Retrieval

by Aly Martinez

  Yes. Growled. Like some sort of man-cub raised by a pack of bears.

  So, clearly, I had to ask, “Did you just growl?”

  The muscles on his jaw ticked as he righted himself and focused on the ceiling, muttering, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  That wasn’t an answer, so I pushed. “Did you seriously just growl at me?”

  He groaned and lowered his gaze to mine, stating incredulously, “You’re at a police station for questioning. I offered you a lawyer. God forbid.”

  My chair protested against the tile floor as I pushed away from the table and up to my feet. “I don’t want or need a lawyer. I haven’t done anything wrong.” I was moving toward him when I suddenly remembered that we were, in fact, in the middle of a police station with at least three other people looking on—maybe more if you counted whoever could be on the other side of the two-way mirror.

  Shit.

  Iced by my good manners, I sucked in a calming breath. “What I do want is to get whatever mess you created over with so I can go home.”

  Roman barked a laugh. “Aaand…we’re back to this being my fault.”

  Rorke took that moment to join our conversation. “Nobody needs a lawyer.”

  All eyes swung to him.

  “At least, not yet,” he finished. “Now, if you two will please just sit down and shut up, I’ll explain why I asked you to come down today.”

  Elisabeth Keller.

  Fucking Keller.

  There were no words to convey how I’d felt when I’d seen her sitting in that hallway. Time had frozen with a single glance.

  She appeared tired, too thin, and her hair was still damp on the ends, which caused it to frizz out in a way I knew she hated. But, even with all of that, she was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. However, that probably had more to do with the fact that she was in my veins than it did her actual appearance. But I’d never, not once, seen Elisabeth with just my eyes. My heart was just as much a part of the way I viewed her as my retinas.

  And still, after all this time, my body reacted to her the same way it always had—full alert.

  Atlanta was a big city, but in the last two years, I’d never seen her once. And, in the beginning, I’d tried to accidentally-on-purpose run into her more times than I’d ever admit.

  Of all the places to find her, a hallway at Atlanta PD was the one location I’d never considered.

  Elisabeth Keller’s idea of trouble was pocketing extra packets of sugar at the coffee shop. And, even then, she would have felt guilty, tossed and turned all night, and then promptly returned them the next day.

  But there she sat, all wide-eyed innocence staring at me as though she were the one seeing an oasis in the middle of the desert.

  Though, as far as I was concerned, she was the mirage. A woman I needed more than water and yet couldn’t reach no matter how hard I tried—at least, not anymore.

  Then she had to go and catch an attitude with me. It should have pissed me off. She had no right to come out of the gate swinging, blaming me for trouble that didn’t exist. But, the moment she let loose, it only made me nostalgic.

  It was that same attitude that had made me fall in love with Elisabeth approximately one hour into our first date.

  “They sound horrible, Lissy,” I said after a story about her parents. It was a joke, but her entire face lit.

  And, with just one glance, it lit something inside me, too.

  I’d wanted to strip her naked when she’d opened her front door, but it wasn’t until we were at dinner that I knew I’d face the wrath of a thousand gods just to make her smile.

  And worse, I’d burn the world around us in order to keep it aimed at me.

  I was lost in her eyes when the server asked if we were ready to order.

  I quickly said yes.

  She quickly said no.

  She adorably narrowed her eyes.

  I cocked my head and smirked.

  Then I made the grave mistake of ordering for her.

  My innocent angel disappeared, but the independent woman on the other side dug her hooks into me even deeper.

  Using her menu to block her mouth from the waiter’s view, she whisper-yelled, “I’m not eating chicken parmesan!”

  “You said it sounded good a minute ago,” I defended.

  Her chin lifted, and she flashed her eyes around the restaurant. “It did at the time, but you have no idea how I eat it!” Again with the angry whispering.

  I loved that she was standing her ground. But I especially loved that she was so obviously mortified that she was doing it in the middle of an Olive Garden, where people might possibly overhear her—including the waiter, who was watching our chat with subtle entertainment.

  Mine wasn’t so subtle. Therefore, I smiled huge and asked, “There’s more than one way to eat chicken parmesan?”

  “There is for me.” She nodded confidently then tucked her long, blond hair behind her ear.

  God, she was beautiful.

  I sat back in my chair and stared as something inside me broke. I was twenty-seven years old. I’d had my fair share of dates and women, but not one of them had held my interest for any length of time. However, for some inexplicable reason, in a matter of minutes, I knew I wanted to argue with Elisabeth—with an S—Keller about chicken parmesan for the rest of my life.

  “Oh, please, enlighten me, then,” I teased.

  She rolled her eyes then once again glanced around us, surveying our possible audience. “That’s a second-date meal,” she hissed. “Tonight, I’ll have the soup and salad.”

  I twisted my lips. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” she confirmed.

  I looked up at the waiter. “She’ll have the chicken parmesan. Bring it out every possible way a person can order it. Pull up another table if need be.”

  “Roman, no!” She slapped at my arm, but I caught her hand and intertwined our fingers.

  I held her gaze until the waiter walked away, at which point I seductively whispered, “Lissy, yes.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and then she gave me the innocent angel back. Her eyes darted to our hands before shyly sliding away. “That’s a ton of food. And trust me, I’m a whack-a-doo. They’ll never get it right.”

  That was exactly what I’d hoped. “Then I guess we’ll just have to stay here until they do.”

  I’d have given up every possession I owned just to go back in time to that Olive Garden with her.

  Even knowing how it would end.

  Maybe especially knowing how it would end.

  But I’d have given it all for one night where chicken parmesan was our only obstacle.

  “Mr. Leblanc,” Detective Rorke prompted, forcing me back to the present.

  I closed my eyes and shook the memories off. “Right.” I motioned for Whit to evacuate the seat next to Elisabeth.

  He moved swiftly, as though he knew that his future employment depended on it.

  Elisabeth scooted her chair to the left, huffing as I followed.

  “Okay,” Rorke started, once again digging through his file. “We just have a few questions about Peach City Reproductive Center.” He kept his head down but glanced up from his papers.

  “Oh, okay,” Elisabeth said, knotting her hands in her lap. “We, um, did in vitro fertilization there. It was—”

  A stabbing pain hit me in the gut. “Is this about a bill?” I asked roughly, cutting her off. “I paid them years ago. If anything is still outstanding, I’ll personally take care of it today.”

  Rorke faced me, but he watched Elisabeth from the corner of his eye. “I’m no collections agency, Mr. Leblanc. Ms. Keller, please continue.”

  Elisabeth’s sad eyes lifted to his. “It was a good place is all I was going to say.”

  He jotted something on the paper in front of him. “And you were under the care of Dr. Fulmer during this time. Is that right?”

  “Yes. He was amazing. Very understanding. Caring. Compassionate.”<
br />
  “And did this procedure with him produce a child? In vitro, I mean?”

  Her green eyes fluttered closed as anguish carved her smooth, white skin. “Yes, but—”

  I couldn’t take any more. “What is this about?” I barked, desperate to regain the control I’d never had during the actual IVF process. Or in the years that followed, leading up to that very moment when I was being forced to watch Elisabeth relive the most painful experience of our lives.

  “Just a few simple questions,” Rorke said, all but dismissing me from the conversation.

  I slammed my palm on the table and rose to my feet. “Discussing my son is not simple for anyone in this room but you.”

  “Roman!” Elisabeth scolded me for my outburst. But I’d have taken whatever heat she had to offer if it kept her from getting lost in the past.

  I remained focused on Rorke. “Either tell me what this is about right fucking now or this interview is over.”

  “A son?” His eyes flashed wide, cutting to the mirrored wall before landing back on me.

  “Tripp,” Elisabeth breathed, pulling Rorke’s eyes back to her. “He died within an hour of being born.” She looked up and offered me a weak smile. “It’s okay. I can do this.”

  Fan-fucking-tastic. She’s reassuring me.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and gripped the back of my neck.

  “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled under his breath. “And you didn’t try again?”

  “None of our embryos made it to freeze,” she replied.

  He once again cursed then steepled his fingers under his chin. “It’s my understanding you can do another cycle for more embryos. How many cycles did you do with Dr. Fulmer?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath, and Elisabeth shifted in her chair, crossing then uncrossing her legs.

  “We didn’t have the money for another fresh cycle,” she admitted. “We had to clean out our savings and then borrow the rest from my parents to pay for the first one.” She paused and then blurted, “Besides, Roman and I divorced six months after Tripp was born. There was no time. Even if there was money.”

  Wasn’t that the damn truth.

  Time was never on my side. Only months after our divorce, Rubicon had been created. If only she and I had stuck it out a few more weeks, I could have filled our house with a basketball team of children. She could have stayed pregnant for the rest of her natural life if that’s what she’d wanted, and I would have happily lay on the floor, acting as a human jungle gym for each and every one of those kids, content for the rest of my life knowing I had given her that.

  We could have been happy…again.

  Fucking time.

  “Was he buried?” Rorke asked, hope filling his eyes.

  “Easy,” I warned.

  Elisabeth answered behind me. “Cremated.”

  “Dammit.” Rorke closed his eyes, rubbing them with his thumb and his forefinger before opening them again. “I’m sorry, Ms. Keller, Mr. Leblanc. I’m sure this is a hard topic for both of you, so I’m going to be blunt here. We were unaware your son had passed away. We were hoping…” He stopped and trained his unfocused gaze on the door. “We were hoping to get a DNA sample from your son.”

  “Why?” Elisabeth and I asked in unison.

  He leaned forward and lifted his pen off the table, tapping it to his chin as he answered. “We have reason to believe that Dr. Fulmer or one of his technicians accepted a bribe and possibly switched embryos in the lab. Your name was brought up during the questioning of a possible witness.”

  Elisabeth reacted immediately, reaching up and clamping my hand in hers, squeezing hard as she gasped.

  Slowly sinking down to the chair, I rumbled, “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

  Rorke continued to explain. “I honestly can’t get into specifics, as we are still looking into all avenues. But we were refused the warrants for DNA on the child in question due to a lack of evidence.”

  Elisabeth’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. “The child?”

  His shoulders rolled forward in defeat, but he nodded. “Yes, there is a possibility one of your embryos survived. But the supposed birth father has denied us all access. We were hoping to take the back door on this one, proving foul play based on your child’s DNA. Then get the warrant once and for all.”

  I was vaguely aware of Whitman and Kaplin joining the conversation, tossing Rorke a million different questions laced with legal jargon, but my mind was spinning.

  Bribes?

  Embryos switched?

  A child?

  Our child?

  It was a Thursday morning. I was supposed to be in a meeting with my marketing team, and instead, I was sitting in a police station, next to my ex-wife, finding out that we might have a child laughing, smiling, and breathing on Earth.

  What the fucking hell was going on?

  I finally swung my head to Elisabeth. Her face was pale, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Without thought or consideration, I snaked an arm out and looped it around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. She came all too willingly, crashing into my chest just before sobs overtook her.

  It was dark outside when I woke up on my couch. My heels were gone, but I was still in the same skirt and top I’d pulled on in a hurry that morning.

  Police station.

  “Oh God,” I croaked.

  I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten home, but my feet must have moved at some point, even though my mind was still rooted in the middle of that police station.

  Embryos switched.

  “Oh God,” I croaked.

  Then I heard his voice in my kitchen.

  “Cancel everything tomorrow and forward all of my calls to Glen. Yeah. No.” Pause. Sigh. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Let’s just play this by ear.”

  Roman.

  “Oh. God.” I groaned, dragging my body up to the sitting position. My head objected, but I guessed that’s what you got when you cried yourself dry of tears.

  A child.

  “Oh God,” I breathed, dropping my face into my hands and settling my elbows on my knees.

  “You’re awake,” Roman said, stating the obvious.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of his bare feet carrying him my way.

  I closed my eyes and smarted, “You’re in my house.”

  The couch sank beside me. Then I felt his hand on my back.

  His strong, kind, gentle, soothing hand. Damn it. I screwed my eyes shut.

  “How ya feeling?”

  “Like I woke up in the Twilight Zone.”

  He chuckled. “Not far from the truth.”

  I scrubbed my face then did my best to smooth my sleep-mussed hair down. “Thanks for, um…bringing me home.”

  His hand moved up to the base of my neck, where it squeezed, massaging with his thumb before repeating the process on the other side. I lacked the energy to fight it and a pleasure-filled moan escaped my throat.

  He chuckled again. “I ordered takeout.”

  His torturous hand continued kneading my neck, leaving me unable to argue. I hadn’t eaten since earlier that morning. Food, even takeout, actually sounded amazing, and my stomach growled in agreement.

  However, just as quickly, I lost my appetite.

  “What the hell happened today?” I sighed listlessly.

  His hand spasmed. Then it stilled for a brief second before continuing. “I don’t know. But my people are looking into it.”

  Great.

  Roman had people now.

  And they were looking into the possibility that a child with my DNA was out there, sharing a world with other people I did not know.

  Forget food. I needed to go back to sleep and hopefully wake up in a world that made sense.

  “Oh God.” I moaned, finally turning to face him. “Roman,” I started, but the words froze on my tongue when I got my first real look at him—up close and personal.

  He was still wearing his suit pants, but he’d shed the jacket
and the button-down at some point since we’d arrived home. A simple, white undershirt clung to the hard ridges of his chest, the sleeves stretching mercifully around his thick biceps. I’d been wrong earlier that morning when I’d thought he was still just as gorgeous as he’d always been.

  He was better.

  And, a few years ago, I hadn’t known that was possible.

  He no longer sported the sexy stubble he’d insisted on growing after he’d gotten out of the military. Now, he was clean-shaven, not so much as a five-o’clock shadow marring his handsome face. His once barbershop-buzzed, dark-blond hair now bore the marks of a stylist—trimmed with precision on the sides, leaving the top longer and slightly unruly.

  It all looked good on him.

  Very good.

  But he could look as mouthwateringly beautiful as he wanted to and it wouldn’t change the man inside. And I couldn’t risk getting tangled in the façade again.

  Just because Roman was vowing his support right now, having his people look into things, didn’t mean he’d stay to see this clusterfuck through. I’d watched him walk away too many times to willingly sign myself up for that again.

  Besides, technically, he had no reason to be there.

  And worse, no reason to stay.

  During our long journey to have a child, we’d discovered that Roman produced very few sperm, most of which were abnormal. Doctors had been optimistic, saying that in utero injections (IUI) would be our best bet. But, three miscarriages later, they changed their tune. The same day we were told that our last hope was in vitro fertilization (IVF), it was strongly suggested that we use a sperm donor. I did not deal with this news well.

  First off, I knew we couldn’t afford IVF. While we lived comfortably, we didn’t have thirty to forty grand just lying around. We’d dropped most of our savings into our house when we’d gotten married and thought nothing of it. There had always been time to worry about savings later. We’d had each other. I’d like to say we were young and dumb. But what we really were was in love and eager to start a life together. A house seemed like the logical first step. We had no idea the financial burdens we’d be facing in the future. But, then again, making a baby with the man you loved was only supposed to cost a night of passion and an orgasm.