“Cherie,” I said. “My love. We are studying, not drinking. And I would very much like to be doing the latter, so can we just go, please?”
“Hear, hear,” Eric said with a squeeze of my knee.
“Jane, don’t be a spoilsport. It’ll take one second.”
I grumbled the entire time, but eventually complied for a giant selfie with the rest of the group, mashed together in front of the whiteboard.
“Send me a copy too,” Eric said.
“Me too,” Skylar piped up.
“Take one for me, I guess.”
I unlocked my phone and handed it to Cherie, who immediately fumbled it and dropped it on the table. And there, of course, was good old Keith’s extremely mediocre penis, splashed across my screen for everyone to see.
For a solid five seconds, the entire table was stone-still.
“You, ah, have something you want to share with the group, Lefferts?” Eric asked, his voice betraying not one iota of irritation.
I swallowed. I had nothing to feel bad about. Right?
“Oh, Janey,” Skylar muttered under her breath.
“It’s…it’s…” I stammered.
“Note mine,” Eric finished dryly to the rest of the group. He leaned toward Cherie and another girl conspiratorially. “To start, I’m a lot bigger than a four-inch hot dog.”
The two of them tittered as if on command. I scowled. How nice for Eric that I gave him a chance to brag openly about his penis to whatever female company was present.
So instead of apologizing and deleting it, I reexamined the picture. “That’s a little harsh. Keith here was solidly average. I bet he measured five point one six inches on the dot.” I winked at Cherie. “Besides, it’s girth that matters, am I right?” And then I shrugged at Eric. “Old lover. What do you want me to say?”
Eric’s expression wasn’t quite as relaxed as before. “Do we want to know why you have the average American cock length memorized, Lefferts?”
“You should be grateful,” I said, purposefully deleting the picture in full view of his sardonic gaze while telling myself it had nothing to do with mitigating Eric’s potential jealousy. Then I turned to him with a cocky grin—pun intended. “It’s how I know you are, in fact, very above average.” I winked at the other girls. “Maybe you’ll get lucky one day too, ladies. Eric’s pretty open with his gifts. Isn’t that right?”
Finally, Eric’s affable, relaxed mask broke. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss me or spank me.
“Prove it,” he said as he stood. “Excuse us, everyone. Come on, pretty girl.”
“Oh, lord,” Skylar muttered. “There they go again.”
It was dangerous what this man was able to do to me with just a few words. Even his text messages had a similar effect. Over the last two weeks, since that night at the bar, I’d tried to keep him at arm’s length. It just hadn’t worked very well. Or at all.
There had been the next night at Cleo’s. Two rounds of shuffleboard, and he’d grabbed my hand and dragged me out of there to the raucous jeers from our classmates.
Then there were the times he sat next to me in class. I’d take notes, but I still couldn’t remember anything the professor said. Once, we’d barely made it to the end of the hall before Eric pulled me into the custodial closet and clamped a hand over my mouth while he had his way with me.
And then two nights ago, of course, when he’d shown up at my apartment, wet and chilled through after a night run along the Charles. Skylar had opened the door, then grabbed her bag and left with a knowing smile. I, however, had been frozen on the couch as he stalked toward me.
“Bedroom, pretty girl,” he’d said.
And off I went.
Opposites attract, eh? Yeah, maybe a little too much.
Like I said, heartbreak. Everywhere. It wasn’t a question of if it was coming. It was when.
But instead of denying him the way I should have, I gathered my things.
“Girl, good luck,” Cherie whispered as I followed Eric out. He didn’t even say goodbye.
“What the fuck was that?” he demanded as soon as we were outside the library, both of us still fastening our coats. “Or, should I say, who?”
I scowled. “That is none of your business.”
“None of my business? It’s none of my business why the girl I’m seeing has a picture of someone else’s dick on her phone?”
“Are you serious right now?” I shot back. “You want to tell me there are zero dirty pictures of your conquests on your phone right now, Don Juan? I’ve seen you at the bar. Hell, I’ve seen you after class. They’re like flies. Ms. Delaware is just dying to model her sash for you.”
Eric’s glare basically cut through every layer of clothing I had. “Is it serious? You and the junior salami?”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe this. We have been…whatever we’ve been doing…for two weeks! I’m your booty call, not your girlfriend. You have no right to interrogate me here, boy-o.”
“Well, maybe I want the right.”
“Maybe?” I shook my head. “Spoken like a true bullshit artist. Tossing hypotheticals around like confetti instead of speaking with basic clarity. Tricking women into thinking it’s the real thing while maintaining plausible deniability. Well, you know what? That shit doesn’t work with me. I told you. I don’t play these games.”
Eric’s face blackened. With lightning speed, he backed me up against the brick wall.
And then he kissed me. Eric was great in the sack, of course—as talented with his tongue, even, as other parts of his body. But this was something different. He wedged me against the wall, his mouth plundering mine to the point of bruises, tongue diving, possessive, full of intention.
Mine, it said. And don’t you fucking forget it.
Then, just as quickly, he released me, allowing my legs to drop to the ground just in time for me to realize they had somehow wrapped around his waist to begin with.
“How’s that for clarity?” he asked in a hoarse voice. It was cold enough that I could see his breath, white in the late afternoon chill.
I couldn’t even reply, but my breath still mingled with his.
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Let me be very explicit about one more thing, Lefferts. If there are any other dicks on your phone, I want them erased.”
I scowled. “Why?”
He stepped back, maybe to give me some space. Maybe for himself. “You really want me to explain that? Right now? Out here?” He gestured at the students walking by who were already peeking at us curiously.
I opened my mouth to dare him to say it. Do more than just hold my hand, like he’d held so many others. Say the one thing boys like him weren’t supposed to say to girls like me, and definitely not in public. I like you. I like you more than just sex. I want to be with you more than just at night.
I want you.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked, so low it was almost a whisper. I almost didn’t hear it.
I took a step toward him. Then another. And then…turned and started walking down the path, ignoring the throbbing in my chest, my gut, and yes, between my legs. This was so confusing. Everything with this guy was so confusing.
But when he didn’t immediately follow, I still turned around. “Are you coming or what, Petri dish?”
Eric tipped his head to one side. “Petri dish?”
I shrugged. “You know. For all the specimens you’ve collected.”
He opened his mouth in shock, but though his expression darkened again, there was a new glint in his eye I hadn’t seen before.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he said as he caught up.
I looked up and batted my eyelashes, completely back in the game now. “Promise?”
Eric’s scowl deepened for a moment, then gradually shifted into a sly smile that lit up his entire face. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
9
Present
I sat in t
he waiting room, drinking cucumber water delivered from the tired-looking receptionist and rechecking my messages for any news about court. The hearing had been delayed by multiple motions, or so said the flurry of texts Skylar had sent while I slept. But I hadn’t heard anything new in over an hour.
Eric, notably, had not called again, though he was undoubtedly allowed at least another phone call or two since we spoke on the edge of the field. He was still angry, then. I couldn’t blame him.
It was a quarter to six in New York right now. Nearly two hours after the court was set to reconvene again. Fifteen minutes after they would have likely dismissed for the day. Either the trial was happening or it wasn’t.
ME: YO! What is happening? You are done now, right?
My phone buzzed almost immediately.
SKYLAR: Srry, yes. Judge ordered recess. Reconvening tomorrow at eight. Ill call after talk 2 Eric + attny.
I frowned. Skylar wasn’t usually one for truncated texting. She was in a hurry. The question was why? There were only a few reasons why the judge would want to reconvene later. Number one: the trial itself was under investigation.
It wasn’t exactly what we had hoped for, but it was something.
Another text from her interrupted my pondering.
SKYLAR: want me 2 tell him anything?
I stared at the text for several minutes, unsure of what to say. So, she knew he was upset, then. She knew he didn’t want to talk to me.
Tears sprang—worsened, I was sure, by the torrents of hormones flowing through my body. I set a palm over my belly, which at this point, maybe looked like I had eaten too much pizza. But it was different. I was different. Eric was missing it, and it was my fault.
Just when I had sucked in enough deep breaths to stem the tears and started to type a few updates on John Carson—we had sent the list of companies and our thoughts to Detective Cho last night and he was investigating the sites today—my name was called.
“Mrs. de Vries?”
“Hi. Yes, I’m here. Yeoboseyo!” I ignored the nurse’s cringe at my terrible Korean as I stood.
“Hello,” she said in excellent English. “Follow me, please.”
I followed her to an ultrasound room in the back of the office. Like the front room, it was plush. Very plush. Likely a lot plusher than most eight-weeks-pregnant ladies would be getting anywhere else. I hadn’t been through this process myself, but between Suejean and talking with my best friend through her own pregnancies, I knew that most OB/GYNs left this work to an ultrasound tech.
Bridget, I realized. Give the executive assistant to the DVS chairman a task, and she definitely gets it done tenfold. Suejean had passed the name to her, and the plucky woman had ensured that her boss’s wife would receive five-star service to soothe my harried mind—and probably the irate chairman behind bars. I definitely owed her a giant flower arrangement when I got back to New York. And probably a raise on Eric’s behalf.
“Dr. Han will be with you soon,” said the nurse. “Please change into this.” She handed me a hospital gown and instructed that I should wait up on the table after I was finished.
I changed quickly, shivering like a frozen fish on the exam table while I waited. In my purse, my phone buzzed with a call, and I scramble to get it. Eric, I prayed, suddenly desperate to hear his voice, even if he was angry with me.
But it wasn’t him.
“Detective Cho?” I answered. He was a distant cousin, but he hadn’t instructed me to use anything other than his title at this point.
“Hello, Mrs. de Vries.”
Apparently the formalities extended both ways.
“It’s pretty early for a check-in, Detective,” I said. “Have you been to all the sites already?”
There was an awkward clearing of his throat. “I have updates on some progress. Your security—they are with you?”
I frowned. That was a weird question. “Ah, well, I’m at a doctor’s appointment right now, but Tony and the guys are in the waiting room.”
“Good, good.” Cho spoke hurriedly, almost distracted. “Mrs. de Vries, we found John Carson’s rental car. It was at the second address you provided. I think you are correct about Mr. Carson’s business interests here in Hwaseong.”
“So…did you find him?” My heart leaped. Could it really be this easy? Was it possible that my mother and I could be on a plane back to New York today?
“We watched the building until he came out,” Cho replied. “And then we followed his car. But he…unfortunately, he lost us. There is a call to other police to look for him right now. I will keep you updated. But you should remain with your security and stay at the hotel after your appointment.”
“And my—” I was almost afraid to ask as my heart sank. “My mother? Was she there?”
“I’m so sorry,” Cho said. “But your mother was not with him.”
My heart sank. The resignation in his voice was clear. I had a feeling that Cho was going to be searching rice paddies for her body before he looked for a live woman.
No, I insisted to myself. Not yet.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, thank you for updating me. I really appreciate it. And…Detective…”
“Yes?”
“Um…be careful.” It felt so strange, almost like I was mothering a man who, despite a distant family connection, was little more than an acquaintance. Ha, I thought. These instincts were in me somewhere.
But he was taking on a lot on my behalf. I was grateful.
“I will call later, Mrs. de Vries,” he said, then promptly hung up.
“Mrs. de Vries?”
I set the phone in my bag and hopped back on the table as the doctor poked her head through the curtains. She offered a kind smile.
“Hi, Dr. Han,” I said, pulling the paper sheet over my legs. “Thank—thank you for taking me on with such short notice.”
The doctor nodded. Like the rest of her staff, she looked tired—she was seeing me well outside of normal operating hours, likely because of a large bribe from Bridget’s office.
“I told my OB/GYN that I would keep up with my schedule,” I said, a bit lamely, not mentioning that at this point, my OB/GYN was my cousin. “She said an ultrasound at week eight of my pregnancy was standard. I just want to assure my husband I’m staying with the plan even while traveling.” I didn’t mention that the irate father would probably interrogate me like crazy about it when I got home.
Dr. Han gave me a calm, indecipherable look. “Yes, that is standard. I will print a copy of the pictures and provide a digital copy for you to bring back to the United States when we are finished.” She pulled out a bottle of gel and raised the wand. “Can you bare your stomach, please?”
I managed not to flinch when she squeezed the cold gel just under my navel. She spread it around with the wand, and almost immediately, a hushed, rhythmic sound filled the tiny room. On the monitor next to us, a screen full of static appeared, in which I could make out a large black space, intermittently spread with static-filled shapes.
“You see this?” Dr. Han said, pointing at the black space. “This is your uterus.” She moved the wand some more. “And there…is your baby. You see the movement?”
I did see a tiny flicker. Something shifting in time with the thrumming sound.
“That is the heartbeat,” Dr. Han said. “You can hear it? That is your baby.”
I said nothing, just stared at the screen in awe. It was hard to make out the shape—it was really no bigger than a nut—but the movement was clear, as was its rhythm. There he—she? It?—was. This tiny little thing. The product of Eric and me. Together.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, unable to keep another round of tears from welling up. I swiped at them hurriedly, but Dr. Han didn’t seem bothered. “It’s…wow.”
The doctor took a few more pictures, checking for initial abnormalities and things like that (so she said). But the baby was small, and she said there wasn’t much to do until my twenty-week scan.
“Every
thing looks good,” she said. “Very healthy. You will need to have a blood test, usually between ten and thirteen weeks. Will you need an appointment here, or will you—”
“I’ll be home,” I said with more assurance than I felt. “I…I’ll be home.” I had to be.
The doctor nodded again, then pressed a few buttons and printed out a strip of shiny photos from the ultrasound. She handed them to me. “For you and your husband.” She handed me a cloth as well to clean up my stomach, then hopped off her stool. “I will go retrieve the digital copy and return.”
I nodded, too entranced with the photos to speak.
“Hey,” I whispered, staring at the blurry black-and-white photos. “Hey there, tiny cellular cluster. One day you will be an actual person. And I am going to be ridiculously happy to meet you.”
I got dressed, staring at the pictures on the table the whole time. Just when I finished and had picked them up again, my phone buzzed in my bag. I jumped, almost dropping the ultrasound pictures before I managed to check the new text message.
SKYLAR: Major news!! The judge turned the case over to the Brooklyn DA’s office because of the conflicts with the Manhattan DA. Brooklyn is declining to prosecute.
I read the words four more times before I fully comprehended what was happening.
The initial corrupt judge. Apparently there had been more questions with the DA handling the case, hence the multiple motions today. And now a switch, which meant…
My phone rang. I answered it immediately.
“Sky?”
“It’s done, Jane,” my friend said. “Over before it even began.”
The pictures in my hand seemed to glow.
“Where is he?” I sobbed. “Sky, I have to talk to him.”
“Oh, Janey,” she said. “I—I honestly don’t know. They literally just dismissed, and just left the gallery. They might be processing his release right now.”
My heart squeezed. Did he know? Would he be able to check his messages soon? I desperately wanted to be there, to be on the other side of those doors when he was released.
The Love Trap (Quicksilver Book 3) Page 7