Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4)

by Manda Mellett

  At first, I’m intrigued, but as I get closer to street level, I get the twitchy feeling in my spine that’s given me an early warning of danger in the past. What if something’s wrong? Fuck it, I haven’t spoken to my mum in over a week, I hope she’s okay. Cursing myself, I realise I should have checked up on her over the weekend. I tend to forget she’s getting on, and though she’s not exactly old and frail, she’s as likely as any one of us to have had an accident. Shit, I hope that’s not it. Wracking my brains, I can’t think what else it could be. But wouldn’t I have received a phone call rather than a summons? Unless the police have turned up to deliver bad news in person. Wiping my hand over my face, I find my forehead’s damp, and I’m starting to sweat. Fuck it, Mum, you haven’t done anything stupid, have you?

  The last ping and the announcement we’ve reached the ground floor comes, then there’s the customary torturous interval before the lift doors open. Making a hasty exit, having now convinced myself something must be terribly amiss, I hurry over to the security guard who’s currently manning the reception desk. Sandra’s not there, she must be on a break.

  “What’s up, Matt?” My voice is breathy, concerned. But, glancing around, I can’t see anyone else here. Certainly, no police officer wearing a sympathetic frown. That’s something, I suppose.

  Matt nods to the side of the desk, his expression professional and impossible to read, though he’s leaning forward as though struggling to remain completely composed, “Someone left something for you.”

  “What?” It can’t be a normal parcel, if it is, someone’s going to get a bollocking for the interruption if it was just due to a simple delivery. But then again, working where I do, finding I’ve been sent a box containing a severed finger might not be off the cards.

  Matt just shrugs and points down to the side of his desk. Wondering whether we might need to summon the bomb disposal squad―and if that’s the case, he should have bloody called them already―I take a step to one side and follow the direction his finger’s indicating.

  And there I see, to my astonishment, a pram. On closer examination, there’s a sleeping baby, covered in a pink blanket, inside. I glance up at Matt, and then down again, and now notice Sandra kneeling beside it where she’d been out of my immediate line of sight. Sensing my presence, she stops cooing at the baby and glances up, her eyes wide and full of excited curiosity. As I stare on in disbelief and confusion―why call me for a fucking baby?―she holds out an envelope for my inspection. Why I’d got the summons all becomes clear. There’s a name clearly marked on the outside. Mine. Sean Cooper.

  The first and obvious thought flies through my head, and I immediately dismiss it. Shit! Jesus fucking Christ! No, there’s no fucking way that baby is mine! Momentarily frozen to the spot, I recover quickly and give an inward chuckle. Whatever reason the baby’s been left here, it’s certainly not because I’m the daddy. It’s impossible, isn’t it? I’ve never forgotten to use a condom! Reaching out to take the note, I notice my hand is shaking and I can’t seem to stop it. A seed of doubt has planted itself in my mind. Is this the moment every man dreads? I think fast, have any of my friends got babies? I’ve no family other than my single remaining parent, so it can’t be a relative’s. But the only baby I can think of is the one currently happily residing in Jon’s wife’s stomach. Why the fuck has an infant been left here for me?

  Gingerly holding the note in my hand as if the object itself could harm me, I look at the two members of staff, and force myself to remain calm, treating it as I’d treat any other unexpected package. With intense suspicion. “Who left it here? What did they say?”

  Matt and Sandra look at each other, and both start to speak at the same time. Sandra waves at the security guard. “Matt was here, I’d popped to the loo, I was desperate for a wee.”

  TMI, Sandra, you could have just said you were taking a break! I look to Matt. “Well?”

  He shuffles, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t really see. Someone came in pushing it, I assumed they were coming over to the reception desk. I looked down at the CCTV screen, next I looked up and the pram had been left, and I caught sight of a person wearing a hooded coat going out of the door again. I went to the door, but they’d disappeared into a waiting black cab.

  “Did you catch the number plate?” There are thousands of black cabs in London, operated by all manner of firms and licenced individuals.

  He’s shaking his head, “Sorry.” He purses his lips together, looking sheepish.

  Don’t we pay him to be attentive? Yes, we fucking do! Someone could have snuck in explosives, and it seems he wouldn’t have noticed. But right now that’s not my most immediate concern, so I won’t get into that at the moment. “Okaaaay,” I start, drawing out the word as though I’m speaking to a child. “There are security cameras all over this area and the outside of the building…”

  “Mr Cooper, I’ve already checked those. This is the best I can do.” Matt beckons me around to the other side of the desk and shows me what he explains is the clearest image of the person who dropped off the unusual package for me. It’s impossible to see whether the person is male or female; they’re wearing a long, thigh-length coat and have a hood pulled up over their head. All it’s possible to discern is that they are about five foot eight or so, wearing jeans and trainers, moving quickly as they get into the cab. The angle is wrong and there’s no way to see the licence number.

  “No facial shot?”

  He shakes his head and looks apologetic, “No, I’ve checked. Whoever it is kept their head down. They didn’t want to be recognised.” Obviously not.

  If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say the person was female, but perhaps I’m leaping to the obvious assumption that it was the mother dropping off her offspring. Shrugging, I turn away from the screens with their next to useless information, and only then realise I’m still holding the unopened letter in my hand. I tap it against the reception desk for a second, feeling Matt and Sandra watching me inquisitively. Their curiosity can’t rival mine, but I’m far from as keen as they are to find out what’s inside the envelope with my name so clearly printed on the front. They’ve already jumped to their own conclusions. I can see Sandra almost twitching in her impatience to share the news throughout the building. There’s a reason we keep her in the dark about some of the more discreet goings on at Grade A.

  With a quick glance down to make sure the baby is still sleeping, and, for the moment, needs no attention, I take myself off to the visitor chairs situated in front of the sheet glass windows to give myself a little privacy while I read the note. I seat myself, automatically unbuttoning my suit jacket as I do so, and lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and my hands cupping my face. I stare across to what looks like a high-end quality pram, lurking like a beast lying in wait, on the other side of the large reception area. Fuck knows what this is all about. And fuck it, I’d rather not know.

  I can feel eyes burning into me, and gather Matt and Sandra probably think my proclivities have come back to haunt me. The rumours about me are all true. I don’t hide that I like sex. Lots and lots of sex. With whom, how many, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m an incorrigible flirt, and if it’s offered, I take it. Or at least I did before I was injured. They probably think I’m about to get my just desserts, and a horrible tight feeling in my chest tells me they just might be right.

  Well, I can’t put it off any longer. When my dread of what I might find turns into curiosity to discover what’s going on, my hands tremble as I tear the envelope open and slide out the contents. There are two pieces of paper inside, and I take the first, unfolding it carefully. It’s a handwritten note―the writing’s legible and neat but I don’t recognise it. The content is short and sweet, to the point. I read and re-read it.

  Sean

  I hate to do this to you, but I have no other option. Please look after my daughter, I leave her in your hands as I am unable to look after her. Please believe me, I wouldn’t do this unless I was desperate, but
it’s not safe for her to be with me now. I can’t keep her out of danger. I can’t even save myself. Please protect her with your life. I trust you.

  Please tell her I will always love her.

  Dannie

  She’s leaving her daughter with me? Do I even know her? I wrack my brain to see if I remember a ‘Dannie’, but nothing immediately springs to mind. I notice there’s no emotion toward me, the letter starts and ends abruptly with no salutation, no crosses denoting kisses. It’s cold as if I don’t even know her, and perhaps I don’t. The frantic beating of my heart slows. The baby’s not mine! But fuck if I know why she’s entrusted her to me. Nodding, I throw a relieved grin in the direction of the reception desk. From Sandra’s disappointed expression I see it’s been correctly interpreted. Feeling relief, amused that I could ever have thought I’d sired a child I had no knowledge about, I extract the other paper that accompanied the letter. It’s a birth certificate.

  I must have stared at it for a couple of minutes before letting it drop from my hands onto the floor. As the blood drains from my face, I wipe unsteady hands over my eyes as though to erase the words I’ve just seen, but they’re written in indelible ink, etched on my brain, and now I know I’ll never be able to unsee them.

  The child’s name is Mollie Jane Smith, the mother’s name―still unhelpful as I don’t recollect it at all―is Danielle Smith. And the father’s name? Well, that’s clearly printed so there can be no misreading it. It’s mine.

  FUCK!

  Chapter 5

  Vanessa

  Sean’s been gone an awfully long time. I can’t stop fidgeting in my seat, and again flick my eyes to the clock on the wall behind Ben, noticing it’s actually only been twenty minutes. But I’m consumed with curiosity tinged with concern, longing to know what’s going on in the life of the man who’s captured my interest, selfishly yearning to know what’s going on in his life, and hoping that it will be something I can help him with.

  “Van! The latest on the Archer situation?” Ben’s voice snaps, and I jump as I hear him bark my name.

  “Sorry.” I quickly look down at my tablet, feeling my face going red yet again. Being damned with red hair and the complexion that goes along with it, my pallor always betrays my emotions. And this time my guilt is plain to see. I flick through the tablet screens trying to reach the right one. I miss it and go back hearing Ben impatiently tapping his pen on the table. “Right, Archer…”

  “We’re all concerned about Sean, Van. But if it’s anything we need to be involved with, we’ll know soon enough. Otherwise,” he breaks off and gives a pointed glance to the money pooled in the middle of the table, “Otherwise it’s none of our business until Sean makes it ours.” Shit, how did he even know what had distracted me?

  Wow! I’ve just had my wrist slapped. I decide that putting my professional hat on and giving my update without comment is the best way to proceed. “We’ve identified where the threat against Archer came from.” Ben’s nodding, he’ll have read my report already, this update is just info for the others. “It was a disgruntled ex-employee. He’s been arrested, the police are now dealing with the case and the protection for Archer has ceased.” Ben starts to speak but I stop him by raising my hand, asking him silently to give me a second to finish. I’m pleased to be able to tell him something he doesn’t already know. “Archer was so delighted with Grade A’s discreet services, he’s put in a recommendation for the Government to send more work our way.” Archer is a member of Parliament, so in a good position to promote us. I can see Ben is pleased with the news.

  “Well, that’s great!” Ben glances around the team, a proud look on his face, and exchanges satisfied looks with Jon. Together with the Jason Deville, the three of them built the business from scratch. “Should help us keep our bellies filled if we get more government contracts and…” He breaks off as the door opens.

  As people sit up straighter around the table, it appears I wasn’t the only person intrigued to discover what had called Sean away. And I’m certainly not his only colleague to find their mouth dropping open when our normally sedate meeting is suddenly interrupted by a very angry cry.

  “Oh shit! Fuck! What the fuck do I do now?” Sean’s pushes his way through the door, his arms full. “And what the fuck do I do with this?” His normally tidy hair flops down over his face, his usual calm expression now one of outright panic.

  He enters the room carrying a baby in a car seat, one that sits on top of a pram and a bag slung over his shoulder! A baby! I can’t stop the loud gasp that comes from my mouth, too late my hand goes up to cover it but luckily everyone else is in a similar state of disbelief, and no one notices. He’s got a bloody baby? Is it his? No!

  Whosever it is, the baby’s not happy; it’s screaming at the top of its voice, and despite everything, I can’t help but admire the set of lungs it must possess to summon up that level of volume. Sean’s face is white and his eyes flick around us all in a silent plea for help. He hasn’t a clue what to do. I’m sitting motionless, all I can think of is if that’s Sean’s baby, where’s the mother, and who is she to him? Fucking selfish. Looking around the room, I see Ryan grinning, and pulling the pile of money toward him. Jon’s smirking, Ben’s eyes are open wide in astonishment, Nafisa’s looking shocked, and Harry is laughing out loud.

  “For fuck’s sake!” Ben suddenly pushes his chair out from the table and gets to his feet, shaking his head. “Sean needs help!”

  “Whose is the baby, Sean?” Jon finds his voice.

  “Ask questions later,” Ben says sharply. “Let’s sort it out first. Get the noise level down at least.”

  I can’t move, can’t do anything but keep that hand covered up over my mouth. Well, what do I know about babies? My face is no longer flushed as I feel the blood draining away.

  “It’s a her. Not an it.” Sean speaks with a vehemence that surprises me. It seems Ben’s movement has sparked him into action. Very gently, he places the baby seat on the table and unfolds the blankets. I watch his face. An intense expression I’ve never seen before crosses it as he gazes at the tiny creature below him. Running his hands through his hair, completely mucking up any remaining styling, he’s completely at a loss what to do. Suspecting, from his wariness, he’s probably never even held a baby before, I’m frozen to the spot as Sean’s large hands come out, and oh so carefully, he picks up the small thrashing body and holds it close, rocking back and forth as he dredges up some innate instinct. The baby’s cries diminish to an acceptable volume, but I suspect it’s only a brief interlude. Don’t they need feeding or changing or something?

  It appears someone knows what they’re doing when Harry steps forward. “Whose the fuck is it, Sean?” When Sean doesn’t immediately offer an answer, he focuses on the most important thing, getting the baby to stop crying. “Oh hell, never mind about that for a moment. Have you got a bottle or nappies?”

  After looking at him as if he’s speaking a foreign language, Sean seems to remember what else he brought in, “I don’t know―there might be something in there.” Sean rocks his body to indicate the bag on the table.

  Harry, father of two, albeit his children are now both teenagers, draws the bag over and opens it. Sure enough, he finds what he wants in there as he pulls out some bottles and a few nappies and places them to one side.

  “Nafisa―can you go put this in some boiling water to heat up a bit, doesn’t need long, just until it’s lukewarm?” Harry waves a bottle in her direction. Spurred into action everyone stands at once, and Nafisa nods and leaves the room. I’m just thankful that he hasn’t asked me, I’m not even sure I could get to my feet at the moment. “Can I?” He nods at the baby.

  “Yeah, here.” Sean lets go of his precious bundle.

  Harry holds her up and then touches her tiny bottom. He nods toward the bag, “Sean, unfold that, it’s the type that doubles as a changing mat.”

  I watch wide-eyed and transfixed as Sean finally figures out what to do, and Harry lays
the baby down on the padded plastic. Expertly he takes a clean nappy, undoes the press studs on the all in one the baby’s wearing, and has the old nappy off. He doesn’t falter at all when he cleans the private bits that we all can now see belong to a baby girl.

  The look on Sean’s face is priceless. “Cover her up! Quick, man! Everyone’s looking at her.”

  “She’s fucking baby, for Christ’s sake, Sean.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t want you all ogling her bits.” His growling protest brings a welcome burst of laughter around the room which releases some of the tension. Harry puts on the clean nappy and extracts a dry Babygro from the bag and to Sean’s obvious relief, has her dressed again within seconds.

  Almost simultaneously Nafisa returns. Harry tests the temperature of the milk by dripping a few drops on the inside of his wrist, and then passes the now dry baby and bottle back to Sean who sits, and somehow as if he’s always been doing it, cradles the baby in one arm, holding the teat of the bottle to her mouth. She begins to suck noisily, and thus, to an extent, peace and calm are restored to the room.

  As one, we all let a collective out a sigh of relief. Ben indicates everyone should take their seats again. The sight of Sean, the renowned playboy, carefully feeding a baby would be extraordinary even if it wasn’t taking place in the conference room at Grade A. My gut clenches at the paternal sight, I try to take deep breaths, concentrating until I’ve staved off the threatening panic attack. Would my baby have looked like that?

  Tearing my eyes away from Sean and the bundle in his arms, I notice Ben looking straight at me. Oh shit, he must have noticed my clenched hands. Taking them off the table I put them in my lap, and bravely throw a nod of reassurance toward my boss. That man can read me like a bloody book!