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“Her car will still be at the wedding venue. But it’s…” Papers rustle. “Erin Banks.”

“Get me the rest.”

“Will do.”

I hang up. Someone, at least, is doing his job. He got back when I did and is already knee-deep in digging up all information on the guests. He’ll make her his priority and… fuck, I don’t know where I’m going.

But I need to do something. And the drive helps. There are people I can see, talk to, intimidate about the events, and that’s my agenda. I’ll hit the sex club where so many of the shadier guys in my world like to hang out. Apparently, the pussy is prime.

I’ve been there for meetings, and the girls are fine, but it’s not my jam, that kind of pussy. If I share, it’s an arrangement with the lady and without money being exchanged. But the club’s perfect for information.

My head returns to Erin.

A kid.

She’s got a fucking kid.

A boy.

Surely, it’s a coincidence. But she didn’t act like someone with a kid when we hooked up. Then again, how the fuck is someone meant to act? It’s not like a woman becomes a mother and has a personality overhaul.

A boy.

Fuck. I don’t even know how old the kid is. And we had a one-night stand; what’s to say she doesn’t sleep around, doesn’t have them all the time. She’s definitely single. She didn’t wear a ring; she didn’t mention a husband, and she was there alone. No man would let me wander off with her. He might not stop me, but I’d have noticed a dude seething.

Maybe the boy’s father is one of her many one-night stands.

And I’m not slut-shaming. I was worse back then, and I’m damn lucky I don’t have a boatload of kids. I’m careful, but like that night, sometimes, not careful enough.

I also don’t even know if she slept with half of America since I last saw her or just me or only a handful. Is it even my business?

Only if she tried to claim paternity, or I did. And even then… Shit. It doesn’t matter who.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck and fuck.” The bottom line is if she has a kid and it’s mine, that’s all I care about.

For a brief second, I wonder if that is why she came to the wedding, but I dismiss it. If it was, she’d have told me about my child—if he’s my child. No, she was there for Max and I was what? A bad coincidence?

I don’t even bother to acknowledge I gave her nothing on how to find me. People have ways and though I keep the fuck out of the limelight, I’m known.

The phone lights up with Ilya’s name and I punch the button. “What?”

“I’ve got the details of her car, but it’s at the venue.”

Of course it fucking is. “Her address?”

“Got that. And someone called an Uber from there a couple of hours ago.”

“She took an Uber?” What the actual fuck? I slow down because there’s something in his tone. “Ilya?”

“It went to another address here, a suburb away from Erin. One Kara Everton. She has a car. Don’t you think it’s strange she took an Uber? I mean, her friend was supposedly at a wedding, so it’s not like they had a night on the town. Anyway, I tracked the car’s GPS. It’s at a motel about an hour out of town. I’ll send through the address.”

The moment it comes through, I hit the brakes, spin the car around, and head in the opposite direction at top speed.

I make it there in thirty minutes.

The car’s easy to spot and I pull up beside it, noting the kid’s seat in the back. I don’t bother with the fucking reception.She’s smart. If she’s hightailing it out of town, then the chances are she didn’t give her name. There’s a light on low, like a TV that lights the curtains with a flickering glow.

Fuck it. I knock once and the light goes off and there’s silence. Almost silence. I can hear the soft sound of a kid.