Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Would you have kept Alexia’s baby? I mean, you were so young, both of you. Would you have kept it?”
He nods without hesitation and looks as if he’s almost confused by the question. As if he or they hadn’t considered the alternative at all.
I pull back and study his face. “Does it do something for you if I’m pregnant? Something I don’t know?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have something to gain if I’m pregnant?”
“Of course not,” he says, pulling back. “I didn’t want this for you. I wouldn’t have done this. Not like this.”
“Is Dr. Fairweather alive?”
He nods once.
“That’s his blood.”
Another nod.
“How did you find out?” I ask, looking at those stains. He beat Fairweather. He didn’t want this. I have to trust that. Trust him.
“I was having my mother followed.”
“What?”
“She paid Fairweather a visit, and when I confronted her, she told me what she’d done. That’s how I found out, Madelena. So, no, I didn’t know, and I didn’t plan this for you. So if that’s where your head is going, stop now. Understand?” His voice hardens at the end of his speech.
I nod.
“What did I tell you?” he asks, taking me in his arms again, one hand in my hair to draw my head backward just a little. It’s not painful, but he is making a point. “You’re mine and I’m yours. Say it.”
“You’re mine and I’m yours,” I repeat.
“Do you trust me?”
“I’m pregnant, Santos.” To say the words out loud makes this more real somehow.
“Do you trust me?”
I nod. I have to.
“Tell me what you want.”
I turn away, take a deep breath in. This isn’t a decision I ever wanted to make. In fact, it’s exactly why I never wanted to be in this position. I push the heels of my hands into my eyes to stave off stupid, useless tears.
I don’t want to hurt my baby, but I’m afraid. I am afraid I will hurt her, just like my mother almost hurt me. Because what if I am like her? What if I’m sick too?
“Come here, sweetheart.” He pulls me to him, ignoring my struggles to be free, and holds me so tight all I can do is hold him back, cling to him. Let myself surrender to him. It’s a little weight off, at least, that surrender. To have him hold me.
29
SANTOS
I don’t see my brother or my mother over the next two weeks. My mother isn’t at the apartment, according to Val. It’s just Caius there. But I know she’ll be back by tomorrow night. She needs to be. She’s hosting a special event at Augustine’s. She cares too much for appearances to miss it.
I watch Madelena closely. She’s quiet, but I’m glad to see her eat at least a little. The nausea that comes on in the mornings is more marked now, or maybe we’re more aware of it, although it doesn’t seem to trouble her once she eats something. I haven’t asked her what she wants, and she hasn’t said, but we have an appointment tomorrow to find out how far along she is. I’ll learn then what our options are and how long she has to decide.
Today, however, I am headed to Mansfield, Connecticut to see the kid who gave a statement to police regarding Hayes’s death. That statement was buried in the file I was able to get my hands on, courtesy of Rick. I’ve left Val at the house. He’s the only one I trust fully to watch over Madelena and have considered sending her up to Hells Bells where no one knows where she is. Because my enemies can get to her. Bea Avery showed me that. And my mother—is she my enemy? Or is she acting for the good of the family as far as she sees it? But why this? Why the pregnancy? It doesn’t add value. I’m missing something.
Two soldiers follow in a separate car. I needed to be on my own to think during the three-hour long drive up here. I double check the address I have for Mitch Forest. He’s the man who happened to be hiking near where Hayes was the day he was killed. Mitch, who is twenty-five now, would have been around fifteen at the time. He currently lives with his mother in a ranch-style house that looks like it needs updating. He works the early shift at the local grocery store. I’ve timed my arrival and as I pull up to the curb in front of his house, I see Mitch’s old model Jeep turning onto the driveway.
I give him a minute to park. When he looks at the two black SUVs on the street, I climb out. The men in the other vehicle know to stay put inside so as not to scare Mitch.
The driveway is long and leads down a gradual decline toward the unremarkable house. I see a curtain move inside as Mitch walks to the mailbox to grab the mail, never taking his eyes off me as he does. It’s a bright, cool day and he’s not wearing sunglasses. He squints in the sunshine to see me.