“No. For the other night. For not understanding how you might worry about Matt being back.”
Worry about Matt? He frowned at her. Man, it was hard to concentrate on what she was saying and find his way into her purse. “What are you talking about?”
“I realized it was the first time Matt’s been back since we started dating and that you might worry that—” She swallowed. “You know, that I might go back to him. Like I’ve done before.”
But he hadn’t worried about that. Not once. “No, Jordan. I trusted you.” Completely.
His thumb braced the small purse while two of his fingers fumbled through paper and pens, her wallet, a cough drop—What did a nail kit feel like? Where was it?
Peterson approached. “Enough of this. What are you, a nurse?”
Cam held still, praying his body shielded the purse from Peterson’s view.
The guy grabbed Jordan’s arm and pulled her to her feet.
She squawked out a painful protest.
Cam bit his tongue, trying not to react, to do anything that would make Peterson realize how desperate he’d be to keep her safe.
What would he do if the man started hurting Jordan? No way could he give up Anna.
But he couldn’t give up Jordan either.
Peterson shoved Jordan onto the edge of the bed, and she caught herself, staying upright. “I assume,” Peterson said, sending Cam a quick glance of hate, “that you also know where Hannah is. Why don’t you tell me so we can all go home?”
Jordan stared up at him. “Does Joelle know you’re here?”
Peterson jerked his head back toward Jordan at his wife’s name.
“Wait.” She pointed at him. “You sent that text from Joelle.”
What text?
“You did, didn’t you? What’s happened to your wife? Is she okay? Did you kill her too? Just like that nurse?”
Peterson took a step back, eyes narrowing with anger. With hate.
Dread filled Cam. How could she let Peterson know that they knew? What was she doing?
“Why’d you kill her? Was she going to tell Anna that the baby didn’t belong to you and Joelle? That you gave her the wrong embryo?”
“I didn’t give her the wrong embryo!” Peterson barked. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”
Cam dug through the purse. His fingers brushed against a zipper in the purse’s wall.
“Your wife’s not the mother. You’re not the father—”
“Oh, I’m the father.” Peterson nodded emphatically. “I made sure I was the father.”
“Then who…”
The zipper gave beneath his trembling fingers, slowly moving sideways.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Peterson snapped his gaze Cam’s way.
Cam froze.
“You got any guesses, Winters?”
“No.”
Peterson reached for Jordan.
Cam’s heart jumped. “I mean, I thought maybe the baby was Tony’s. Tony and Anna’s. That she was pregnant when she went in for the procedure and you never told her.”
“That wouldn’t have worked. Tony was too dark. Joelle would have known we weren’t the parents.” He gave a humorless laugh. “If only Hannah had been pregnant. We would have looked elsewhere for a surrogate. And none of this would have happened.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew Sophie.” He slipped a finger inside the pocket. “She might not have been perfect in your eyes, but she’s exactly the way she’s supposed to be. She is absolutely perfect.”
Peterson shook his head. “Really, Winters? She had Down’s. That’s what the test showed. You call that perfect?”
He raised his chin. “Absolutely.”
“Fine then. If it’s worth getting beat up for. Tased over. Watching your girlfriend go through all that too. Then I guess you’re right.”
A whimper bubbled out of Jordan.
“No!” The word burst out before he could contain it. He jerked forward, and the purse tilted with him. He grabbed it with every finger in his weary hand, losing the pocket. “No. Please. She’s not part of this.”
Peterson pulled the taser out of his coat pocket. “What’s your name, honey? Jordan? Is that right?”
She cowered before him, her eyes trained on the gun. “Yes.”
Cam held his breath, his fingers reaching back into the pocket.
“She’s real pretty, Winters. And there are so many ways I can hurt her. Is that what you want?”
His voice trembled. “No.”
Peterson raised the taser. Pointed it at Jordan. “Where’s Hannah, Winters?”
Jordan tried to backpedal across the bed.
Cam couldn’t help himself. “Please don’t,” he begged. “Please. Don’t hurt her.”
The taser fired.
Jordan jerked horizontal across the bed, legs jerking, neck arching.
“No!” Cam tried to shove himself to his feet, managing instead to knock the chair into the bookcase. “Stop it! Peterson! Stop!”
The tick-tick-tick of the taser lasted another second. Another. Another.
And all Cam could hear was himself crying out, sobbing, begging the man to stop. “I’ll tell you!”
The taser silenced.
With a sudden gasp, Jordan slumped across the bed, her breath coming hard.
“Jordan!” Tears streamed down his face. “Are you okay?”
Slowly she pushed herself up, shaky, weak.
He knew how that felt—her muscles drained, exhausted.
“I’m all right,” she finally said. But she looked terrified. Her gaze pleaded with him, fear fighting with exhaustion. “Cam. Don’t tell him.”
What?
“You can’t tell him.”
He knew that. And he’d never tell Peterson. Never. But it had worked this one time, getting Peterson to stop hurting the woman Cam loved.
How would he stop Peterson the next time?
Or did he even have any more taser cartridges?
“Jordan. The wires! Get them off—”
She jerked the prongs free from where they’d attached.
Peterson watched, bemused. “You think that will stop me, Winters? I’ve got all night. And all weekend. No one’s going to miss you tomorrow. What plans did you have? Spending the night with this one? Spending tomorrow with her? Who’s going to notice that either one of you is gone?”
The scissors. The nail kit. Memory returned, reminding him why he had Jordan’s purse in such a tight grip. He worked his finger back into the pocket. “People are looking for us right now. We had plans. With friends.”
Peterson laughed. “Right. I’m not worried.”
Cam’s fingers slid across something thin and plastic. The nail kit!
“What was it like watching that, Cameron? Knowing exactly what it felt like?”
He slid the kit open. Focus, he told himself. Couldn’t listen to this guy. Everything depended on him getting those scissors. Cutting himself free.
“You know, you kinda got lucky that you fell and hit your head. You missed a good three or four seconds of your tasing. But not your girlfriend here. She felt it all. How was that, Jordan? Hmm? You like that?”
Something sharp poked the tip of his finger. He swallowed, carefully grasping the metal point with his fingertips. He tugged.
The scissors inched forward.
“You want more, Jordan?”
Cam froze. Searched Peterson’s face.
Peterson popped the cartridge off the front of the taser. He tossed it onto the bedside table and reached into his coat again. “Bought myself the nicest taser I could a couple of years ago.” He waved it toward Cam. “You know, self-defense. Can’t be too safe anymore.”
What did the guy want? Congratulations?
“Nice thing is that this model comes with six cartridges.”
No. No no no.
Peterson pulled his hand out of his pocket, another awful yellow cartridge displayed for Jordan to see. “Just so you k
now, Jordan, I’ve only used two cartridges. Four left.” His grimace of a smile was pure evil. “You know where Hannah is, Jordan? Hmm?”
Jordan’s chest rose and fell rapidly.
Don’t tell him, Cam prayed. Please don’t tell him.
“Why do you want her?”
The scissors slipped free of the plastic.
“Why do I want her? Seriously?”
Cam worked his fingers down the scissors’ shaft until he could spread them open.
“Guess he hasn’t told you everything, huh?” Peterson glared at Cam again, and Cam held himself still. “She stole my kid. Ran away with her.”
“That baby wasn’t yours.”
“Yes, she was!” He waved the gun at Jordan’s face. “I made sure of that. That baby was mine, and I had every right to demand she abort it—”
“Your own child?”
Cam dragged the tiny scissors across the thin rope. The tip nicked his wrist, and he flinched, readjusting his hold.
He couldn’t afford to drop these.
“Joelle agreed with me. We hadn’t come all this way—spent all that money—for a messed-up kid.”
When he got his hands on this man…
“How do you know that? You’ve never seen her.”
“I saw the test. Read the results.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
Beneath the scissors, the rope gave a bit.
Cam yanked his wrists sideways.
The rope gave a little more.
Come. On.
“You know what? Enough of this.” Peterson yanked Jordan up.
She yelped as he forced her to her feet.
Peterson spun her around, made her face Cam. “You want her fried again?”
Jordan squeezed her eyes shut as tears escaped down her face.
Cam fought back his own.
“She’s not on the bed this time. She’ll hit the floor. Or the edge of the bed. Your dresser. Something. Might be a whole lot worse than what happened to you. See, that’s what they say is the worst part about being tased. Not the pain. That stops when the taser stops. No, the worst part is the fall. That’s where the real injury happens. And this time I don’t plan on catching—”
Jordan jerked her arm free, turned, and shoved him.
Cam dug the scissors into the weakening rope. The point rammed into the pad of his thumb, and out of instinct, he released the scissors.
They clanked against the floor at the same time that Peterson dropped the taser to corral Jordan.
Cam strained against the rope.
It crept apart. More. More.
“Cam!” Jordan screamed. She fought Peterson still.
He grabbed one of her wrists and fumbled for her other arm.
The rope gave.
And Cam flew out of the chair, sending it flying. Reached Peterson in two strides. He pushed Jordan to one side while grabbing Peterson’s throat with his right hand, the one with blood on it.
Peterson’s eyes widened.
Jordan fell back against his bed.
Cam’s momentum took him and Peterson to the wall. They crashed there together, and the tall dresser beside them rattled, a picture frame toppling over.
Peterson yanked Cam’s hand from his throat, and Cam’s muscles, still weak from the taser, let him. The man swung at him, a sorry punch that just clipped his jaw.
But he’d left himself exposed.
Cam put everything he had behind his own shot to Peterson’s stomach.
The man oofed over.
Cam knocked him to the ground.
While the man gasped for air, Cam straddled him, forcing the man’s arms behind his back.
Beside him, Jordan offered him the rope.
A much smaller rope now.
He took it, looking up at her, his chest heaving, arms weary. Ready to fall to his sides. But somehow he mustered the strength to tie up the man who’d taken so much from so many.
Not until Jordan knelt beside him and wrapped him in her arms did he realize what a mess he was. He fought himself for control, only to rest his head on her shoulder and give in to the fear he’d struggled against. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.
“For what?”
“For letting him hurt you.”
She pushed him up, shook her head at him. “You fought for me, Cam. Look at you.” She held up his blood-stained hand. “You fought for me. And Anna. And Sophie.”
How could he not? He cupped her cheek, brought her face to his, and kissed her. Slowly. Gently. Thankfully.
She kissed him back, her lips more intense than his.
Peterson writhed beneath him, and Cam pulled back enough to check his hold on the man.
“Are you going to send me home?” Jordan asked.
“No.” He couldn’t help a smile. “Not yet. ’Cause this time your dad and brothers will kill me.”
Chapter Sixteen
It took time—weeks, actually, for all the details to come out.
Sometime after Anna had fled to Michigan, Dr. Peterson decided to let her and the baby girl he didn’t want, go. So long as he never heard from her again.
But then Anna had called Joelle, knowing she’d not completely agreed with her husband on what to do about Sophie, asking her to consider being tested to see if she could be the match the little girl, suffering with leukemia, needed.
Peterson had overheard the call and knew that what he’d done in his own office—years ago, after his usual hours—was about to come out.
The nurse he’d blackmailed back then into helping him had seemed malleable at the time. No threat whatsoever. She’d helped him retrieve Anna’s eggs under the pretense of implanting an embryo. He’d seen Anna’s kids. They were healthy, good-looking, strong. And Anna’s coloring wasn’t too far off from his own.
No one would ever know. Not even his wife, who would never, ever be able to conceive a child.
Not that she’d find out, if he had a say in it. The news would devastate her.
But Anna could spare her eggs. That was done under the guise of implanting a first embryo that he’d later say hadn’t taken. Once enough time had passed for that, it was time to put the real one in. His and Anna’s.
And it took.
But then had come the test results. Down Syndrome. A less-than-perfect child. He couldn’t let that happen. Not when it had to be Anna’s fault that this child was damaged. No way would he raise it. Or pretend to love it. Or provide for it.
No. The child needed to go.
The news spread throughout his office—how sad it was that after so many years of trying that Dr. and Mrs. Peterson’s baby had Down Syndrome. Of course they’d abort and try again. But so sad. To be only a few months away…
His nurse had decided Anna needed to know.
And he needed to stop her.
That had been the deep, dark step that led him to doing whatever it took to keep it all a secret. To keep his practice. To keep his wife. To keep his freedom.
But one sinister choice led to another. After talking to Anna about not being a match, Joelle had confronted him with the news that she couldn’t be the mother. Peterson, loathe to go as far with her as he’d done with the nurse, had locked her in their basement. With food. With water.
But still. His own wife.
Cam couldn’t fathom it.
She’d escaped the same night Peterson had attacked them, a neighbor chasing a dog through her yard having heard her cries for help.
The body of the private investigator Peterson had hired showed up the next day. He’d been hit in the head with something hard. A tire iron, Peterson finally admitted.
Two people dead. Two more who might have ended up dead. Certainly three if Peterson had found Anna because Anna was the proof of what he’d done. The proof that he’d stolen her eggs and had used them to create his child. If he’d found a way to kill Anna—and not be suspected in her death—no one would ever, ever know what he’d done over five years ago.
Wrong finally had been righted.
The maternity test Anna and Sophie took proved they were indeed mother and daughter. That Sophie was Cam’s biological niece after all. His parents’ actual grandchild.
Cam left his parents a voicemail, letting them know.
There was no reply.
Not through the summer while he and Jordan continued to date. Not through the chemo and radiation week leading up to Sophie’s transplant after a stranger had turned out to be an excellent match. Not through her slow but steady recovery.
And not through weeks of Garrett play-threatening—Cam hoped?— to tase him again if Jordan so much as stubbed her toe. Not through Cam listing his house and looking for something new—with Jordan’s input—so he wouldn’t have to walk past that bedroom every day and remember what had happened to them both.
He was ready to start over. To build a life with Jordan. A really nice, long, boring-as-dirt life.
“So. Dude.” Garrett cornered him as Miska and Dillan’s rehearsal dinner ended and people were heading to the church. “When’s your closing again?”
“Tuesday. Are you coming to help me move?”
Garrett spread his hands, looked down at his expensive pants and shirt. “Do I look like I do my own moving?”
“Come on, man. Dillan will be on his honeymoon. Jordan can’t help because you’ll go all Princess Bride torture on me if she breaks a nail. And Matt might have moved back, but I do not want any help from him.”
Grinning, Garrett clapped him on the shoulder. “Well then. Let me know how the move goes.” He turned and walked away.
Cam watched him go. Maybe marrying into the Foster family wasn’t all he’d thought it would be. Outside of getting Jordan, anyway.
Garrett glanced over his shoulder—and laughed. “Dad and I’ll be there whenever you want. Let us know.”
“Thanks.” Yeah, Garrett as a brother-in-law was going to be… interesting.
****
The best part about the rehearsal wasn’t that Miska and Dillan were getting married but that Cam got to walk down the aisle with Jordan. Pretty cool how that had worked out.
From his seat on the auditorium’s front row, Cam listened to the wedding coordinator telling the bridesmaids where to stand. Miska’s maid of honor, Tracy, was first with Jordan right behind her, and other bridesmaids following. Garrett was Dillan’s best man with Cam right behind him.
Taken: A Kept Novella Page 10