Page 31 of Paternal Instincts (Valor and Doyle #8)

Aslan

Q uaid checked his phone as we rode the elevator to ground level. The obsessive habit had developed after Bryn’s last doctor’s appointment. He tested the volume level several times a day, convinced he would miss the call, announcing she was heading to the hospital.

Despite being locked into a case, his disappointment at finding no message showed. He pocketed the device with an audible sigh.

“How are you holding up?” I took his hand and drew him into my arms.

He leaned heavily, tucking his face against my neck, his lips ghosting my skin as he responded. “I’m tired.”

“We didn’t sleep much last night.”

“A worthwhile sacrifice.” He chuckled. “Volcanic eruptions?”

“What?”

“Poor Costa.”

“Poor Costa, my ass. That man only plays at being offended.”

“You torment him.”

“No more than you. ”

When the elevator doors slid open, Quaid didn’t move.

“Come on, hot stuff.”

He relented and followed me. “Can you drive? I want to rest my eyes.”

“Sure.” I suspected his brain was spinning too much for him to focus on driving and thinking at the same time, and I didn’t mind.

I kept my arm around his shoulder as we aimed for the back exit and the covered parking garage. The building was quiet on a Sunday, so Quaid didn’t object to the intimacy, leaning heavily against my side.

We took a department Charger, but before I could turn it on or put it in gear, Quaid asked me to hang on as he found his phone again. “I’m calling Bryn. I know I shouldn’t, but I have to know how she’s doing.”

He put the device on speaker as it rang, holding it between us. Our surrogate’s perky, singsong voice came through the line a second later. “Hi, Quaid. Did you call to talk to me or the baby? I can hold the phone to my belly again if you want.”

Quaid’s cheeks pinked as he ducked his chin, side-eying me. It didn’t shock me one bit hearing he would request phone calls with his unborn child. More than once, he’d read me passages from books about how babies could learn to recognize voices in utero.

“Um… I called to see how you were doing. Aslan’s with me.”

“Hi, Az.”

“Hey. How’s my future soccer player?”

“Quieter today. A little squirmy this morning, like they were settling. I can’t explain it.

Mom thinks it means labor is imminent. Iggy checked the baby’s heart rate, and everything sounded good.

He agreed with my mother, saying babies often grow quieter when they’re getting ready to be born.

They’re conserving their energy for their big entrance. We could be close. ”

A stitch grew between Quaid’s brows, and he worried his lip.

I found his hand and held it.

“Are you still having Braxton Hicks?” he asked.

“Here and there. Nothing regular yet.”

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Peppy. Arden and I went for a long walk this morning. It felt good to move around and get some air. How are you two?”

“Trying to wrap up a case so we can start our leave,” I said.

“I’ll keep my legs crossed until then.”

I chuckled, and Quaid glanced at me before saying, “Hey, Bryn? Could we… for a quick minute?”

I could hear the smile in her voice when she responded. “Go ahead. I’m moving the phone.”

The sound muffled like someone was pressing against the receiver, and Bryn’s barely audible voice announced, “Ready.”

Quaid’s embarrassment sat on the surface, but it didn’t stop him from cooing into the phone. “Hi, baby. It’s Daddy. Remember me? I’m glad you’re giving Bryn a rest from all those somersaults. We’ll meet real soon, and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. I have so much to tell you.”

He glanced at me, tears glistening on the surface of his smiling eyes, shame burning his cheeks. “Papa’s here too. He’s excited to meet you as well.”

“We’re counting the days,” I added, never taking my eyes off Quaid.

“Love you, baby.”

Somehow sensing we were finished, Bryn came back on the line, and they said goodbye.

When Quaid hung up, I hooked a hand around his neck and tugged him against my mouth, kissing him .

“You slay me, Quaid Valor. I didn’t think I could love you more, but you always prove me wrong. You’re already an amazing dad.”

“I love you too. Do you think he or she can hear me?”

“I have no doubt.” I brushed a thumb over his cheek where a stray tear had snuck out. “I can’t wait to start this journey of parenthood with you. That baby is going to be spoiled rotten and loved to death.”

“They already are. Have you seen the nursery?”

Smiling, I drew him into my arms and hugged him fiercely. The onboard computer system got in the way, but we made it work.

Oh, how far we’d come.

***

We arrived at the Davises’ and found Nixon, zombie-like, on the couch, watching his daughter color with his brother, Flynn, who had shown up after hearing that Imogen had taken off. Zoey professed that Flynn was the only person who could calm Nixon down when his grief overwhelmed him.

Upon seeing us, Flynn offered an apologetic grimace and eyed his brother, who glanced up with anticipation when we entered the room. “Did you find Genie?” he asked Quaid, shuffling to the edge of the couch.

“No, but we have a few more questions.”

Nixon rubbed tiredly at his face. “Aren’t you done harassing me yet? Shouldn’t you be searching for my son? My wife?”

“Nix.” Flynn moved to sit beside his brother, wrapping an arm around him. “Stay calm. They’re doing all they can.”

“Stay calm? My wife and son are missing!”

“I know, and these gentlemen are trying to help. ”

Sparrow startled at the venom in her father’s tone. Quaid crouched beside her, admiring her drawing but speaking to Nixon. “The more information we gather, the closer we get to answers. Hi, sweetie,” he said to Sparrow. “Are you coloring more pictures?”

“Yes. Uncle Flynn was helping. Do you like it?” The girl held it up to show him.

“I do. Is that your mommy with the baby inside her tummy again?”

“No. That’s your shugaret.” She frowned. “I can’t remember the word. The lady who has your baby inside her tummy. Detective Aslan said she wasn’t his girlfriend or his wife ’cause he’s married to you.”

I smothered a smile at Quaid’s look of surprise. Nixon glanced at me, clearly stunned to learn of Quaid’s and my relationship.

“That’s amazing,” Quaid said.

“This is you, and this is Detective Aslan. The baby is a girl. I named her Daisy, remember?”

“I remember. Very pretty name.”

“I still like Moonbeam,” I said.

Sparrow giggled. “That’s a weird name.”

“I know.” Quaid scowled over his shoulder. “That’s what I said.”

“You can have the picture when I’m done. It can go on the fridge with the other one.”

“Thank you. Sparrow,” Quaid said, “Is it okay if Daddy comes with us into the kitchen for a few minutes?”

“You gotta ask more questions?”

“Yes.”

“About Crow?”

“Yes.”

She glanced at her father, her uncle, and Zoey, who lingered on the outskirts of the room. “I’ll stay with Uncle Flynn. Try not to make Daddy yell, okay? I don’t like that. ”

“I’ll try.”

“Did you find my mommy?”

“No, not yet.”

“So, two people is missing now?”

“I don’t think Mommy’s missing. She’s just having a break.”

Quaid’s quick thinking and delicate answers seemed to soothe the girl’s curiosity. We didn’t know where Imogen had wound up, and the possibility of her involvement in the case was higher now than it had been that morning, but a five-year-old child didn’t need to know that.

Flynn kneeled beside the coffee table and took up a marker. “Can I help?”

“Sure. I have more paper.”

I nodded to the man, thanking him for giving us a hand.

We gathered in the kitchen. Quaid, Nixon, and me.

Nixon offered us water, but we declined.

He poured himself a glass and drained it in one long gulp before leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

His posture suggested a defensive stance, and I got the feeling he was sick and tired of being implicated and interrogated about his son’s disappearance.

“Did you talk to Clementine?” Nixon snapped.

“Briefly,” Quaid said, startling me. When had that happened? “My partner is performing a proper interview right now.”

“Did she tell you we weren’t having an affair?”

“She did, and I believe you, Nixon.”

The man frowned. “Then what’s this about?”

I leaned against the kitchen island, aiming for a relaxed stance, hoping to take Nixon’s hostility down a notch as I took a turn speaking. “We’ve been looking into your family’s finances, Mr. Davis. I understand that Detective Valor explained that to you already. ”

Nixon sized me up and down and shrugged. “Yeah. So? Good for you. Was I late paying my gas bill? Is my VISA too high? Have I made poor investments? I don’t know what you were expecting to find.”

Quaid extracted the printed bank forms Ruiz had prepared as evidence in case Nixon proved to be skeptical. “We didn’t know either.”

He offered the pages to Nixon who didn’t take them at first and peered warily at my husband, then at me.

Quaid shook them. “Take a look. Please.”

Nixon relented and examined the pages for a long silent minute, the creases in his brow deepening. “I don’t understand. What is this?”

“As you can see at the top of the form, it’s an account in your wife’s name.”

“I see that. But… this can’t be right. Genie’s account is nowhere near this high. I’ve seen it. Recently. What are these deposits?”

“We asked ourselves the same question,” I said. “Our IT expert did some digging. He discovered that those deposits happen monthly and have been happening for many years.”

“There must be a mistake. Genie doesn’t have this kind of money. If she did, I would know.”

Nothing in Nixon’s body language indicated he was lying. The man seemed truly perplexed. We hadn’t even laid down all our cards yet.

I glanced at Quaid, who met my gaze. I indicated he should make the final reveal and see what happened.

“Mr. Davis.” Quaid’s tone was soft and gentle. “We traced where the payments were coming from.”

“And?” Nixon glanced anxiously between us.

“They’re from your father.”

Nixon blanched like he’d been unexpectedly slapped across the face. “My… What?” He looked at the printed forms, frown deepening. A laugh of disbelief followed. “That’s not possible. It doesn’t make sense.”

Quaid handed him another form, one showing where the payments came from. “Your father is depositing thousands of dollars every month into this account in Imogen’s name. What can you tell me about it?”

Nixon’s shock was genuine. He seemed lost for words as his attention shifted between forms. He continuously glanced at us as though waiting for a punch line that never came.

“I have no idea. This makes no sense. Why would my father give her money? My parents don’t have massive savings. In fact, my dad’s RRSPs were abysmal when he…” Nixon’s face fell, and I had a sneaking suspicion he’d drawn the same conclusion we’d drawn back at headquarters.

Nixon moved to set the papers on the counter and missed. They fluttered to the ground, unnoticed by the distraught man whose life was spiraling out of control. “I… I have to… I need to… make a phone call. Excuse me.”

I blocked the doorway before Nixon could escape.

Quaid held up his hands in a placating gesture as he approached. “Nixon. I don’t want you to call anyone right now. I only wanted to verify if you knew anything about this.”

“Of course I didn’t.” The man had turned sickly gray and swayed on his feet. “What is happening? W-what aren’t you telling me.”

“We don’t know.” I took Nixon’s arm and directed him to a stool, but he pulled away and paced the kitchen, tearing a hand through his hair. “We’re going to sort this out, but we need you to stay calm.”

“Stay calm? I need to talk to my dad. Flynn,” he shouted. “Flynn! ”

“Not right now,” Quaid said, holding up a hand. “Let us handle it for Crowley’s sake. We will head over to your parents’ place right now and ask them a few questions. In the meantime, I want—”

“Genie is gone! Where is my wife, Detective? Where is my son? Flynn! Flynn…”

“We’re working on it,” I assured him. The door at my back bumped me as someone tried to push through into the kitchen.

“Nix?” Flynn called from the other side. “Detectives, you might want to see this.”

Trembling, seemingly hanging on by a single thread of control, Nixon looked wildly around the kitchen like he’d been dropped on an alien planet. Over and over, he muttered, “Flynn… Flynn, I need you.”

“Nix?” The door hit my back again.

Using the power of silent conversation, I communicated to Quaid to get Nixon to sit down before he collapsed.

Once Nixon was occupied, I slipped through the door, closing it behind me.

Flynn glanced worriedly between me and the kitchen. “Is my brother okay?”

“He’s fine.” Flynn held a white cardboard envelope, and my stomach dropped. “What’s that?”

“FedEx just dropped it off.”