to me recently. It was so odd – just out of the blue I got a call from him. I didn’t want to talk to him. I guess I haven’t forgiven him.”

  Marguerite closed her eyes, hands trembling as she pressed the phone tighter to her ear. It was all she could do not to snap at this woman that she didn’t need their life story. Maybe she ought to have told her that she was a psychologist. That had a tendency to clam people up. On the other hand, if she was already oversharing, there was a possibility that Eliza would want to treat this like a free therapy session.

  “Do you have a number for him? An address?”

  There was silence on the other end more a moment. “I have his address.”

  Marguerite lunged for a receipt on her windowsil
l and snatched a pencil out of her purse. “Go ahead.”

  Chapter Ten – Everett

  “I’m home!” Everett waited for the patter of feet to herald Elena charging at him, but only silence answered.

  He kicked off his shoes and walked into the kitchen. The lights were off and there was no sign of Marguerite or Elena. He was home early, though, so he shrugged it off. They were probably at the park or something. Which gave him the opportunity to catch up on a few things that he hadn’t been able to do since they arrived. With a grin, he went to the cupboard and pulled out his whiskey and the pack of cigarettes hidden behind it.

  Quickly, he poured himself a glass and took a single cigarette out to the balcony before lighting up. Before he inhaled that first puff, though, he hesitated.

  He had assumed that because he didn’t get colds or viruses anymore, it meant he was immune to everything. But what if Marguerite was right? What if he could still get cancer? Now that he had a daughter and it was more than him and Kristen . . . He might struggle to help his sister out, but that didn’t mean he could give up. Elena deserved a dad who was going to stick around. Maybe Marguerite had a point about seeking out answers to what exactly happened to them.

  Everett snuffed out the cigarette and went back inside. He grabbed the whole box and flushed it down the toilet, a handful of cigarettes at a time. Given that he couldn’t get drunk, he didn’t think he was addicted, probably couldn’t get addicted, but still. It would save him a lot of money not having to buy a pack a month . . .

  The last cigarette disappeared from sight when the front door opened. Everett grinned. He bounded out to greet the girls and snatched Elena from the floor and tossed her into the air.

  “Evett!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Guess what? Today, we did finger painting at daycare and I got red paint all in my hair so I painted with it!”

  Daycare? Everett turned a shocked gaze on Marguerite. There was a distinctively guilty look on her face, and then he knew. Without even having to ask, he knew what she was doing. His heart slammed into his ribs, but he tried to push aside the emotion for Elena’s sake. He focused on his daughter and managed a smile.

  “That’s great. Do you have your picture?”

  “Nope. I’m gonna get it tomorrow because it was still wet.”

  “Oh. You’ll have to show me tomorrow then.”

  Dinner passed in a haze. Elena started to yawn shortly after, and Marguerite gave her a bath and tucked her into bed a little earlier than normal. Everett wished he had kept one of those cigarettes now. His fingers tapped nervously, and it would have been nice to have something to hold onto. He watched warily as Marguerite placed her laptop on the table. Was she going to pretend like nothing was wrong?

  “Elena is sleeping.”

  “Good.” He didn’t want her to hear them arguing.

  Marguerite rolled her shoulders and let her head fall back slightly. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk.”

  “Yes.” His chest was feeling tight and Everett attempted to breathe through it. It wasn’t the type of tightness that accompanied his attacks. This was anger, pure and simple. That was something he could control. Something he was good at controlling, actually. “So, do you want to start by explaining why you went behind my back?”

  Marguerite winced. “First, let’s make sure that we’re on the same page and that you’re angry about what I think you’re angry about.”

  “You’ve been dropping Elena off at daycare so you can research Simon Bell.”

  She chewed her lower lip and twisted her hands. “I’ve done more than that.”

  A ball of dread slipped into his stomach.

  “I found where his original studies were taking place. I have his notes. I . . . I found your file. I know what he was doing. He was looking for a cure for ALS. It’s a neurological disease—”

  “I know what it is. I saw the ice bucket challenge.” His voice came out strangled and harsh. His hands curled into fists, though he struggled to keep a lid on his temper.

  Marguerite watched him for a long moment, then took a deep breath. “You were a volunteer. You had ALS and, from your file, you only had a year at best left to live. Bell was splicing genes or something. He doesn’t go into detail about his technique. But he was fired for unethical practices and then he dropped off the map ten years ago. And since you escaped him six years ago, there’s a four-year gap where we don’t know anything about what was going on. And . . . I found him, Everett. I found Bell. We can get the answers we need, find out what exactly he did.”

  “You . . . ” His chest was tightening again, this time with the telltale signs of panic fluttering around its edges. “You had no right. If he finds out, he could come after us.”

  “I don’t think he will.” She moved forward and reached out, but he jumped back, not wanting her to touch him. “He was looking for a cure because his daughter died from ALS. I don’t think that he meant to do whatever he did that erased your memories. We need answers, though. You know we do.”

  The door opened. Kristen came in, her eyes wild. She paused when she saw Everett but strode forward and pushed her way between him and Marguerite. Everything about how she was holding herself read like a caged animal suddenly set free. His sister grabbed Marguerite’s shoulders and, even before she spoke, he knew what this meant. She had put Marguerite up to this, and now Marguerite had told her that she had answers. They must have swapped numbers that day when he was out.

  “Where is he?” Kristen demanded harshly.

  “No.” Everett pushed himself between the two women again. “Marguerite, don’t tell her anything.”

  Marguerite gave him a bewildered look.

  “She wants to kill him.” Everett narrowed his eyes at Kristen. He didn’t care about Bell, but if Kristen went after him, she could get herself killed. “Don’t tell her.”

  “What?” Marguerite’s voice squeaked and she attempted to push past him again but he didn’t budge. “What are you talking about? Kill him? No. She just wants answers, like me. Don’t you?”

  Kristen glared at Everett. Her whole body trembled and her fists clenched tight. Her nostrils flared as she glanced first at him and then over his shoulder at Marguerite. A flash of uncertainty crossed her face, but Everett knew better than to let down his guard. His sister might look defeated, but she never gave up that easily.

  “I have all the answers I need,” Kristen growled eventually. “He made me this way and he has to suffer for it.”

  “No.” Marguerite shook her head. “No, that’s not . . . I know why he did this. I’m sure I can find your file and let you know who you were—”

  “I said I already have all the answers I need!” Kristen lunged for her.

  Everett stepped into his sister’s path, expecting that she would pull back before impact. He was wrong. Both of her fists drove into his stomach before he had a chance to realize that she was attacking. Pain exploded through him and he doubled over, wheezing. Kristen attempted to dart past him, but he grabbed her around the waist and charged back, away from Marguerite.

  Kristen elbowed him in the back and kicked him when he dropped her. “Why are you protecting him? He made us monsters and—”

  “We’re not monsters!” Everett roared back, blocking another punch. He grabbed Kristen’s wrist and swung her into the kitchen, where they’d have more room, putting more distance between her and Marguerite. In her state of mind, he didn’t know what she was going to do and couldn’t risk her hurting the more fragile woman. “Not unless we act like it.”

  She attempted to round to his left, but he blocked her. When she darted to his right, he was right there, too. Kristen panted, her eyes wide. “Get out of my way, or I swear, I’ll make you regret it.”

  “Kristen, please.” Everett attempted to soften his voice. “I know you’re angry. I know that it hurts and it’s confusing and terrifying. But killing isn’t the answer. It never is.”

  “Right.” Her voice broke. “Never? The world
would be a hell of a lot better if somebody had shot Hitler in the face before he brought the Nazis to power.”

  “Kristen—"

  She lunged for him. Everett grabbed her and threw her back as Marguerite gasped. Kristen’s gaze narrowed. A look of fury and determination came over her face and she backed up a step. One hand shot out and grabbed the cast-iron frying pan that he’d used to make cinnamon buns with Elena – they were always better when made in cast-iron, he didn’t know why – and she shook her head.

  “Don’t.” Everett held out his hands. “Kristen, come on. We’ve been through so much together. We need to just talk this through. Marguerite’s right. We need answers. Maybe Bell can undo what he did.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Kristen charged at him again, bringing the frying pan at him with a feral scream. He didn’t move away in time. The heavy skillet crashed into his head. The blow made his vision black out. When it cleared, he was laying on the floor and everything looked a little strange. Smushed, almost. He groaned as white-hot pain shot through his skull.

  A scream, sounding like it came from a very, very far distance. He pushed himself to his elbows to see Kristen with a tight grip in Marguerite’s hair as she smashed the other woman’s face into a wall. Everett snarled. He jumped to his feet only to sway on the spot and go back down to one knee. Marguerite dropped, but she still moved and writhed.

  “Evett! Help me!”

  Elena.

  The little girl was slung over Kristen’s shoulder. His heart nearly stopped and he jumped to his feet again. Rage boiled through him and he started forward with a roar on his lips, but when Kristen’s gaze flashed to his, he stopped. She wouldn’t hurt Elena. She couldn’t.

  “Put her down,” he said, anger and fear in his voice. “Kristen. Let’s talk about this. You’re not going to hurt a child. That isn’t the kind of person you are.”