I moved. And I did it so fast that she didn’t have a chance to react before she was up against my chest. “I don’t give a damn whose beer it is.”
“Let go of me.” She fought in my grasp.
“Not until you listen. While you were busy crying into my chest. And holding my shoulders like you couldn’t get close enough. Then falling asleep in my arms like it was the only place you ever fucking belonged.” I gripped the back of her hair and tipped her head back, leaning in close as I added, “Which it fucking is.”
The fight left her. Her body sagging in my arms, even as her eyes flashed wide.
Trailing my thumb back and forth over her cheek, I finished with, “I got some information from the cops. I’m not here to fight with you, so calm down, share a meal and a much-needed glass of wine with me, and let me fill you in.”
“Roman,” she exhaled, her eyes flooding with tears.
I wasn’t sure what part of that had softened her—or I would have repeated it.
Again.
And again.
And maybe a hundred times after that.
Because, with just the sound of my name, she gave me my innocent angel back.
And it was that moment when I realized it had been a God’s-honest miracle I’d been able to breathe a single breath in the two years I’d lived without her.
It was also then that I decided those days were done.
“You know we could be civil to each other.” I smiled. It was only a half lie. Because there was nothing civil about the things I wanted to do to her.
She would, however, enjoy them all.
“Fine. Fill me in. Eat your gyro, but then you have to leave. I seriously can’t do this with you tonight.”
My hand flexed on her back as I dropped my lips to her ear and murmured, “No. Then I’m sleeping on your couch.”
“Roman!” she objected just as there was a knock at the door.
I kissed the top of her head and released her. “Dinner’s here. Get out the plates.”
She complained behind me as I sauntered to the front door before pulling it wide.
Only it wasn’t Seth on the other side.
Walter had been gone when I’d woken up.
Like I did every time he walked out our front door, I’d prayed that he wouldn’t come home. Accidents happened. And, in his line of work, people died every day.
But I was never that lucky.
Walter Noir would crawl a million miles through broken glass, bleeding and dying, just to make sure he took me to Hell with him.
I’d put on my workout clothes and packed my bag first thing that morning, strategically placing it on the table closest to the door, along with my water bottle and my car keys. Then I’d gone about my day, playing with my daughter while simultaneously listening for his car to pull through the iron gates of my prison.
Around five, I heard the rumble of his BMW, so I rushed to the bag, threw it over my shoulder, grabbed Tessa off the floor, and darted out the door.
He wasn’t happy that I was leaving just as he was getting home, but it wasn’t as if I’d planned it that way. Or so I swore as he kissed me goodbye before I made my getaway to the gym.
Tessa was tired, so was I, but I had two hours of quasi-freedom ahead of me.
Two hours he wouldn’t be around Tessa, and by the time we got home, I could feed her dinner, give her a bath, and put her straight to bed. Minimal contact was the best I could hope for when it came to Walt.
A rush of relief washed over me as I pulled into a parking spot at the gym. I slowly climbed from the car, my ribs only protesting mildly, a huge step up from the day before. My injuries were still visible, but they were thankfully starting to heal. The real agony was in the memories—and my reality.
I was unbuckling Tessa from her car seat when I heard a man call my name. I turned and found two uniformed police officers closing in on me. Panic slammed into me like a runaway truck.
In my life, the police were the only entity more frightening than Walt.
Walt could kill me, but cops could take my life by locking me away, leaving Tessa alone in the care of a monster.
I spun away with shaking hands, scrambling to get Tessa out of her seat.
“Mrs. Noir,” one of them called as I collected her bag off the floor and sped toward the gym door. “Mrs. Noir,” he repeated more firmly before a hand on my bicep suddenly halted me. “Mrs. Noir, a word?”
Doing my best to keep the tremor out of my voice, I replied, “I’m sorry. I don’t have time.” I pulled my arm from his grasp and started away.
I came to a sharp stop when the young officer smiled and reached out his hand as though he were about to touch her.
“This must be Tessa.”
My soul caught fire.
The panic was gone in a blink, and a feral blaze overwhelmed me. Instinctively shifting her to my other hip, I twisted so my body was between her and the officer, blocking any possible contact.
“Don’t you dare touch her,” I spat.
“Jesus, Marco. Don’t touch the baby,” a different man scolded from behind him.
I glanced up to see an older man prowling up behind the uniforms. Salt-and-pepper hair. Potbelly. Shiny, gold badge showing from underneath his sports coat.
Fuck.
He looked professional.
Flashing my eyes back to Marco, I stumbled back a step as the men closed in around me.
“Calm down, Clare,” the older guy urged while I backed away, feeling like a caged animal. “We’re not here to cause any trouble,” he assured.
“Then back up,” I returned.
He lifted a hand and both officers came to a sudden halt. I was able to put a few more feet between us before he spoke again.
“Better?”
“I’d be better if you left.”
He pointed toward the now scabbed-over cut over my eye and said, “I don’t doubt that’s the truth, but we need to have a word. You’re a hard woman to track down.”
That’s because I wasn’t allowed to leave our house and it would have to be swallowed by a sinkhole in order for Walt to allow emergency personnel through the front gate.
“Not hard enough, apparently,” I shot back.
He grinned and then gave a chin lift. “Boys, give us a minute.”
They didn’t delay in following his order.
I was far from in the clear, but I instantly felt better now that I wasn’t boxed in anymore.
“Now, is that better?” he asked.
I didn’t answer his question, but with no one at my back, I once again started toward the door.
“Mrs. Noir, we need to talk.”
I didn’t. I needed to get inside.
“I’m sorry. If you have something to discuss, please contact my attorney and make an appointment,” I called, tucking Tessa’s face into my neck.
She was oblivious to what was happening, more content to play with the small, gold chain at my neck—another of Walt’s “gifts”—but I still hated that she was involved at all.
“Clare, my name is Charles Rorke. I’m a detective with the APD, and I’ve spoken with your husband’s attorney more than I have my own wife this week. Your husband has refused to speak to us, so I’m here, attempting to talk to you.”
“I have nothing to say.” I turned to walk away.
“Not even about the fact that Tessa might not be biologically yours?” he told my back.
Cops hated me. Well, actually, they hated Walt. And then me by association. But never in my life had anyone been crueler—and that was saying a lot, considering I was married to a man who beat me on a near daily basis.
But that, whatever angle he was going for, was scraping the bottom of the barrel.
“You son of a bitch,” I breathed, turning to face him. A surge of adrenaline made me strong—physically and emotionally. Taking a step toward him, I squared my shoulders. “You show up here to ask me a few questions while spouting shit like that?”
&nbs
p; “I wish it were shit, Clare. But we’re investigating the possibility of criminal activity involving Peach City Reproductive Center.”
“Oh, screw you.” I started to walk away when the Earth suddenly crumbled under my feet.
“We have reason to believe that Walter Noir was involved in a situation that led to embryos purposely being switched in the lab!” he shouted at my back.
I froze, my legs nearly buckling.
A meteor could have fallen from the sky and I couldn’t have moved.
“Walter Noir was involved in a situation.”
Now, that I could believe. Walter Noir was involved in every situation, especially those that would hurt me. And this would rip the heart straight from my chest.
My nose began to sting as I desperately fought an onslaught of tears back.
I dropped the gym bag from my arm and shifted Tessa to my other hip. Then, cupping my hand at the side of her head, I covered her ears as though it could stop me from hearing it all.
“What?” I croaked.
His body slacked, and his voice softened. “I see he hasn’t mentioned our conversations to you.”
“What?” I repeated, tears finally breaching my lids.
“We need a DNA sample from Tessa, Clare. That is the only way we can prove this once and for all.” He took a step toward me before reaching out to give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
I didn’t back away. That would have required the use of my legs, and it was a miracle they were still holding me upright.
“What?” I repeated once again, like a skipping CD unable to move forward.
I was dazed, my mind frantically trying to keep up, when I saw the giant approach out of the corner of my eye.
“Back the fuck up,” he ordered.
I lifted my eyes and found Brock, one of Walt’s trusty henchmen, stepping in front of me. He must have arrived for “Clare duty” just in time.
“Walt won’t consent to the DNA, Clare,” the detective spoke around him. “We need this from you.”
“Don’t fucking talk to her.” Brock moved closer to Rorke.
The uniformed officers quickly reappeared.
“Not another move!” Marco shouted.
I couldn’t keep up. Someone had pressed fast forward while my mind was still stuck in slow motion.
“Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it!” Marco shouted while Brock issued his own angry orders at the officers.
“Put your fucking hands up!” was the last thing I heard before I felt an arm wrap around my stomach and begin to drag me backward.
“Clare!” Rorke called just as I heard, “Come with me, Clare,” whispered in my ear.
Luke.
And, finally, I crumbled.
My breath rushed from my mouth on a wail as I allowed him to pull Tessa from my arms.
“Shit,” he cursed, supporting the majority of my weight on one side, Tessa on his other as he guided us into the gym and straight to his office.
Safety.
He planted me in a chair then settled Tessa in my lap long enough to unroll a yoga mat and dig a notebook and a bunch of highlighters out for her to draw with.
I was so numb that I couldn’t even argue with him that I was okay.
There was no brave face anymore.
Tessa might not be your biological child, rang in my ears.
Once he had her settled, he crouched in front of me and finally asked, “What the hell is going on?”
The right answer was, Nothing.
The right thing to do was put a smile on, forget everything that had happened out in the parking lot, and go about the day like I hadn’t just been served the most severe beating of my life.
It was the safest thing for everyone involved.
But, for reasons lost on even myself, I threw my arms around his neck and spilled it all.
Luke didn’t hug me back. Instead, he kept both hands anchored to the arms of my chair as he balanced in front of me. I didn’t need the physical contact; I just needed someone to listen.
I was going to get him killed, but the words wouldn’t stop flowing from my mouth.
I told him about the drug trafficking.
Walt’s ties to organized crime.
The murders he’d made me clean up.
The money laundering.
The beatings.
The blood.
The fear.
The prison he kept me in.
And finally.
Tessa.
Why, after all the years of having kept it locked away, I chose to unload it all on a personal trainer, I’d never understand. But finding out that my only reason to wake up the next morning might not even be mine was the final straw.
After I’d told him about what had gone down in the parking lot, I fell silent.
The weight of the world still heavily rested on my shoulders, but the load somehow felt lighter. And, for the briefest of seconds, I took a deep breath for the first time since Walter Noir had walked into my life.
Luke didn’t immediately respond, and I couldn’t blame him.
Finding out the scum of the Earth was doing push-ups right under your nose had to be a hard pill to swallow.
After peeling my arms from around his neck, he placed them in my lap and rocked back on his heels. His blue eyes flashed to Tessa then back to me, his face steeled with confidence as he asked, “How can I help?”
Christ, he was a good guy.
I laughed through my tears. “You can’t. No one can.”
He opened his mouth to reply when a booming, “Where the fuck is my wife!” came from outside the door.
I jumped, and Tessa started crying. After shooting to my feet, I plucked her off the floor and prepared for the worst.
It was Walt.
The worst was all I ever got.
“No,” Roman growled, slamming the door less than a second after he’d opened it.
“What the—” Kristen cried from the other side.
He glared at me over his shoulder, frustration floating in the air around him.
I couldn’t fight my smile back.
“Elisabeth!” she yelled, shaking the door handle in an attempt to get in.
I sauntered past Roman, using my shoulder to nudge him out of the way, and yanked the door open.
As if his sister were an axe murder, he stepped close to my back, protectively looping an arm around my waist.
It was then that I worried Roman could possibly be an axe murder, because if he thought he was claiming me like that after having pinned me to the couch and proclaimed he was sleeping there that night, he had serious mental concerns that needed to be addressed ASAP.
And what better way than with his sister at my side for his intervention.
Kristen’s mouth gaped as her eyes drifted down to his arm.
I grabbed his wrist and roughly removed it. “Hey,” I said casually.
“Dear God, did I hit a time loop?” Her gaze went to her brother. “Quick! What year is it?”
“Better question is what the hell are you doing here?” he sniped back.
She narrowed her eyes. “No. I believe the best question is how in the hell you were able to cross this threshold without Liz lighting you on fire.” Her gaze drifted back to me, her eyebrow arching in accusation. “I thought that was the plan if he showed up. Shit, Liz. Mom even bought the lighter fluid.”
I giggled because she was not kidding. Cathy Leblanc loved her son, and when shit had gone down with Roman and me, she’d made it clear she would not be taking sides between her “children.” But, the day after Roman exchanged our entire life for fifty percent of his precious company, she showed up at my door with a bottle of wine and a can of lighter fluid. About three weeks later, she must have had a change of heart, because she showed up with a bottle of wine and a fire extinguisher. “Just in case,” were her words.
Kristen impatiently cocked her head to the side, insisting on a verbal answer.
“Some things…well,
happened today,” I stammered out.
Kristen was family, but I was in no rush to tell people about what had happened at the police station. We didn’t know for certain if there was anything to tell. It could have been some huge mix-up nothing ever came of.
Or it could have been some huge mix-up where Roman and I had another child—one who’d lived longer than twelve minutes.
My eyes closed painfully. “Oh God,” I whispered.
Roman’s arm once again folded around my waist, and this time, I didn’t fight. I swayed back against his chest.
“Uh, are y’all back together?” Kristen asked.
My eyes popped open as I declared, “No.”
However, just as quickly, I heard Roman say, “Maybe.”
I jerked from his hold on me and glanced over my shoulder. “What? No!” I insisted.
He shot me an arrogant grin then repeated, “Maybe.”
“Roman!” I yelled, all but stomping my foot.
He ignored me completely and turned his attention back to his sister. “What are you doing here?”
She was watching us with a wide smile that said she really liked the idea of Roman’s maybe.
Traitor!
Lifting a paper bag in the air, she replied to him, “Convincing her.”
“Ah!” he said in understanding.
I, however, was clueless. “Convincing me of what?”
They both ignored me.
“You gonna let me in or not?” she asked.
This time, our responses were reversed.
Roman quickly snapped, “No.”
While I replied, “Maybe.”
Her eyebrows shot up as she suppressed a laugh. “Maybe?”
“Depends. What are you trying to convince me of?”
She shrugged. “Nothing now. Seems my little brother is going to be doing his own version of convincing.”
Roman chuckled.
I swung a glare between the two of them that would have frozen normal people, but unfortunately, there was nothing normal about either one of them.
“No one is doing any convincing,” I declared.
“Okay,” they replied in unison.
The Complete Retrieval Duet Page 7