by Lisa Hughey
Jordan introduced us briefly. “Thea, Staci.”
They caught up on mutual friends while I huddled in the miniscule back seat like a recalcitrant child and hoped that I wouldn’t puke all over the pristine, butterscotch leather.
I hadn’t allowed myself to think about the material things I’d left behind on my quest to find out who was after me. And I knew it was silly, but I missed my car and my soft, soft six hundred thread count cotton sheets and my gardenia-scented Jacuzzi.
I knew in my heart those objects were just symbols. What I’d really lost was myself. I knew I was more than a collection of things, more than bank accounts and assets, but inside...I was lost.
I was floundering like a newborn colt, lurching around trying to find balance, find me again. Most days every step took me further away from myself. Maybe it was time to become someone new.
But how...when every move was dictated in response to some unknown threat from an unknown source.
I went over the details again, thinking something would jump out at me. I considered the other people on the 5491 list and how we could all be connected. I suppose someone could be targeting all of the survivors receiving those payments, but so far Brad Johnson was the only dead recipient of that money.
Thea pulled her car into the garage in her building, across from Central Park.
“Right, Staci?” Jordan asked.
I blinked. I’d lost complete track of their conversation and mutual admiration society. “What?”
“I described your symptoms for Thea. Extreme nausea, inability to keep food down.”
“You’re not having any trouble right now, are you?” Only smooth professionalism coated her voice, but I heard the little tremor.
Worried about your car, honey?
I couldn’t help it. I hesitated, making her squirm for a second, then smiled cheerfully. “Nope. Actually I’m starving right now.”
“Exhaustion. Lack of energy.”
We got out of her car and headed for the bank of elevators. “Hmm. Let’s go inside where I can take a closer look.”
Thea even freaking walked gracefully. I shuffled along like an old lady, my gait awkward.
Of course, her apartment was perfect.
Beautiful, elegant, bright art with fluid lines reminiscent of Diego Rivera subtly lit with accent lights and sleek modern furniture in a minimalist style.
“Why don’t we go into the bathroom for some privacy.” Thea waved casually toward the kitchen. “Jordan help yourself to something to drink. I’ve got a lovely Cab on the counter just waiting to be opened.”
I wanted to tell her Jordan wasn’t really a wine guy. He preferred a hearty stout to wine, but he answered first. “Thanks. Your wine is always bueno.” Jordan smiled easily, sincerely as they fell into a sort of Spanglish.
As I watched their easy interaction, I had to remind myself again...whatever I’d thought we had, wasn’t, anymore. It was amazing really how much that hurt. How much I wanted to focus on that sad fact rather than the more immediate problem of my health and safety.
As Thea and I walked into the bathroom, I tried for simple curiosity. “So, how do you two know each other?”
“We went to the same church growing up. My mama and Jordan’s are amigas.”
She pulled a doctor bag out from underneath the sink. Fitting the stethoscope to her ears, she listened to my heartbeat and lungs. Then she checked my mouth, nasal passages and ears.
“Hmmm.”
She used the light to check my eyes. Hit my knees with her little hammer. Did all the innocuous things that doctors do. All the while, hmmm-ing at each part of my body she checked.
She used her hands and pressed on the sides of my neck. She moved down to the spot where neck and shoulder met. As of yet, she hadn’t asked me to take off my clothes which I was dreading.
My scars disgusted even me.
I hated to look at them. No one besides my captors, and me, had seen them.
She pushed back the cuffs of the sleeves and involuntarily took a step back. “Jesus. What happened to you?”
“Classified.” I didn’t want to talk about it.
I certainly wasn’t going to spill any of my secrets to her. She pressed gently on the yellowing bruises, hesitating when I winced.
“These are deep tissue. They’re going to take a long time to heal.”
“Guess I won’t be doing any modeling next week,” I replied flippantly.
She pushed the cuff all the way up my left arm, taking a quick breath when she saw evidence of the break. “This wasn’t set properly.”
“I know.” I shrugged the sleeve back down and said mildly, “Can we move on to something new, like any suggestions on how to keep food down?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Can I run my hands over your ribcage and abdomen?”
“Ribs are fine.” Apparently I’d won the torture sweepstakes and missed broken ribs. I’d had them before and they sucked.
“Please,” she asked tightly.
“Go ahead.”
She ran her hands slowly over my ribcage and down my stomach, stopping at the evidence of my hipbones sticking out and the concave valley of my abdomen.
“I’d like you to give me a urine sample.”
“You can run tests here?”
“I can do a few simple ones, then I’ll take the rest in to the office tomorrow.”
She handed me a plastic cup, and turned around while I took care of business.
“You have any idea what’s wrong?”
“I have some suspicions. Let me run the tests, and we’ll go from there.”
So at least she’d seen whatever was dogging me before.
As I turned around to give back the cup, we both noticed that my urine was a dark yellow.
“You have to drink more liquids.”
“Yeah. I know I’m dehydrated, but I can’t keep anything down.”
“As soon as the time of day comes when you can keep food down, you really need to drink as much as you can.” She puttered around the bathroom. “I’d really like to set you up on an IV drip.”
“Not happening.”
“Okay. Go on out to the living room. I’ll be out in two minutes.”
Wow. The tests must be fast. “Okay.”
Jordan stood staring out at the lights of Central Park, a glass of blood red wine in his hand. His long fingers clasped the glass tensely, the strength in his hands, his wrists standing out in the healthy veins.
“How’d it go?”
“She thinks she might have an idea.”
Thea was back out two minutes later, her face pale and set. Shit. That didn’t look good.
“What’s wrong?” Jordan asked before I could even open my mouth.
“I need to talk to Staci. Alone.”
“It’s okay.” I was so tired I wanted a second pair of ears to listen to what she had to say.
“I really think you’d prefer to do this alone.”
“Just do it.”
“When you were...tortured.” Thea paused.
Give the girl a gold medal for figuring out that one.
“Did they...rape you?”
“What?” Rape. Why would she think that?
“Jesus,” Jordan said.
“Did they....”
“I heard you the first time, and no. They didn’t rape me.”
“Thank God,” Jordan whispered.
“Why would you think that?”
“You’re pregnant.”
TWENTY-THREE
In the minimalist room, the loud roar of silence was heavy.
No one moved. I was frozen, as if someone had impaled a giant spike through the middle of my body and literally nailed me to the floor.
No one spoke. We all just stood there as if struck mute.
Really. I had heard her. I knew what she said. She hadn’t been speaking in tongues, except, except....
“Madre de Dios,” Jordan whispered.
“Fuck,” was my m
ore succinct reply.
“I would say that is what got you this way,” Thea said briskly.
Ha, ha. Suddenly she’s a comedienne?
I couldn’t be pregnant. I was on the pill. And we used condoms.
“You weren’t raped?” Jordan asked again with just a little too much urgency for me. Was he looking for a way out? A ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card. And then I stopped that thought. Of course he didn't want me to be raped.
But the horrified look on his face spurred me on. “No luck for you, huh?”
“What!?”
“Maybe you’re hoping I’ve miraculously had sex with someone else between leaving you in D.C., getting thrown in an Afghan prison, escaping, and being on the run. Yeah, it’s been a regular sex-fest.” I grabbed his leather backpack. I knew I was being unfair but the words just kept spewing out.
Thea’s eyes widened as she looked at Jordan. I knew what she was thinking. You had sex with her?
“Yes. He had sex with me. Apparently one too many times. Right, amigo?”
I opened the flap and started rifling through the contents looking for his wallet.
“I...I’m going to write you a prescription for some pre-natal vitamins. Which you should start taking right away.”
I pulled out his wallet, opened up the shiny crocodile skin and grabbed a few Benjamins.
I ignored her. I couldn’t fill a prescription under my name.
“What’s the best over-the-counter vitamin?” I worked on keeping my cool as the reality of her diagnosis sunk in.
“You need to see an obstetrician, to come up with your due date or...a cut off date.” She cast a worried glance at Jordan as she scribbled on a prescription pad.
I knew exactly when the baby was conceived. Even being on the pill, we always used condoms too. Except for that one time.
I could probably narrow the conception down to a fifteen minute window. The night before I left the U.S. and my world shifted on its axis.
My world was shifting again.
“I’d appreciate it if you forgot you ever met me,” I addressed Thea, although Jordan would probably benefit from that advice too.
He just watched me stuff the bills into my jeans pocket.
Even knowing I’d planned to leave him, I found that his lack of protest burned a hole through my gut. Or maybe that was just the acid churning in my stomach.
Usually by this time of night I could keep stuff down, but it had been a hell of a day.
“And forget about the capture, prison, escape thing.” I couldn’t believe I’d been so off-balance I’d revealed that information.
Jordan said, “Thea, can we borrow your bedroom?”
“Uh, sure.” She glanced back and forth between the two of us waiting to see what would happen next.
Jordan grabbed my forearm with far less gentleness than I’d expected. But I let him. We had to have this out, and then I could blow this pop stand.
He led me into her bedroom. The mood in here was similar to the rest of the apartment, luxurious and minimalist all at the same time. More Rivera-like art graced her walls.
Over the bed two lovers twined together in an embrace that was frankly sensual.
I glanced away, unwilling to bring up memories of other times we’d been together in other bedrooms.
“You don’t really think you’re taking off, do you?”
I consciously avoided thinking about the last ten minutes. “I’ll pay you back.”
“You think I’ll let you walk out of here when you have my baby growing inside of you?”
Baby. Didn’t want to go there. Wasn’t touching that one.
His voice had risen spectacularly which was, on one hand, totally fascinating.
Forget the whole stereotypical Latino hothead image, Jordan was impossibly calm and serene. Nothing ever made him blow his cool, and he never, ever raised his voice.
On the other hand, did he really think he was going to order me around?
I watched him pull back his temper, tuck it away, and fall back into the cool, collected front he normally presented to the world.
“You are not leaving without me.”
The steel in his voice was unmistakable.
Every once in awhile I underestimated him. He could be such a teddy bear I tended to forget about his sniper training with the FBI. They didn’t take just anyone for HRT. You had to be patient, focused, and deadly accurate.
And live with the surety of your decisions. He once told me he never regretted anything.
Bet he’d changed his mind on that one.
“Guess we should have used a condom,” I jabbed.
“Shut. Up.” Jordan stared at the picture over the bed. “We’ve got to figure out what to do next.”
“Nothing. We do nothing.”
He looked down at his hands, realized he was still clenching the glass and took a large gulp of red wine. “Jesus.”
“No, I’d say if it’s a boy we name him...Paul. Look. This is not your problem.”
“You are right,” he said fiercely. “A baby is not a problem.”
Suddenly the reality of everything hit me.
Pregnant was only one piece but I couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. Oh shit. Oh, shit. A baby.
A baby.
How the hell could there be a baby inside me?
And oh my god, I’d injected the pigment drug to turn my skin dark. That drug couldn’t possibly be good for a baby, as it wasn’t very good for an adult.
“We’ve got to find Susan Chen,” he said desperately.
“What?”
Now that certainly wasn’t first on my list of things to do--since I had people after me and just figured out I was cooking a baby.
“I’m gestating. Find Susan Chen? What the hell is that?”
“She’s the only one who will have any idea what the DNA drug in your body will do to a baby.”
Shit. I’d forgotten about the supposed DNA drug.
Great. Barely out of the zygote stage, and my baby was a drug addict.
I sank down onto the plush duvet of the bed. I was already a failure as a mother.
The scent of corn tortillas and some sort of spicy pepper wafted into the bedroom where we’d both fallen silent.
Really. What was there to say?
“I need to figure out who is after me. Otherwise the drug is the least of this baby’s problems. If I’m dead....”
“I will protect you.” Jordan straightened, squaring his shoulders.
The odor from the food grew stronger. And it smelled really, really good. Suddenly I was ravenous.
I needed food. Now.
“I need to eat.” We hadn’t solved anything and right at this minute I didn’t care.
“We need to settle this.”
“I need to eat.” Just in case he wasn’t getting it. “Now.”
“That’s Thea’s mama’s Chile Rellenos. It’s probably too spicy.”
“It smells great, and I want it.” I was already out the door and headed for the kitchen.
“Okay.” I could hear him following me. “But this isn’t over.”
We had about seven more months. Assuming I could stay alive that long.
We walked into the kitchen silently.
Thea slid a platter on the black lacquer table. “I just got paged. I have to go.”
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“Cardiologist.” She put a container of salsa on the table. “My father had a massive heart attack in front of me when I was eight.”
Wow. Then her specialty sunk in. Ha. Cardiologist. Not an obstetrician. For a moment, I had hope. She’d made a mistake.
“Chica, those home pregnancy tests are ninety-nine percent accurate. It wasn’t a mistake.”
Apparently she was a mind reader too.
“You two are welcome to spend the night in my guestroom. It’s a little on the small side, but will work for a night or two.”
I was too busy shoveling the stuffed
peppers into my mouth. I’d never tasted anything so good in my life. “Oh my god, these are great.”
“Go easy on those or you’ll end up with heartburn,” she cautioned. “And drink lots of milk or water tonight. You really need to--”
“Hydrate. I know. I know.”
She swung a Prada bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. “Adios.”
The door closed. Whirlwind Thea was gone and suddenly we were all alone.
Totally alone. Just the two of us.
With no catastrophe to rescue me from having to deal with him. I took a large swallow of water, put my head down and kept eating.
Jordan ate slowly, contemplatively. I really didn’t want to know what he was thinking with such a somber look on his face.
“We need a plan.”
We? “Seriously, I can figure this out.”
“I would never abandon my child.”
“No one said anything about abandonment. But really, it’s not like we planned this.” I’d figure something out. At least I had plenty of money. Once I could come out in the open and access the funds again.
I couldn’t think about a baby. I’d never even let myself believe I would have children. I’d have to let someone close to me. Until Jordan, the possibility had seemed remote.
He just looked at me. “I never told you about my father.”
Okay. Right there was a start to a conversation I’d prefer not to have. Not now. Perhaps not ever. “Uh, no. Just, he wasn’t in the picture.”
“My mother worked in his house.”
It appeared I wasn’t going to get a vote. Clearly he needed to get this out.
“Logically, morally she knew having an affair with her employer was wrong. But he was rich and powerful and paying attention to a lowly maid. She said she was so enthralled.”
Okay. His father was a pig.
“When she got pregnant, he gave her money to get an abortion.”
A big pig.
“She didn’t have one. Obviously adultery was one thing but killing a baby...she couldn’t do it.”
I swallowed away the lump from the emotion in his voice.
We wouldn’t be having this conversation if she had. “I promise you, I would talk to you before I made the decision to abort the baby.” Except just the thought of an abortion had me placing my hand protectively over my stomach.