Something happened with Odessa? That was good news. Zeke had mentioned that the woman had been picked up, but he hadn't elaborated and Alexa hadn't asked. She saw Mark every day. Shouldn't he be the one to tell her what was going on?
"Did the judge tell her not to come here anymore?"
He shook his head from side to side.
"Did she move away?"
He nodded.
Thank God. She made a mental note to ask Mark when he came to pick up Braden.
As usual, the last two hours of her workday disappeared in a blur. She was more exhausted than usual and could barely keep her eyes open when six o'clock rolled around. A week of no sleep will do that to a person.
Lately, her dreams teeter-tottered back and forth between a rosy picture of what her future might hold if she let Mark back in to share it and nightmares that featured a wicked grandmother carting a child off into the woods. Occasionally there were sexy dreams, too. Memories really. And she found the thought of spending the rest of her days without that kind of fire in her life utterly depressing.
"Ahem."
Alexa looked up from her keyboard where her fingers were resting lifelessly. "Mark. I didn't hear you come in."
His eyebrows framed a question. How is that possible? She didn't have an answer, so she stood up and said, "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to ask you a question. Braden told me his grandmother was no longer a problem. Could you explain?"
"Odessa is in county lockup for a fistful of speeding tickets and unpaid parking fines while the D.A. decides if there's enough evidence to charge her with accessory to murder."
"What?" she asked, trying to keep her voice under a shout. "Didn't Zeke say she had an alibi?"
"Her boy-toy cowboy—" He winced apologetically. “Sorry. That's what the jokers at Metro have been calling him. He's actually a forty-year-old druggie who has the IQ of a Barbie doll when he's not high. Once he started coming down from whatever drug cocktail Odessa was feeding him, he claimed that she put him up to it.”
"Wow. No more threat of her stealing Braden. You must be overjoyed." Although she had to admit, he didn’t look overjoyed. If anything, he looked worse than she felt at the moment.
He didn't respond to her comment. Instead, he leaned down, obviously searching for the sign-in sheet, which she'd just filed. "You still want me to sign him out, right?”
She didn't need Gypsy genes to know something was wrong. Very wrong. "Mark, what's going on? Have you heard something about the arson investigation? Oh, my God, they're not charging you with that, are they? Did that witch try to cut a deal?"
He reached out and touched her arm, obviously trying to quell her growing anxiety. "No. Nothing's changed there. I was told our lab sent some residue to the state crime lab for analysis, but they still haven't gotten back the results. It's the holidays."
His casual attitude angered her. "What do you mean it's the holidays? So what? Don't the people who work in those places realize a person's life hangs in the balance?"
"Alexa, the intensity of the fire means there weren't a lot of clues to sift through. Even if the lab reports come back negative—meaning there was no trace of an accelerant beyond the normal chemicals found in a meth lab, that doesn't mean there wasn't a bomb. In fact, it could mean whoever set the fire was either an extremely clever arsonist—or someone who was good at investigating arson fires."
Her stomach clenched in a way that brought back the nausea she'd been fighting most of the day.
"At this point, it's my word against a dead drug addict’s,” he said solemnly.
“A guy your ex-mother-in-law had killed."
"Supposedly."
"Why'd she do that? Just so she could use the gun to frame you for his murder?"
He sighed. "Her boyfriend said the guy was threatening to recant his statement. Partly because the D.A. wouldn't back off from his third-strike charges until he produced some kind of proof that I put a bomb in that house and partly because Odessa hadn't paid him the money she'd promised him." He threw up his hands. "These are people whose lives are centered on drugs—making, buying, selling, using. There's no way for someone who isn't part of that cycle to understand how they think."
"Okay. I get that. But you're not part of the cycle. So, why haven't they cleared you as a suspect?"
"Because Odessa is now the second person who claims I did it."
"Why would they believe her?"
Mark looked toward where his son was sitting with Luca and Gemilla. Maya had left half an hour earlier with Rob, but Gregor apparently was running late.
"She's given them some new information that supposedly speaks to motive."
"Your motive?"
He nodded.
"What is it?"
He blew out an impatient-sounding breath and shrugged. "I'd rather not say. They're running some tests. Nothing's going to come of it, but I don't want to talk about it until we get confirmation."
She could tell that this was a serious, potentially life altering test. She knew about those. She had one sitting on the bathroom counter. She just hadn't decided whether or not to use it.
She'd bought the home pregnancy test kit months ago to have on hand when she started going through the in-vitro process. A bit prematurely, granted, but the gesture had made her feel as if the process was actually going to take place. All day long though, she'd been vacillating about whether or not to use it now. She wasn't pregnant. She couldn't be. But something weird was going on with her body.
"Okay," she said. “I didn't mean to pry. I just wanted you to know that most of the schools are doing a partial day on Friday. We're going to have a whole-school party in the afternoon, and Braden is welcome to come. You are, too, of course."
"A Christmas party?"
"A non-secular, all-inclusive, politically correct holiday party," she said trying to keep her tone light. His raised eyebrow told her she'd failed. "Okay, it's a Christmas party. We ask each child to bring a book—new or used, which we donate to battered women shelters." She added in a whisper, "I have new books to replace the old ones. My gift to my students."
He looked at her a moment then nodded. "He'll be here."
Fifteen minutes later, Mark and Braden were walking toward Mark's truck which he'd parked in front of the Hippo, when a man came charging across the cul-de-sac.
Alexa's cousin, Gregor, Mark realized once his initial police-trained reaction died down.
"Hey, you two, glad I caught you."
Mark wasn't sure what that meant, but he paused. "Pardon?”
"Luca has been asking if he could have Braden over to play. The poor kid doesn't have a lot of friends in the area and with my hours at work, I don't usually get home early enough to arrange anything. But, I'm taking a personal day tomorrow—have to run out to Montevista Hospital to check on MaryAnn, but I'll be back before the kids get home from school. I thought maybe Braden and Luca could play together at our house instead of going to the Hippo. We've got lots of toys. And video games. Age appropriate. Nothing violent."
Mark looked at his son. "Would you like to go to Luca's house tomorrow?"
Braden nodded vigorously. You didn't need to be a mind reader to see the hope and excitement in his son's face.
"Okay," Mark said. "Sounds good."
"Cool. Why don't you two come over for a minute right now—after I get my kids, of course, and make sure you really want to do this, Braden? The place isn't the neatest. Luca's mom has been away."
Mark didn't have any reason to hurry home. "Sure. Why not? Let's put your backpack in the truck, son."
The timing worked out perfectly. Gregor and his kids returned almost immediately. The two boys shot across the street without really looking for traffic, which, thankfully, was nonexistent.
"I'll be right there, Bray," Mark hollered after his son. To Gregor, he explained, "I'd better tell Alexa not to expect him or she might call search and rescue. We had an incident last week with Braden's grandmother."
"Yeah, I heard. Ma
ryAnn's mom is a pain in the butt, too, but fortunately she lives in Hawaii."
Gregor turned and, with his daughter at his side, followed the boys across the street. Gemilla was a pretty little girl who never seemed too animated unless Maya was around. Once she and her father reached the driveway of their home, she dashed inside ahead of Luca and Braden.
His son had a friend. The fact was almost enough to make Mark choke up. Friends were important. He'd never had too many until he'd been in high school. With a father like his, bringing a buddy home was asking for trouble.
He'd always assumed his son would have a different kind of life, but this was probably the first time anyone had asked Braden to come over and play. The thought made his chest hurt. He was a failure as a father. In so many ways he was losing count.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the pastel purple door of the Hippo. When Alexa didn't answer, he tried the knob—and was surprised to find it open. "Alexa," he called, walking inside.
She wasn't at her desk and the lights were off in the daycare area so he headed toward the hallway leading to her rooms. He called her name again but didn't want to disturb her if she was on the phone or something.
"Alexa, it's me. Alexa?"
He walked into her bedroom. Nobody was there. He started to leave, thinking she might have slipped out the side door and walked to her mother's when he heard a low moan followed by a voice crying, "Oh, my God. That's not possible."
He reversed course and charged into the brightly lit master bath. Alexa was sitting on the edge of her oversize tub, holding a box in one hand and a plastic wand of some kind in the other. Between the look on her face—a mixture of disbelief and shock—and the overly large initials on the box that clearly stood for Early Pregnancy Test, Mark figured out what she was shaken up about.
Shock, hurt, fury—the combination of emotions hit so fast he could barely think, but one thought crowded out all the rest. "You lied to me."
She looked up. "Huh?"
"You said there wasn't anyone else."
The box slipped from her fingers, which had started to shake. The color drained from her face, and Mark realized she was about to faint. He rushed to her side and carefully eased her head down between her knees. He felt her body trembling. She tried speaking but he couldn't make out what she was saying.
"Twice in one lifetime," he muttered. "How big a sucker am I? Not once, but twice. Were you going to try to palm this kid off on me, too?”
She reared back, her color greatly improved. "What are you talking about? Why are you yelling at me? Wait. Why are you here? Where's Braden?"
"I'm the one asking questions. What is this?" He wrenched the white plastic stick out of her fingers.
"It's none of your business."
"I understand that. You slept with some guy a month or two ago and suddenly figured out you were pregnant. But you told me there wasn't anyone else."
"There wasn't."
"We slept together a week ago. Don't tell me this thing works that fast. That kind of trick only works once."
She shook her head and grabbed the stick back. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been on the highest dose of birth control pills known to man for years. I stopped taking them a couple of months ago. I've had one period since then, and I was due to start yesterday. When that didn't happen...”
"You whipped out your handy-dandy pregnancy test? Who keeps those lying around?"
"Someone who wants to—who plans to—get pregnant."
"You planned this?"
She looked at the ceiling. "I didn't plan on sleeping with you. I had no idea you were going to be here last week. I planned on using a donor from a sperm bank as soon as my doctor said I was ovulating and it was safe."
"What do you mean safe?”
'The cysts may return. Nobody knows for certain if I can get pregnant."
Mark glanced at the plastic indicator. "What does that mean?”
She let out a sigh. "It's probably a false positive. There's no way we could have gotten pregnant from one time— okay, two, but still the same night. I mean, I know you said that's how it happened with Tracey, but I never really believed you.”
"You didn't?"
She shook her head. "If this thing is right, then I was wrong."
He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"No, you weren't."
"Really?"
He hadn't expected her to sound so hurt. "I really only slept with her that one night. One time. Honest. What I meant was, that's not how she got pregnant."
"Huh?"
"Her mother told me last week that I'm not Braden's father. Tracey was sleeping with another guy. She knew she was pregnant when she and I. . . " He stopped short of using the only word that applied. "According to Odessa, Tracey set out to seduce me because she figured I'd feel so guilty I'd marry her."
"Why?" Alexa cried. "Why not just marry the other guy?"
Mark could barely bring himself to repeat the horrible possibility that had been haunting him for a week. "He was a drug dealer, for one thing. He also had a bad temper and most people considered him dangerous. Why she slept with him in the first place is anybody's guess, but apparently she didn't want that kind of life for her kid."
"Oh." The compassion in her eyes made Mark feel like a jerk since he'd felt nothing but fury toward his ex-wife when Odessa had told him about Tracey's supposed plan to sucker him into marrying her.
Neither spoke for a minute, then Alexa grabbed his arm. "Oh, no, don't tell me that man is still around. He's not going to try to get custody of Braden, is he?"
Mark shook his head. "No. He's dead. He died with Tracey. That day. In the fire."
She clapped her hand to her mouth as if she might be sick. Suddenly her eyes went wide with horror. "No. You didn't know. They don't think.. .please, tell me they don't think that was your motive. If they put you in jail, then Odessa.. .no... no.. she really does have a claim on Braden, doesn't she?"
She started to cry, tears spilling down her cheeks, but she dashed them away with her hands and a second later stood up. She turned to face him, legs spread in a fighting stance. "No. She can't have him. I'll take him. Or.. .or one of my sisters if.. .if not me. She's a horrible, horrible person, Mark. She can't have that precious little boy. She'll destroy him."
He stood up, too, and crushed her, sobbing, to his chest. Such a kind heart. An honest heart. He should have known she'd never lie to him. She and Tracey were as different as good and evil.
Chapter 18
Alexa wasn't sure how long they stood there, Mark holding her, providing comfort and reassurance that all would be okay. She could almost believe it in his arms, but slowly the reality of the situation took over.
He had a son—a little boy who thought of Mark as his father. A little boy who needed Mark's entire focus. And she wasn't helping things.
She gently pushed away from him and walked to the vanity. Bending over, she splashed cool water on her face then used a towel that Mark handed her. "Feeling better?"
She nodded. "I think so. I've been on a bit of a hormone roller coaster today. Sorry I yelled at you."
"It's okay. You should have been there when I found out. Odessa was damn lucky there were three cops present."
"Do you believe her?"
He took a breath and let it out. "I don't know. Zeke ordered a DNA test. Just a swab on the inside of your cheek, but I don't give a damn what the results say. Braden is my son. Blood or not."
Alexa knew she'd never loved Mark more. But that didn't solve her problem. His first response to seeing her with the pregnancy kit had been to accuse her of cheating on him— and they weren't even dating.
"What do we do now?" he asked.
"Nothing."
She stood up and took a breath to clear the fuzzy dots from her vision. Her legs were as wobbly as heck, but she was entitled. Her world had turned upside down—a good reason for wobbly legs.
"Nothing?"
&nbs
p; She wanted to crawl under the covers and hide, but that would only postpone the inevitable, and procrastination wasn't her style. "Okay. Let's talk. Just us. Now. Where's Braden?"
"At your cousin's. I came back to tell you he was going there tomorrow after school to play."
Luca and Braden's friendship was the one good thing to come out of all of this. "Let me call Gregor and see if he minds keeping Braden a little longer."
Minutes later, she and Mark sat down across from each other in her little TV nook. "Here's the deal. My body is kinda screwed up—partly from the operation, partly from the birth-control pills. The pamphlet that came with the test says the results may not be accurate this early. I might not know for sure for a month or two. And given the state of my reproductive organs, anything could happen in that time."
"A miscarriage?"
She nodded. "I'm in my mid-thirties, Mark. Nine years ago, this probably wouldn't have been an issue. But my body has been through a lot since then." She looked down and tenderly rubbed her belly. "Getting pregnant this soon after going off the pill... ? That just doesn't happen. I honestly don't know what to believe."
"How do you feel?"
She wasn't sure how to answer. Living with the monthly pain that came from her cysts had made her acutely sensitive to changes inside her body. But since she'd never been pregnant, she didn't know if the symptoms she was experiencing were pregnancy-related or just premenstrual.
"Um...different. My breasts are tender. That used to happen when I got my period, but this time I haven't had continuous severe pain—only a little nausea. That's why I used the test."
"Did your doctor say there was any reason—physically—that you couldn't carry a baby to term?"
A baby. She couldn't—wouldn't—get her hopes up. "Not really, but he didn't seem very confident about my ability to conceive. He was worried about scar tissue blocking my fallopian tubes."
"What if you are pregnant?"
She shook her head. "I don't want to think about that right now."
"Why? Because of the fight we had?"
"No. Well, partly. I love you, Mark. I always have, but that doesn't mean we're good for each other. Producing a baby together doesn't guarantee we'd be a happy family. Two children right off the bat? With our history? Sounds like a recipe for disaster."
A Match Made In Vegas Page 15
