Page 39

Quaid

I n the hallway, I was accosted by Jordyn, who looked ready to tear a strip off me for going against the doctor’s orders and entering Imogen’s room. No one seemed wise to Aslan’s news, so I figured it hadn’t traveled to the labor and delivery floor yet.

Before I could translate the message to my partner or Costa, who was steadily apologizing for blowing my cover, I tugged them aside as I scanned the family, who weren’t getting along any better than before I’d entered the room.

My gaze landed on Benedict and his neatly bandaged hand that seemed to have stopped bleeding.

For an instant, I stared at the injury before my gaze shifted to the closed door of Imogen’s room, remembering her dirty fingernails.

The way she’d rubbed at them. The moment she’d caught me watching and stuffed both beneath the covers.

Something in the pit of my stomach told me it wasn’t dirt under her nails. It was blood.

A dismissed nanny.

A stabbed nanny.

A missing child.

A DNA test.

How did it fit?

Nothing made sense.

Still piecing things together, I told Jordyn and Costa about Aslan’s phone call.

“Jesus.” Jordyn stepped back and paced a circle as she processed.

To Costa, I said, “I want an officer on this door.” I motioned to the room I’d been forced out of.

Not that Imogen was likely to go anywhere in her state, but until I had my hunch verified, I didn’t want her unguarded.

Because I couldn’t dismiss the earlier incident at the grandparents’ house, I added, “And another one on Benedict.”

“Benedict? Why?” Jordyn asked. “Did you learn something?”

I traced my tongue along my upper lip, considering all angles before explaining about Benedict’s uncooperative behavior, his wife’s distress, and the suspicious hand injury. After, I described to my partner and best friend what I saw while chatting with Imogen.

Jordyn cursed again, looking about as baffled as I felt.

I left the two upstairs on the labor and delivery floor to handle the family while I headed to the emergency department to meet with Aslan.

***

“I don’t know much. I was returning inside after getting these”—Aslan displayed the paper bag containing DNA sample kits—“when she was wheeled in on a gurney. I recognized her and fought with a nurse until I managed to get a positive ID. ”

“Where was she found? Who called it in? Was she conscious?”

Aslan encouraged me off to the side of the bustling ER so we weren’t standing in the way.

“I hassled an ambulance attendant after she was passed off to the team of doctors, showed him my credentials, and told him she was part of a case I was working on. I didn’t think he believed me at first. He said they picked her up in the parking lot of an apartment in the Flemingdon Park area.

Someone found her bleeding out and called 911.

He said they ID’d her from the wallet they found in her fallen purse.

It didn’t appear to be a robbery since she still had cash and car keys.

She’s been unconscious this whole time, so no one has been able to ask her what happened. ”

“Has her family been contacted?”

“They’re on their way.”

I paced, thinking it through before telling Aslan about my chat with Imogen and the suspicious dirtiness of her hands.

He stilled and lowered his voice. “Do you think she did this?”

“I don’t know. Benedict was bleeding at the house, too, but…”

“Actively bleeding. It was his blood on the towel and gauze, not a transfer from someone else.”

“He could have been hurt in the process. Maybe Clementine fought back.”

“Quaid, why would Benedict attack his son’s nanny, who was fired last week? Did they even know each other?”

“I don’t know, Az. I don’t know anything, but you know who does know? Imogen, and I can’t get near her, never mind that we have a missing child. I want to ask her one goddamn question.”

“I know.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, calming my fury.

“Look. I don’t know how long Clementine will be in surgery, but why don’t we get these tests to the lab.

If we throw around our authority, we’ll have answers in a couple of days.

By then, maybe we can approach her with the truth.

Flynn and Ronald are upstairs still, yes? ”

I nodded. Aslan was right. Getting a definitive answer to one of our most ailing questions would help. The fact that most of our potential fathers were at the hospital bothered me. Where was Crowley? Was he alive or dead in a ditch? Who was taking care of him?

I checked my phone, unsure if I wished it to stay silent or wanted it to ring and free me from this godforsaken case. Either way, at least we were on location. It so happened that Sunnybrook was the same hospital where Bryn was meant to give birth.

Aslan handed me the file folder with our warrants and the paternity test results that had been delivered to the house, still stored in the FedEx envelope. I took it, realizing his attention was elsewhere.

I followed his gaze to a couple who’d come in and were inquiring at triage about their daughter.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Clementine’s parents,” Aslan said, stealing my thoughts. “I’ll talk to them and meet you upstairs.”

***

The hallway outside Imogen’s room was vacant. The Davis and Walsh families were nowhere in sight. One of the constables stood outside the closed doorway to Imogen’s room, looking bored out of his skull.

“They’ve moved the families to a private waiting room.” The young officer indicated with a hitched chin down a hallway.

I thanked him and found the room full of quiet tension.

The fighting might have stopped, but the room vibrated with animosity.

Benedict and Bess sat on one sofa near a vending machine.

Ronald and Diane occupied another. Odelia sorted through pods for a Keurig machine in a makeshift kitchen set up off to the side.

Jordyn sat on the coffee table between the feuding grandparents as though preventing war as she scowled at her iPad.

Costa, Nixon, and Flynn were not in the room, and I suspected they had needed to separate them from the grandparents to keep peace.

The instant Jordyn saw me, she bounced to her feet and approached.

“Any news?”

“She’s in surgery. Hasn’t been conscious, and I don’t know how serious her wounds are. Her parents just showed up, so Aslan is chatting with them. Where’s Flynn? I need to collect DNA from him and Ronald, then I’m sending this to the lab so we can get some freaking answers.”

“He went with Ruiz to get coffee in the cafeteria. Said he didn’t want this shit.” She motioned to the Keurig that Odelia seemed to have sorted out. “My guess is he didn’t want to deal with this bunch.” She vaguely gestured to the grandparents.

“And Nixon?”

“They let him in to see Imogen. He promised to keep his cool.”

I stared at the test kits, then the door. “We really need to interview her. What are the chances they let us in, too?”

“Slim. Your little sneak attack earlier pissed the doctor off.”

“Goddammit, we have a missing child.”

“I know, Quaid.”

“And that woman knows more than she’s telling us. Her hands were—”

“I requested they take samples. It’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time.”

Red tape with police work was the bane of my existence. It hindered progress at the worst moments. Since there wasn’t much else to do—a doctor’s order superseded my need for an interview—I convinced Ronald to provide us with a cheek swab.

The man was agreeable, if not insulted by the request.

I decided to wait for Flynn in the hallway and browsed the contents of the file folder to keep myself occupied.

Aslan had stuck Madison’s note on the inside flap, and despite the full trust I had in my husband, I couldn’t temper the tiny twinge of jealousy when remembering his life before we got together.

The countless hookups, the endless flirting, the nameless bed partners.

The stab of jealousy was momentary and fleeting, but it existed even now.

Aslan was as committed to me as I was to him.

I knew that in my heart. Our past didn’t dictate our future.

It didn’t define us as people. If that were true, I would forever be a pathetic, insecure loser who never thought himself worthy of anyone, but I had Aslan now.

We were having a baby. Our lives were on track.

It was good. Better than good. It was perfect.

I peeled Madison’s note from the folder and tossed it in a nearby garbage pail.

The FedEx envelope stared up at me. The same uniform sticker on the front with the Davises’ address printed in capital letters. No return address. That spot was left blank. The bold orange and navy FedEx Express emblem took up the left-hand side. A clean, white envelope.

Something niggled at the back of my mind.

A familiar voice interrupted my perusal, and I glanced up as Costa approached with two paper takeout cups. “If I knew you would be back so soon, I’d have grabbed you something.”

He indicated the paper cup with a tea bag string dangling from where it was caught under the plastic lid. “This one’s for Jordyn.” He held the second aloft. “This one is black like my miserable soul and without powdered chemicals, or I’d offer it to you. ”

“Gross. I’m fine. Somehow, I doubt hospital coffee is good no matter how much milk and powdered chemicals I put in it.”

Costa chuckled. “Truth. I’ll let you know.” He sipped and cringed. “Well, it’s not hot and has a bitter, burnt, ashy taste.”

“Hard pass, but you enjoy.” I glanced over his shoulder and down the hall. “Where’s Flynn? I need a cheek swab so I can get these to the lab.”

“He ordered food. It was going to be ten or fifteen minutes, so he told me to go ahead so Jordyn’s tea didn’t get cold.”

I held the door to the waiting room for Costa since his hands were full and followed him inside. Jordyn gratefully accepted the tea, and I eyed Odelia’s steaming Keurig, wondering how much worse it would be than the cafeteria brew.