by Lane Hart
“This is an old man!” I exclaim when I get a closer look at his wrinkled face and short brown hair sprinkled with gray.
“Aren’t you his wife?” the nurse asked.
“Who is this?” I ask. “This is not Samuel Sheppard!”
“Ah, I’m sorry, ma’am, but yes, it is.”
“No, Sam is young, not even thirty.”
“Mr. Sheppard is fifty-eight.”
“There’s obviously been some mistake,” I assure her. “Sam is an FBI agent, and he’s half this man’s age.”
“I can assure you that we are certain of his identity. He came in with his license. A neighbor found him in the driveway and called 9-1-1.”
“Then it must be a common name, right? The FBI office has made a mistake.”
“This gentleman is also an FBI agent,” the nurse tells me. “Several of his coworkers have called to see how he’s doing, but he hasn’t had a single visitor in the seven or so weeks he’s been here. It’s a shame too, since we’ve had to keep him this way for so long, barely hanging on. I know it’s an incredibly tough decision and you should talk to the doctor, but he’ll probably suggest that you sign the paperwork for us to take him off life support.”
“Seven weeks? He’s been here for seven weeks?” I repeat since that must be a coincidence. That’s how long it’s been since I left town with the other Agent Sheppard. What are the chances there are two of them? That seems…high unlikely.
“That’s right. It was seven weeks ago when this poor gentleman was brutally attacked outside of his home. Law enforcement isn’t sure who is responsible but they’re assuming it was a suspect he’s arrested in the past coming after him for revenge.”
“I-I feel sick,” I say as I clutch my stomach that’s been aching on and off all day. I slump down into the leather chair behind me, while trying to think this through. I need to call the FBI office again, see if they made a mistake or confirm that there are, in fact, two agents with the same name.
But that’s impossible, right?
Sam showed me his badge. He gave me a new name, new IDs, a home, a restaurant. He definitely worked for the FBI and Witness Protection. He has to! Why else would he help me relocate?
Once I’m able to stand up without throwing up, I hurry out of the ICU and outside to call the FBI office again.
Thankfully, the same receptionist answers. She assures me that there is only one Samuel Sheppard who worked there, and he was fifty-eight. Only one Samuel Sheppard in the entire FBI across the whole country too, because I asked her to check the entire freaking database.
Which means, I have no fucking clue who the man I left town with, slept with, fell in love with, and got knocked up by, actually is!
I sit in my car in the hospital parking lot with the windows down, trying to think all of this through. There has to be some other explanation, I just don’t know what it is yet. I try to start from the very beginning.
What do I know for a fact? What has to be documented in writing from the last few weeks?
After a quick search for the realtor on the island, I call her up.
“Sandra Haskins Realty. Can I help you?” a polite lady answers.
“Is this Sandra?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Then can you tell me who rented my house and bought my restaurant?”
“I’m sorry?” she asks.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I quickly rattle off the two addresses.
“Oh yes! The lovely three-bedroom home with a massive kitchen and the old clothing store. They were both purchased by a charming young man, Silas Sheppard.”
“Sheppard,” I repeat as my chest tightens. “You’re sure his name was Silas Sheppard.”
“Yes. All identification documents were required at the closing for the title work. He paid for both in cash.”
“He bought them both?” I gasp in disbelief, having no clue how much that would be but easily a couple of million dollars.
“Yes.”
“And you saw his ID, and it said his name is Silas?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sandra responds. “Is there something else I can help you with?”
“N-no, that’s…that’s all. Sorry to bother you,” I say, ending the call.
Silas Sheppard.
He wasn’t Sam Sheppard, but he must be related to Samuel if they have the same last name. Father maybe? Did he nearly beat his father to death just to steal his FBI badge and pretend to be him? That sounds ludicrous, but what other possible explanation is there?
I was so hurt when he left. But now, I’m so…so angry at him for lying to me!
And confused about why he would do this to me.
The problem is, while his name may have changed, the fact that I’m pregnant with his son or daughter certainly has not.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Silas
* * *
I’ve been thinking about Cora so often that, at first, I think I’m just imagining her sitting on the side of my bed when I come out of the shower.
But then I realize that if I were fantasizing about her being in my bedroom, I wouldn’t want her to be holding me at gunpoint with the Smith & Wesson I fucking gave her.
She’s here. Really here in my house.
Which means…she’s figured out who I really am, and now she apparently wants to kill me for lying to her.
Wrapping my towel around my hips, I tuck it in to one side and ask her, “How did you find me?” since that seems like the best place to start.
“Ha! That’s what you want to start with?” she asks, her scowl telling me she’s pissed.
“Well?”
“The same way you found me,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Did you follow me home from the island?”
“No, I didn’t follow you back like some pathetic puppy dog!” she yells. “I called the local FBI office to try and find you a few days after you left, because…because there was something important I needed to tell you! Imagine my surprise when I found out that the real Agent Sheppard was brutally beaten. You stole his badge, didn’t you?”
“Ah,” I mutter.
“Of course you did. So, I thought about why someone would go to all the trouble to lie to me and convince me to leave town, to pretend that I’m dead, and that’s when it hit me. You weren’t protecting me, you were basically kidnapping me so I wouldn’t testify in court, weren’t you?”
“Pretty much,” I agree. “Still doesn’t explain how you tracked me down to here, my house.”
She scoffs and shakes her head in disgust that I’m still asking questions rather than answering any of hers.
“Let me guess,” I start. “The articles online about Nash Kincaid’s arrest mentioned he was a member of the Dirty Aces MC. You decided to find out where the Dirty Aces hang out, ended up at the pool hall, and there I was.”
“There you were!” she agrees. “Guess now I know what those skull tattoos are really about!”
“Maybe you should do some private eye work on the side when you’re not cooking,” I joke.
“This is not funny!” Cora exclaims, getting to her feet and in the shooting stance I fucking taught her. “Not only are you a fraud and a liar, but you nearly killed a federal agent? What is wrong with you?”
“Hold on. Back up,” I say, holding up my palm to stop her. “What do you mean nearly killed a federal agent? He’s not fucking dead? Are you sure?” I should’ve looked up his obituary, but I was so certain he was dead when I left him...
“Really? That’s your first reaction?” Cora asks, her face turning the same red as her hair used to be, the gun starting to tremble in her hands. “You wish you had killed the man you nearly beat to death for his badge?”
“Yeah, I do,” I reply, bracing my hands on the towel around my hips. “That asshole deserves to rot in hell.”
“So…you-you do know him?”
“Unfortunately. He’s my father,” I admit to her.
“He is?” The gun in
her hands drops a few inches before she lines it back up at eye-level again.
“Enough about him. I don’t want to talk about that asshole. What I want to know is why you’re here, baby? Did you come to kill me?” I take three cocky steps toward her. Fuck, I hope I’m right to think she won’t actually pull the trigger.
“Y-yes,” she says, the single word even shakier than her hands gripping the gun. For the first time since I walked into the room naked, her eyes dip down to my chest, then lower to my abs and finally to the part covered by the towel.
“Really?” I taunt her, moving close enough that the cool metal of the muzzle is pressed to my sternum. “Then do it, baby. Kill me.”
Her arms drop a few inches, taking the muzzle down to my belly button when she says, “Why? Why did you lie to me?”
“You know why,” I tell her. “You ratted out my boy, Nash. Without a witness, they can’t keep him in jail.”
“Were you there…that night in the house?” she asks, and I know she’s referring to the house where Harold Cox and his henchmen were killed.
“Yes.”
For a brief second, she squeezes her eyes shut as if recalling a memory. “You were terrifying! I was so scared, scared that you were going to just shoot me without a second thought.”
When I don’t say anything because there’s no point in lying to her, she gasps. “You were going to kill me, weren’t you?”
“That was just a knee-jerk reaction. I let you go, didn’t I?”
“Only because one of the others told you to!” Cora shouts. Thankfully, she finally drops the gun in her hands, letting it fall on the floor so that she can bang her tiny fists on my chest with every other word. “I hate you, and I don’t even know who you really are!”
Grabbing each of her fists in mine, I wrench them around, pinning them to her lower back so that I can close the distance between us. Pressing my chest to hers, our mouths are barely an inch apart. “Say what you really mean, baby. You didn’t come looking for me because you hate me, did you? No, you missed me.” I rest my forehead against hers, then brush the tip of my tongue along the seam of her lips, making them part on a gasp. “You’re just pissed because you slept with another bad guy and loved every fucking second of it.”
“That’s not why I’m…” Cora starts to say before I shove my tongue down her throat to shut her up. She tries to pull away for about a second, before caving, kissing me back just as ferociously. The way she starts rubbing up on my cock like a dog in heat causes so much friction that my towel eventually comes undone, puddling around my feet. My erection slaps against my stomach, ready and eager to get inside of her again. All it takes is a dip of my knees and then I’m under Cora’s short dress, poking her right where I know she needs me. She moans as I walk her backward until she’s lying flat on my mattress, my hands still keeping hers under her back so that her hips are lifted when I straddle them. I groan into her mouth when our lower bodies line up so perfectly. “Fuck, I missed this pussy,” I say as I move my lips down her neck and thrust down into her. “I’m so desperate for you, so hard, I could fuck you just like this through your hot little panties.”
“No!” she exclaims, turning her face away, making my mouth on her neck freeze. “Let me go! You don’t get to kiss me or touch me, you lying asshole!”
I should’ve known that as soon as she found out who I really was, she wouldn’t let me fuck her again. Still, it sucks. I reluctantly release her hands and sit back on my knees. Can’t say I’m even surprised when the right one comes flying up to slap me in the face before she scrambles out from underneath me.
“Is that why you did all the sleuthing, to break into my house and slap me?” I ask when I stand back up and face her while rubbing my left cheek.
“God, don’t I wish!” she huffs, pacing back and forth in front of the bed. When she reaches up to brush her hair out of her face, I notice that her hands are still trembling.
“You and I both know why you’re here, baby. You missed me, and I missed you too,” I admit.
“No, that’s not it at all!” she yells at me. My cold, dead heart wants to break when her pale green eyes sparkle with tears. “I tracked you down to tell you that I’m pregnant!”
“Pregnant?” I repeat, stumbling back several steps until my bare ass hits the corner of the dresser. “No fucking way. There were pills…I watched you take them every single day!”
“Apparently other medications make them less effective,” she explains. “I didn’t know that.”
“Did you do this on purpose?” I growl at her. “Buying you a house and a restaurant wasn’t enough?”
Her jaw drops. “What? Are you actually being serious right now? I didn’t even know you paid for all that yourself until after you left and I found out I was pregnant, you asshole! I called the realtor to find out who the hell bought those properties since it sure as shit wasn’t Agent Sheppard!”
“Oh. Right,” I mutter, reaching down to pick up my towel and wrap it around my hips again since my cock has deflated with this newsflash. “Well, you’re not gonna keep it, are you?”
“The baby? Of course I’m keeping it! It’s an innocent baby!”
“No, you can’t keep it,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “If it’s mine…trust me, it needs to die.”
Cora gasps again and places her hands over her stomach. “H-how can you say something like that? You know without a doubt that it’s yours. But if you don’t want to be part of his or her life, then that’s perfectly fine!”
“Do you want it to turn out like me? A killer?” I ask her.
“That’s not…it won’t be like you!”
“How do you know that for sure? My father’s a serial killer. I’ve killed men. It’s in our blood.”
“No, it’s not. I don’t know anything about your father, but you made the decision to kill those men that night!”
“Yeah, and I would do it again too,” I tell her truthfully.
“Wow,” she mutters in disapproval.
“Cora, those men were sex traffickers. They had a girl, my friend’s girl, and were going to do some truly terrible things to her! We had no choice but to shut that shit down, permanently.”
“I’m not even sure if I can believe anything that comes out of your mouth.”
“I lied to you, yeah. But it was either get you out of town or let Nash rot in prison for the rest of his life when I was way more guilty of that shit than he was. At least I didn’t hurt you. I could’ve just kidnapped you the hard way, you know. Held you hostage in a basement where you were tied up and barely kept alive.”
“From what I’m finding out about you, that sounds like more your style!”
I shrug a shoulder. “I admit it, I do have a bondage kink. Although, I’m guessing you wouldn’t have begged me to fuck you like you did if I had gone the ropes and gags route. You wanted the good guy agent.”
“I did, yeah,” she admits. “I don’t want you.”
The rejection stings, but deep down I know she’s full of shit. She loves bad boys, told me so herself. They’re her weakness.
“I bet your wet panties tell another story.”
“My panties aren’t…I can’t believe you!” she exclaims, face flushing again.
“If we’re not gonna fuck, then you should leave,” I tell her, even though I want her to stay. Malcolm would lose his shit if he finds out she’s in town. “Get rid of the kid, then go back to the house and restaurant I bought you before the police know you’re in town.”
“I’m not getting rid of it!”
“Whatever. Suit yourself,” I say through my clenched teeth when I find a pair of jeans to pull up my legs. “Don’t call me when he grows up to be a psycho maniac who kills puppies before moving on to chopping up people.”
“How could you think that about your own son or daughter?” Cora asks. “This baby will be sweet and innocent.”
“No one who comes from my genetic line is innocent. My grandfather and gre
at-grandfather killed dozens of men in wars. My old man gets his kicks fucking and killing women. And you already know about all the blood on my hands. That’s at least four generations of murderers and is the main reason why I never planned on adding any fucking branches to the family tree.”
“Your father…he’s killed women?” Cora asks when she lowers her ass down on the edge of my bed. “How do you know? I thought he was a federal agent.”
“He’s an agent all right,” I say when I lean my back against the dresser, crossing my arms over my chest. “What better cover than to get the inside dirt on serial killers’ habits and kinks to copy them, then set them up before arresting them? I admit, I had no idea what he was doing until I was eighteen.”
“What happened when you were eighteen?”
I start to tell her it doesn’t matter, but hell, it does. She’s still here because she wants my truth. So I give her the cold hard one. “He caught me screwing his girlfriend, threw me out of the room, and then he killed her with his bare hands.”
“H-how do you know that?”
Rubbing the back of my burning neck as I remember every detail of that night, I admit aloud for the first time to anyone what happened. “Because he held a gun on me and made me ride with him to the woods. Then he gave me a shovel to dig the shallow grave for her, making sure hikers would eventually find her and it would be linked to the strangler on the loose. It worked too.”
Cora’s face goes a little pale as her jaw drops. “But…why didn’t you turn him in?”
“Are you fucking serious?” I ask with a chuckle. “Who would believe an eighteen-year-old delinquent over a veteran FBI agent? No one, that’s who. So, when he left me in the woods that night, I never went back. Anita wasn’t a saint, but she didn’t deserve that shit, to die brutally when she was only thirty-two. We had been fooling around for weeks that summer,” I confess. “I did her as a big fuck you to my father. She did me because he threatened to have her arrested and charged with murdering her rich husband.”
“Anita?” Cora repeats. “The ID you gave me?”
“I figured no one else would be using her social security number or name since she was dead.”