Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Moving on,” I said, hoping my scowl showed clearly on my face and in my voice, “are you allowed to tell me who Celia Hughes is, or are you just trying to torture me?”
He looked past me again to the door. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you this stuff. I thought Alex would.”
“It’s almost five in the morning.” I was incredulous. “I hope he’s asleep. I don’t even know why you’re awake.”
“Just am.”
“Coming home from a booty call?”
“Shut up,” he groused.
“Why Alex?” I said instead of escalating the discussion to a fight.
“Because when I told him, he said he would be here.”
“Okay, now I’m getting a little freaked out. Just tell me whatever it is.”
He glanced at the doorway again, and when he looked back at me, his gaze catching mine, I was swallowed up in it. Caught off guard, I stared back and realized, as I always did, how beautiful his eyes were.
“Cord?” I asked as he moved closer to me, until our faces were inches apart.
“I called Alex last night”—he checked his watch—“yeah, last night, because I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to know if he wanted to be with you when I did.”
“Last night when?”
“Like, three hours ago,” he said, and I saw the tablet then and wondered what was on it and what he was reading.
“Jesus, Cord, are you sleeping at all?”
“Who cares, just… I needed to talk to you, so that’s why I’m here.”
“So talk.”
“We could wait a little,” he stalled.
“You said you already told Alex. Now tell me.”
He inhaled sharply. “Last week, I was following up on a lead in the Stanson case, and it took me to Celia Hughes.”
After a minute I realized he wasn’t going to clarify. “English, Nolan. Please.”
“Well, you know I work Homicide now, right?”
“What do you mean now? You transferred to Homicide two and a half years ago, right before I met Breckin.”
After a moment he nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“I know it’s right, so…what?”
“So I’m working a case right now involving a man who was burned to death in his home.”
“Jesus,” I gasped, horrified.
“Yeah, so I’ve been working it maybe three months, and I haven’t been able to come up with anything concrete except for one thing.”
“And what is that?”
“All I’ve got is the fact that Timothy Stanson had previously reported being attacked in a public bathroom. He was hit in the back of the head.”
I shivered and pulled the blankets up around me.
“As soon as I found out he’d been attacked, I checked to see if there were any matching reports filed recently. One name came up a perfect match—Celia Hughes. Are you following me so far?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“As I was questioning Celia, I asked her who might want to hurt her or her baby, and she gave me a name that surprised me.”
“What name?” I choked out, shivering again and moving closer to the side of the bed, needing to be in his personal space for whatever reason.
“Yours.”
“Mine?” I was stunned. My stomach twisted into a painful knot as my throat went dry.
“It seems your ex-boyfriend is the father of Celia Hughes’s baby.”
Baby.
Time stopped. Terror gone, shivering gone, all pain forgotten.
“Tracy?”
Wait.
“Honey?”
Wait…
“Trace.”
“What?” I choked out.
Baby.
Breckin and this woman were having a baby.
“Are you listening to me?”
I nodded slowly.
“Did you understand what I said?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then I’m gonna say it again, okay?”
“Yeah.” I felt like I was in a vacuum and all the air was being sucked out of the room. And it wasn’t hearing that Breckin had cheated on me more than once, and it wasn’t that it was with a woman. I knew he was bi. It was the baby part that was suffocating me.
Cord took a quick breath. “Breckin Alcott is the father of the child Celia Hughes is carrying.”
I stared at him.
“Did you hear me this time?”
“What?” I was confused.
“Did you hear what I said?”
I just knew I must’ve misheard him. “One more time.”
So he did.
“Tracy.”
“Yeah?” I shook my head, trying to clear it.
“Honey.” His voice was like crushed leaves, so hoarse.
“What, what are you…who?” I couldn’t think. I could barely breathe. “What now? What?”
“Tracy,” he began softly, his tone gentle, as I’d never heard it. “Listen to me. Breckin—”
“What?” I snapped at him, my voice high and unhinged. “What the hell are you saying?”
“She had pictures of the two of them together at some convention,” he growled, suddenly aggravated. “She’s a doctor too, a cardiovascular surgeon, and it’s his baby.”
“But I— He—” I stopped, realizing I was beginning to hyperventilate and needed to calm down. I needed to breathe.
“What?” he prodded. “Tell me.”
His demeanor helped. He sounded composed, so I could be as well.
“We, Breckin and I, talked about having kids someday. I mean, I want kids. I think I would make a good dad, don’t you think?”