Diablo Blanco Club, Rite of First Claim

by Qwillia Rain

  Before he could get her to respond, the doctor tapped on the door, then entered. “Well, Lys, you’ll no longer need that referral to the fertility clinic you requested last month. Looks like you’re going to be a mom.”

  “But—” Lyssa shifted on his lap, swinging her legs off the arm of the chair to settle beside his.

  “There was a minimal amount of spotting. It has been known to happen, but we’ll keep an eye on it if it returns.” The doctor glanced down at the chart.

  Mike chuckled as he pulled Lyssa close. One hand strayed to the curve of her belly, stroking over the fabric of her blouse. She wondered if he was trying to imagine what she’d look like in another month or two.

  “The good news is you’re healthy and aware of your condition early enough that we can keep a careful watch for any problems.”

  “Are you sure? About the spotting?” Lyssa asked. Desperate for reassurance, she pressed the doctor. “It started the same way last time. I don’t think—I can’t lose my baby… Not again.”

  The muscles in Mike’s thighs tensed beneath her, and Lyssa realized what she’d said. She couldn’t look at him, too afraid to see the expression on his face.

  The woman leaned forward and squeezed Lyssa’s hand. “Although there still could be complications, you’ll have consistent prenatal care from the very start. We’ll do everything we can to make sure you carry this baby to term, Lyssa.”

  When Lyssa hazarded a glimpse at Mike’s face, suspicion mingled with disbelief in his features as he released his hold on her. It remained in the lines bracketing his mouth as he listened to the instructions the doctor gave about diet and exercise while scribbling a prescription for prenatal vitamins.

  “I’ll expect to see you next month, Lyssa.” The doctor reminded her as she left the room.

  Mike remained quiet as he rose and helped her put her coat on. This time, each move was precise and distant. He’d already begun to slip away from her, and the only person to blame was herself.

  * * *

  Mike stayed quiet on the drive from Lyssa’s doctor’s office to her home. The sun had begun to set when he pulled into the drive. Everything began to fall into place. His mind replayed various incidents when he’d first come to Lyssa to discuss Rite of First Claim. The way she’d hurriedly stuffed some papers in one of the kitchen drawers. The odd marks he’d spotted on the calendars throughout the house. The fact that she’d admitted to never having a lover after him, but she’d had a new box of condoms in her nightstand with only six missing. Possibly the same six she’d taken to the Club the night of the masquerade.

  When he mentally reviewed the comments the doctor and Lyssa had made, his suspicions only deepened. Every time he came to the phrases “fertility clinic,” “not again,” and “this baby,” he pushed down the anger that threatened to rise up. It was under control as he assisted Lyssa from his truck and followed her into the house.

  While she deactivated the alarm, he crossed the hall, moved through the kitchen to the far cabinets, and yanked open a drawer. The image of a smiling baby taunted him as he lifted the brochure. It wasn’t the only one. Grabbing the pile, he pulled them out and slammed the drawer shut.

  On the wall beside him, notes scribbled into the squares on a calendar drew his attention. Small red letters, ov-x, marked the Monday after Thanksgiving. He tugged the calendar from its hook and flipped back to October. The same small red ov-x marked the day before Halloween. Another was marked in the month of September, along with plus and minus signs before and after it.

  Lyssa watched him from a seat at the kitchen table, her face paling as he carried the pamphlets and calendar over and dropped them in front of her.

  “It was all a setup, wasn’t it, Lyssa?” It took every ounce of strength he had to keep his voice level and calm. He didn’t want to believe the evidence before him, but he hoped—prayed—she’d refute it.

  “Yes.”

  The quiet way she admitted what she’d done shattered something inside him. “You went to the Club looking for a goddamned stud, not a master, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” Her blue eyes stared back at him.

  “Kringle?”

  Another nod.

  “The condoms?” He suspected, but he needed to hear her admit it.

  “I poked holes in them.”

  He thought back to the box he’d found in her nightstand. The one they’d quickly depleted and replaced the first week of her training. “All of them?”

  She shook her head. “Only the ones I took to the Club.”

  “To use with Kringle.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she responded. “Yes.”

  “Why?” It was a moot question. Based on the evidence spread over the table, he knew what her answer was likely to be.

  Her gaze dropped, and her hands moved to cover her belly. “I wanted a baby.”

  “And you got it.” The words felt like acid as he spit them out. Mike braced his hands on the table and measured her responses carefully. “But you don’t want the man who put that baby inside you, do you?”

  The shake of her head was barely perceptible, but it was there. If she’d taken a knife to him, it would have hurt less, Mike reasoned. As it was, the soft words she uttered felt like they ripped the soul from his body.

  “That wasn’t part of my plan.”

  “If I hadn’t brought home that test, would you have told me about it?”

  “I don’t know,” Lyssa confessed, holding his gaze.

  Mike pulled back and took a step away from the table. “Would you have lied to me about this baby the way you lied to me the last time?”

  She flinched. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know.” It wasn’t a question, more a restatement of her response to make sure he’d heard her correctly.

  “I can explain,” she offered, her hands returning to the tabletop, clasped together in front of her.

  He gripped the ladder back of the kitchen chair. In the twenty-minute drive from the doctor’s downtown office back to Lyssa’s house, he’d controlled his reaction for as long as he could. With the evidence of how she’d manipulated him splayed out on the table between them—Mike could feel the tether on his emotions slipping away. As much as he wanted to, and even though he’d been doing the questioning, he realized now definitely wasn’t the time to start hashing things out between them. “I’m not sure I want to discuss this right now, Lys.”

  “I think we need to talk about this, Mike.”

  “No”—Mike slammed the chair against the table and moved back toward the kitchen—“you don’t want me to talk about this.” In his peripheral vision, he saw her jump, and a small part of him felt vindicated by her fear. Drawing a deep breath, he worked to refocus his energy and lessen the pain trying to gain a foothold in his chest.

  “I do want—”

  “No, you don’t.” Mike swung around, unsure just what he was feeling and how to put it into perspective. “I need a little more time to process this.”

  “I want—”

  “Right now, hon, what you want isn’t sitting very high on my priority list.” He curled his fingers into fists, then relaxed them several times in an attempt to calm down. Verbally berating her wasn’t going to resolve the problem. It would only create a wall between them. He’d had enough of barriers these last weeks while he’d tried seducing her to his way of thinking.

  Lyssa tugged at the hem of her blouse, then crossed her arms over her breasts. “I meant to tell you. All this month, I’ve tried screwing up the courage.”

  “You do not want to start this. Not now.”

  “But I need—”

  He could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, but it did nothing to stem the rage boiling up inside him. In two strides, he’d returned to the table. He slammed his fist down on the surface, making several of the brochures slide off the edge onto the floor and the bowl of fruit in the center of the table jump. An orange tumbled off the pile and rolled toward
Lyssa, tracking across a blurry black-and-white photo that lay among the brochures. Mike reached it before Lyssa and lifted the image for a better view.

  He’d seen similar pictures in small frames on his brother’s desk at home and work. “Baby’s first picture,” Bryce had called them and proudly displayed the ultrasounds for anyone to see.

  Numbers in the corner proclaimed the date and time the image had been recorded. It was hard for him to focus on the picture, his hands were shaking so hard. Fire seared his throat, but he forced a question out. “Did you know when I cornered you at Mattie and Bryce’s wedding?”

  “I-I suspected.”

  He traced his fingers over the tiny whitish blob in the center of the image, unable to look at Lyssa. “And when I came to your house after returning from Kabul? You lied again.”

  “Yes, but I tried—”

  “Boy or girl?” He barely recognized the croak he emitted. Tears burned his eyes and clogged his throat. When she stayed silent, he lifted his gaze to hers. He held the picture up. “Tell me, Lyssa. Was this my son or my daughter?”

  Tears welled up, but she held his look as she whispered, “Our daughter.” A single tear trickled down her cheek and splashed onto the orange she gripped in her hands.

  He didn’t know what to say, to do; he merely waited, watching her fingers pick at the fruit.

  “I want—”

  The anger responded, refusing to allow her an opportunity to use him again. “I could give a fuck about what you want right now, Lyssa.”

  She faced his anger without flinching. “Ben said you’d be upset once—”

  “Ben?” It felt like someone had sucked every last breath of air from the room. “He knew about—” It seemed useless to finish the thought. The guilt filling her eyes, the nervous way her fingers plucked at the bit of stem left on the orange—none of it appeased the heat filling his chest.

  Turning away, he exited the kitchen and pulled his keys from his pocket. The scrape of her chair on the tile and the rapid footsteps signaled her following him, but it didn’t slow him on his way to the front door. The image of his daughter was still gently cupped in his hand.

  “Mike, where are you going?”

  He flexed his fingers around the doorknob, rattling his keys. “Away, Lyssa. I need to clear my head.”

  “Please, why can’t you stay? Talk to me.”

  She looked so scared and alone when he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Because as deeply as I love you, Lys, right this second I don’t like you very much.”

  Lyssa felt numb. Standing there, she watched the door close behind Mike, heard the warning beeps from the alarm, and fought the urge to vomit. Her fingers trembled as she punched the keypad to enter the code and still the noise.

  The sound of Mike’s truck driving away sapped what little energy she had left. The sobs she’d held in check broke free. Tears rolled down her cheeks, splashing onto her hands. Shaky, her knees threatening to give way beneath her, Lyssa stumbled back to the kitchen and collapsed onto a chair.

  This was the best thing for him. For both of us. I know it is. Mike could never be happy with me. If he’d stayed, it would have ended his career. He needs to find someone his own age. He doesn’t need to be tied down by a baby and a woman he doesn’t want.

  All the excuses she’d used for the last twelve years swam through her head, spinning around like hyperactive Ping-Pong balls in a tornado, bouncing here and there, never staying put.

  “I need him back.” Her whisper was a bucket of ice water poured over fractious boys.

  The excuses and rationalizations stopped, deflated, dwindling to nothing like balloons emptied of helium.

  “I need him.” Three words, but not the right ones. She tried again, this time refusing to allow her fears and doubts to manifest reasons she should stay quiet. “I love him.”

  A watery laugh slipped free as Lyssa stared at the brochures and calendar spread across the table before her. She’d finally achieved her goal. She’d driven Mike away. And this time he wasn’t coming back.

  Pain set in, welling up to crush her heart. No amount of tears could fix this. Nothing she could say or do would be enough to ease the hurt she’d caused him. Gut-twisting, body-shaking sobs escaped her control. He’d put up with her denials and excuses for twelve years, and now that he’d finally given her what she’d thought she wanted, Lyssa realized it was all a lie.

  All the things she’d used to keep him at arm’s length had really been shields to keep herself from admitting she’d always needed him but she couldn’t allow herself to have him. She’d kept herself protected, safe from harm, thinking she couldn’t risk being vulnerable to him, couldn’t trust him. Now, though, she knew that allowing herself to feel, allowing herself to trust Mike and the feelings he engendered was worth any risk. Unfortunately her realization had come too late.

  * * *

  He’d lost track of time after leaving Lyssa’s house. Until he’d entered the city limits of Ayerstown and the low fuel warning lamp flashed on his dashboard, Mike hadn’t realized how far he’d driven.

  After filling the truck’s tank and the prescription Lyssa’s doctor had handed him earlier, the eighty-minute drive back to San Diablo was as much a blur as the drive away from Lyssa had been. Until he pulled into Lyssa’s driveway and turned off the truck, he’d honestly believed he could face her. Staring through the windshield at the light spilling through her living room curtains, he knew he was still to raw, too unsteady to see her.

  The phone rang as Mike opened the door of his truck. Reaching beneath the seat, he pulled the secured cell from its pocket and flipped it open. “Hello.”

  “Scarecrow, we have a situation.” The tension was palpable in Trent’s voice. It would have to be a dire emergency for Trent to call him.

  “What.” His response was a request for information, not a question.

  “LaTreace made contact ten days ago. Left a message about information she’d come across.”

  “The information?” Was it possible LaTreace had been able to gather the intelligence that had eluded him and the team for the last five years?

  “I don’t know. I set up a meet, and she never showed.”

  The buzz of alarm that had bothered him since he’d recommended his friend for the job began blaring. “This isn’t good,” Mike muttered. “How long since she’s been out of contact?”

  “Six days.”

  “Six—Damn it, Trent, I told you to keep an eye on her. To keep her in the loop.” Mike cursed and smacked the steering wheel in frustration.

  “I know, Mike. Listen, we really need you here. You know her better than any of us. If she went to ground, you’ll know where to look.” Trent paused, then added, “I hate to pull you off leave, but—”

  “It’s good, Trent. Where do I pick up transport?”

  “We’ll have a private jet to Dulles ready by six. From Dulles, you’ll pick up a commercial flight to Rome, first-class.”

  “That gives me time to swing by my studio to grab my cameras and a change of clothes.”

  “Thank you, Mike. We owe you.” Trent didn’t wait for a response before hanging up. Mike tucked the phone back in its spot.

  He hesitated before his fingers twisted the key in the ignition.

  On the seat next to him was the white paper bag with Lyssa’s prescription. Grabbing it, he left the motor running while he strode up to the house at the center of the cul-de-sac and pounded on the door. Not bothering with a greeting, he shoved the bag at Vance. “Tell her to take one every morning with her breakfast. Make sure she eats three times a day.”

  “Where are you going, Mike? What about Lyssa?” Vance took the bag.

  “I have to help a friend. She’s in trouble.”

  The younger man’s fists clenched. “You’re leaving her again?”

  Mike shook his head. “I’ve never left her. She’s the one running. I have a plane to catch. Make sure she takes her vitamins.” He could hear the curses Van
ce muttered as he jogged back to his truck and swung inside.

  He backed down the drive, his mind torn between the woman he loved and the one he’d unwittingly put in danger. Danger he could handle. It was simple and straightforward—make a mistake and you’re dead. Wrestling with the heartache Lyssa represented—that was more than he wanted to deal with right now. Ben and Vance would keep her safe for him.

  LaTreace had only him to look for her, but something warned him the search wouldn’t take long. Despite all his hopes, Mike’s instincts told him no matter how fast or far they looked, the only thing they’d recover was another body.

  * * *

  “Lyssa!”

  Vance sounded concerned as the front door closed behind him. “In here, Vance,” Lyssa called out, unsure what she was going to do next. After realizing just how badly she’d screwed up, she’d taken the time to throw out every brochure and pamphlet for fertility clinics she’d had in the house, starting with the ones spread across the table. Too tired to move, let alone think, she’d resumed her seat and spent most of the evening at the kitchen table. Her eyes burned, and the back of her neck and shoulders ached from hunching over for so many hours.

  Moving hadn’t been an option. She needed to see Mike. He deserved to have her waiting when he returned. By not telling him about their baby when he’d first asked, she’d denied him an opportunity to grieve. At a time when he’d felt proudest, she’d exposed him to a loss she found still affected her. And she’d finally figured out that as much as she’d plotted and planned, hoping to get pregnant, she wanted Mike more. She loved him. Deeply and passionately loved him, and he deserved to hear that from her.

  “God, hon, you look as bad as Mike.” Vance eased onto the chair beside her.

  Lyssa picked at the mess of pulp and peel that covered the plate in front of her. “Is he okay? I saw him drive off. I thought I heard him return a few minutes ago, but he never came inside.”