by Jaycee Clark
“Who is this?”
The female answered and he stilled just as Rori did at the answer, which he heard.
“Try again, luv, I don’t bloody think so.” She looked at the phone. “Yeah, right. Who is this?”
No answer.
“Well, bye to you as well,” Rori muttered, frowning.
Quinlan walked back into the room and tossed a Coke to him. Ian snatched it out of the air. He watched his brother. “Your wife called.”
Quin froze. “What?”
Brayden’s paper rattled and Ian didn’t take his eyes off his brother.
“Some chickie called,” Rori said. “Asked for you and claimed to be your wife.”
Quin’s face set, he walked to them and snatched the phone out of her hand. “Thanks so much for answering my phone.”
“Wife?” Christian asked.
“Wife?” Brayden asked.
“If I had a real wife, she’d be here with me, don’t you think?” Quinlan said, scrolling through the phone.
“What’s the number?” Ian asked, noting that Quin’s statement could be construed in several ways.
A muscle bunched in Quin’s jaw. “Out of Area.” He shook the phone as if it would suddenly give another number like the fortune-telling eight ball. “I hate when they say that.”
“Maybe she left a voice message?” Christian said. “And why would someone claim to be your wife?”
“Maybe she’s delusional,” Brayden said.
“Well, perhaps she wants money,” Rori said. At everyone’s silence, she said, “What? Just because you don’t think he dates doesn’t mean tweed boy here didn’t get it on and bang the bloody hell out of some playboy-groupy who’s trying to get something out of him.”
“Your view of me is so encouraging,” Quin said and walked from the room. “I need to get going, let me know what you guys decide.”
Ian pushed up from the couch and followed his brother out. “Where are you going?”
Quinlan stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Not now, Ian.”
Ian stepped up beside him. “Yes, now. What the hell is with you? Is this about Ella? You haven’t been yourself since that first New Orleans trip. And now this phone call?”
Quin’s head snapped up, his gaze narrowing. “What do you know of Ella?”
Ian looked at him. “I know you fell for her hard. I know she went with you to Vegas but you left her there as she wasn’t on the plane with you when you got back.” Ian started to add what else he knew, but didn’t. “I know that you flew down to New Orleans every week for almost two months and then you suddenly stopped. Kid, you were happy.” He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “What you do with your life is none of my business, I know. I’ll help you any way I can, Quin. You only need to ask. You know that.”
The muscle jumped in Quin’s jaw. Finally he took a deep breath. “Not yet.”
“She worth it?”
Quinlan opened the front door. “Is Rori?”
Ian arched a brow.
“I thought she was,” Quin said.
Quinlan kept walking down the steps and sidestepped Aiden, who was walking up the drive.
“Hey!” Aiden said, taking all three front steps at once. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”
“Quinlan’s wife,” Ian said, watching his brother climb into his silver Mercedes.
Chapter 18
Taos, early October
“And lean into the stretch, opening up the chest, breathe through it . . .” she told her class of pregnant women. There were new additions and some who had left; some had their babies and moved on. Others had simply been weekend warriors.
This evening her class consisted of the regulars—there were only five of them—and a few others.
She hadn’t eaten today, but then she hadn’t really eaten anything since the night she’d tried to call Quin, and that was about three weeks ago. Her doctor had already noticed her weight loss, but she just really wasn’t hungry.
The idea that Quinlan had moved on had been a punch in the gut, in the face, in the heart.
Her eyes stung yet again and she had to focus on moving everyone into the next move. “Remember to press against the inside of your thighs with your elbows to gently coax the muscles into the stretch.” She checked to make sure everyone was squatting correctly.
So what if he was with another woman, some perfectly pedigreed woman with a snitty British accent?
She honestly didn’t remember the rest of the session; it was an easier one and she went through the moves, or assumed she did. No one said anything else to the contrary, bless their hearts.
The others quickly filed out, though a few gave her strange looks. So maybe she threw in a new stretch or something.
“Hey, you feeling okay?” Fran asked her, coming up.
“Sure, why?” she asked, straightening too quickly. She slammed a hand out as the room spun.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Fran said, deadpan, putting a hand under Ella’s elbow. “Might have something to do with the fact you’re very pale, weren’t with us at all in class, kept tearing up, and you are dizzy. I think we should go see Dr. Merchant.”
They both preferred Dr. Merchant’s easy personality to Dr. Radcliffe’s more somber one, or one of the other part-time doctors.
Sally came over. “Ella, are you all right?”
“I know you kept going and coming, Sal,” Fran said, “but she’s been off the entire session. Look how pale she is.”
“Hello, right here,” she told them both. “I’ll just take some juice and then we can head off. No reason to call the doc.”
“Oh, he’s still here,” Sally told them.
“No—”
“She’ll see him,” Fran said.
In the hallway, they passed Lisa, who hurried to them. “What’s wrong?”
“Ella’s not feeling well.”
She had noticed her fingers were more swollen in the last couple of days, but then she’d felt like crap anyway.
“Juice and home. I just need some rest.”
“Uh-huh,” Lisa told her. “Come on, Ella.”
“Really, guys, I just want to go home. That’s all.”
She wasn’t about to tell any of them what was really wrong. They walked down the hallway of the exam rooms and Fran waited with her while the other two went to get the doctor.
“I wanted to head home. Eat a bite of soup maybe. And some bread. I’m tired,” she said, sitting on the stupid table.
Fran sighed and looked at the closed door and then back to her, and Ella really saw her friend, who looked large enough to pop.
“You okay?” she asked her.
Fran shrugged. “I saw something I wanted to talk to you about tonight. Remember Nadia? Well, when I was cleaning the offices last week, I checked the files.”
“What? Why?” Damn it.
“You and I both know things here are just weird. And Nadia still bothers me and now there are no files on Nadia. I looked.”
“You did what?” she asked her. “Are you mad?”
Others had suddenly left, or something had gone wrong with their deliveries. Not many, but enough that she wondered.
She hadn’t thought that others might wonder as well.
“No, I want to know what happened to her. I feel like I owe it to her or something, ya know?”
“Fran, leave it alone.” She scooted off the table and grabbed the young lady’s arms. “I’m serious. Don’t go borrowing trouble.”
“Like you’re not? I’m not stupid, Ella. I heard you on the phone to Jareaux. I know you’re supposed to—”
The door opened. “Evening, ladies. I was about to go home and the nurses tagged me.” Dr. Merchant strode in, dressed today in jeans and a polo, and she saw Dr. Radcliffe out in the hallway.
“You all right, Ella?” the older doctor asked.
“I’m fine,” she told them.
“Yes, well, let’s just see about that, okay?” Dr. Merchant tol
d her.
They checked her heart rate, her blood pressure, which was up, and her blood sugar, which was low.
“Ella,” Dr. Merchant chided. “You need to take care of yourself and the baby. You’ve lost another couple of pounds.”
Sally shook her head and the outside world flashed with lightning, thunder shook the windows. “Storm’s hit earlier than expected.”
Great, now she’d be stuck driving in that mess.
“When’s the last night you had a good night’s sleep?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Not in the last few days for certain.
“Why, still experiencing the nightmares?” he asked her. “Your file says you’re still seeing the therapist. Have you discussed this with her?”
She sighed. “Yes, Dr. Merchant. I’ve discussed my fears and the fact my nightmares stem from my fears and where she believes my fears stem from.”
He leveled a look at her over his glasses. “I see.”
“I’m just tired, I didn’t sleep well, so I was running late and simply didn’t take the time to eat properly today.”
“All day?” he asked her.
She rolled her eyes. “Not as often as I should have, not what I should have. I know that.”
“Headache?” he asked her.
She sighed. “Yes, can I go, please? I just want to go home and rest.”
He narrowed his eyes as he studied the chart. “Ella, the weather is turning nasty out, and we’d all feel better if you stayed here tonight, rather than if you drove out in this.”
At that moment the storm hit, wind howling and ripping through the pines and across the plains. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky.
“Um . . . Well, I hadn’t planned on staying, but honestly, I don’t want to drive in this.”
“And with your dizziness, I’d feel much better with you staying here this evening. Plus,” he added, scribbling on the notepad, “we can monitor your blood pressure. It’s higher than I want to see, and in your condition, Ella, it’s nothing to ignore. You need to rest.”
Anxiety skittered through her. “I know I need to rest.” And she didn’t want to drive home in this. “I’m going home in the morning though.”
He shared a smile with Sally. “We’ll see how things are in the morning, shall we?”
“Fabulous.” They listened to the baby’s heartbeat and thankfully everything was fine.
Once she was in an assigned room at the opposite end of the hallway from Fran’s room, she breathed deeply. The storm was still raging and supposedly there was a whole line of storms moving through.
She ate dinner, low-sodium soup, with the rest of the live-ins, or some of it. Tasted a bit bitter to her and she still just wasn’t hungry. The herbal tea also tasted off, so she stuck with the water, even though she was told the tea would help with her blood pressure. Some of the women wanted to play a game or two of cards or something. Others went to the main room to watch a movie. Most of them, though, at least in their hallway, were tired and headed to bed.
Ella just wanted peace and quiet. She and Fran made their way back to their rooms talking about her classes and what they wanted to do after.
After their babies were born.
Fran knew about Quinlan, apparently knew more about Jareaux than Ella had thought before. They didn’t say another word about Nadia or their shared worries; they both knew this wasn’t the place to discuss it—later at her house, they would.
Yawning, she hugged her friend good night. “I don’t know about you, but I’m off to bed.”
Fran nodded. “I think I’m going to work on the baby quilt I started.”
“Did you finally choose the last color patch?”
Fran laughed. “Yes, I just chose another blue. I started to choose a yellow and then a green and finally a white, and that was just too many choices. So I went with another blue.” She grabbed a bag out of the corner and opened it. “See, what do you think?” Fran pulled out a piece of folded fabric.
The blues were different shades and prints. Ella knew nothing about quilting, but Mrs. Richardson had bought her a set of idiot-proof knitting looms. She’d already made several baby hats and was working her way through pink blocks. She only needed two more large blocks and then Mrs. Richardson was going to show her how to stitch them together to create one large baby blanket.
Thankfully, she’d brought her knitting bag. Lisa had gotten it from her car earlier and it was in her room. So was a set of scrubs and some p.j.’s. She had no idea whose p.j.’s, nor did she care.
Settled in bed, her mind again on Quinlan and what she’d thrown away, she knew she wouldn’t sleep. But in minutes, her thoughts drifted and she was out.
• • •
Ella jerked awake and lay there, her heart racing, her breathing ragged, sweat drenching the T-shirt she wore.
Another nightmare. She tried to remember, but God, her head was killing her.
She sat up, breathing out and trying to calm her racing heart. Her head hadn’t hurt this badly in a long time. She could practically feel her pulse against the inside of her skull.
God.
Where was she?
Oh, yeah, the Retreat.
Thunder ripped so loudly through the air the windows shook and she jerked.
Lord, she’d never calm down at this rate. Climbing from the bed, she shuffled to the bathroom and got a drink of water, washing her face with cool water. Her head freaking hurt.
Maybe, with the storm, Fran was still awake. What time was it anyway? She walked back to her bedside and picked up her phone. After three in the morning. She could try to just go back to sleep, but her head hurt so badly. Could probably just press the intercom button, but she’d check on Fran first.
The lights were all low in the hallways, the lightning outside flashing, stabbing against her eyeballs. She winced and raised her hand, the other trailing along the wall.
She’d stayed before when the weather turned bad, but there was usually someone around. Was the power out?
No, the lights were just low. Her head hurt so badly that things seemed to have a sort of aura around them. She made her way slowly down the hallway but noises bounced off her eardrums. Thunder. Something else high-pitched. A beep, dull. Rhythmic.
She followed it, trailing her hand down the wall, her other hand on her stomach.
What was that noise?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Someone’s voice floated through a door, or was it? Thunder shuddered the building.
A scream built and built. She stopped, pressing against the wall as the scream ripped through the air. Panic bloomed and streaked through her veins.
Oh God.
She tried to hurry toward the sound. Toward . . .
Fran’s room.
She reached the door, and pain pulsed again in her head. She stopped and reached for the latch but the door was already cracked. She pushed it open and saw . . .
Saw . . .
Red. So much red in such a pale room. Red splashed across the bed, the wall, pooled on the floor.
She gasped and masked figures turned to her. Fran’s face was pale, her eyes staring at the door, at her.
Ella opened her mouth to scream as pain ripped through her head and the world went black.
Chapter 19
Two weeks later
Ella sighed and waited, pacing in the small living room. Her bags were packed, her car was packed. She’d probably get Jareaux’s damned voice mail like she had the last several times she’d called. Next she was calling his office if he—
“What do you need, Ella?” he said in lieu of hello.
“Excuse me?” she asked him. “I was helping you. Why haven’t you called me back? I’ve left several messages. I even left messages at the office number.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” was all he said.
“Jareaux, you’re the one that approached me for help. I’ve done my bit.”
“Really? And where’s the evidence I’ve t
old you I needed from the beginning? You being worried or scared does not make a case,” he said.
Ella closed her eyes. “I’m done. I’m calling my husband. You don’t really care about any of the women up there. You don’t care about helping them or anything. Nadia went missing and what did you do? Nothing.”
“There was no proof—”
“You and your damned proof.”
“That damned proof makes a case, Ella. The case has completely stalled due to the fact you couldn’t deliver any evidence. I don’t have time to babysit you or hold your hand. I have other cases as well. Please don’t call me again.”
Fury slid through her. “You bastard.”
“Good-bye.”
Ella sat on the sofa and stared at the wall.
What was she going to do? He’d been right, why wasn’t he listening to her? The Nursery was not what it seemed. Nadia and Fran, their babies . . .
Screw him.
She should just leave. Go. Drive to D.C. to Quinlan, just get the hell out of here.
Running never helps anything, Ella.
She shoved the voice away. But sometimes running saved lives, and right now she knew she had to leave, knew she needed to get out of here. No matter what they tried to convince her of, she knew Fran’s death wasn’t just one of those things that happened, a statistic. She knew what she’d seen. After that night, she’d been groggy for another whole day, almost two. They’d told her her blood pressure was too high and they needed to keep her to monitor her, to give her meds.
Of course she was upset, they assured her. Apparently Fran had gone into labor, placenta abruption. She’d found her and pressed the intercom button, they’d told her. But her own blood pressure had spiked and she’d passed out from all the excitement.
She didn’t believe them. For the four days they’d kept her at the Retreat, it was a blur, a blur except for the panic. Images danced in her brain—real or not, she wasn’t sure. They’d all tried to talk to her in quiet, calm voices. Sally and Lisa patting her hand. Dr. Merchant trying to get her to talk. The psychologist had even sat beside her bed. The only one she’d spoken to had been Dr. Radcliffe. She’d turned her head, looked at him and said, “I want to go home now.”
