The Baby Race

by Tara Wylde

  “Me, too. But we’re making up for lost time now.”

  In more ways than one.

  She sighs. “I wish Tre would find the right girl. The boy works too much.”

  There’s my opening.

  “Have you seen him lately?” I ask, sipping my coffee.

  “He was over just last night,” she smiles. “Brought me an Entenmann’s crunch cake. You want a slice?”

  “No, thanks. So what did he have to say for himself?”

  “He said he’s been working with some new fella named Quentin. Price, was it?”

  “Pearce,” I say. “Yeah, he’s new. So, what are those two up to? I’ve been out of the office for a while with the wedding and everything.”

  She tells me what Tre told her. I take copious mental notes as we talk for another half-hour. Finally, I glance at my watch.

  “Sorry, Mrs. C, I have to run.”

  “Got to meet the missus?” she says with a knowing wink. “I was a newlywed once myself.”

  “That’s one of the things I love about you,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “You never beat around the bush.”

  She gives me a peck on the cheek.

  “You bring that bride around for supper soon,” she says. “I’ll make my pot roast.”

  My stomach rumbles at the memory of her home-cooking, reminding me I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

  “It’s a date,” I say. “Sara’s dying to see you again.”

  “You give her a kiss for me, hon. I’ll see you soon.”

  She sees me off with a wave and I start the six-block walk back to the Rest-All, my mind running a mile a minute.

  101

  64. SARA

  It’s early afternoon and Chance still isn’t back at the room, so I boot up my laptop and scroll through my news feed while I wait.

  I don’t have a lot of friends on social media, so there are only a handful of people demanding, like Grace, to know what I thought I was doing, getting married without letting them know. “PM ME!” they all say.

  That’s not going to happen anytime soon.

  I can’t get Grace’s words out of my head: for now.

  He told me he loved me. That should be enough. He’s the same boy I fell in love with all those years ago.

  But he’s also a hardened combat veteran with the skills of a criminal and ties to the CIA. And he’s desperate to save his company and keep his secret buried. What lengths would a man go to in order to make that happen?

  Would he steal? Check. Would he co-opt a potential witness? Check. Would he hide from the authorities? Check.

  What else is he willing to do?

  I call up Google News to distract myself with what’s happening to other people in Chicago. The Cubs are on a streak, the Bears. Three shootings overnight near Lincoln Park, which makes me shudder. A lady celebrated her 107th birthday and told reporters the secret to longevity is a daily tumbler of gin.

  Then I see a something that freezes my blood.

  The headline – Chicago Businessman Found Strangled – isn’t what hits me. It’s the tag line below that leads into the story itself.

  Nova Chemicals Owner Sebastian Dacosta, 35, Dead; Police Investigating.

  My heart is hammering. It’s listed under breaking news; the story, bare bones as it is, was posted just twenty minutes ago.

  Where is Chance? Why didn’t he tell me where he was going?

  My stomach is in knots. A single online news story is enough to wash away the dizzying trance I’ve been in since we exchanged rings last week. The wedding night, the fantasy honeymoon, all the many, many times we made love.

  Now all I see is the name Sebastian Dacosta in bold letters in front of my eyes. Even when I shut them tight and ball my fists into them, it’s still there.

  Could Tre be right? Even if he isn’t, I’ll only ever have Chance’s version of what’s happening as long as I’m on the run with him. Do I have that much faith in him?

  Could anyone in my situation? I’m so new to love, I can’t even answer the question. Do lovers – husbands and wives – follow each other without reservation, no matter what?

  God help me, I don’t know what to do.

  The old brass key slides into the lock behind me and my heart jumps into my throat. I slam the lid of my laptop down almost hard enough to crack it before the door handle turns and Chance steps inside. He’s in a pair of cotton shorts and a gray t-shirt with damp armpits.

  The heat of the day wafts in with him, prompting the clunky air conditioner to wheeze to life. If only I could cool myself down so easily.

  “Hey,” he says. “How’d things go with Grace?”

  “Fine,” I say. “Where have you been?”

  Way to play it cool, Sara. Just jump on him as he walks in.

  “I went for a run,” he says, mopping his face with one of the room’s scratchy hand towels.

  “For two and a half hours?”

  “I had some errands to do, too,” he says. “I emailed my neighbor a money transfer for the Rav along with an apology. He can buy a brand new one with the fifty grand, plus a tropical vacation on top of it.”

  I try to keep my emotions off my face, but I can’t tell if it’s working.

  “Are you going to shower?” I ask. “You’re a little ripe.”

  He actually smells of rose oil. That didn’t happen on a run, unless his body produces it instead of sweat. He’s lying to me.

  He grins. “You bet. And then maybe we can play another bedspring symphony?”

  I force myself to smile as he pulls me to him. His lips are hot against mine, prompting the familiar flutter in my belly and the ache between my legs. But when I close my eyes, all I see is the name: Sebastian Dacosta.

  He lets me go and looks at me curiously.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “Perfect,” I lie. “Or as perfect as they can be, given the circumstances.”

  He gives me a curious look before kissing me one last time and heading into the bathroom.

  As soon as I hear the shower blast, I gather up my things in a store bag and bolt for the door, praying that’s not the last time his lips will touch mine.

  I’m in such a hurry that I’ve run three blocks before I realize I forgot my laptop.

  102

  65. CHANCE

  “Sara?”

  The steam from the shower fills my field of vision for a moment before it clears and I see she’s gone.

  Odd. She didn’t say anything about going anywhere. Maybe she’s just out grabbing coffees. The machine in the room crapped out the first night.

  Too bad: my hard-on is in dire need of attention. Guess I’ll just have to wait. I’ve gotten spoiled already, after just a few weeks with her. That voracious appetite for sex has woken up a beast in me that I didn’t know was there.

  I flip open Sara’s laptop to call up my secure webmail and see if my neighbor has picked up his deposit yet.

  And just like that, the world flips upside down.

  Nova Chemicals Owner Sebastian Dacosta, 35, Dead; Police Investigating.

  Jesus Christ. Dacosta dead the day after I find out about Nova. It can’t be coincidence. He has to be connected with this. But why kill him? Did he talk?

  My mind is spinning again, wheels within wheels, when it hits me: I called up a screen that Sara had been reading. It was still up when I opened it, meaning she must have closed it in a hurry when I came in.

  Fuck! No wonder she was acting so strange. First I lie to her about where I was, then she sees the man we were talking about not twelve hours ago has been murdered. Of course she’d jump to conclusions, you stupid bastard!

  I glance around the room, heart racing. Her laptop is the only thing of hers left in the room. Everything else is gone. I run to the window to see the Camry is still there. She must have literally run out of here.

  My brain is working overtime as my guts crawl with panic. Finally, my training kicks in and I hear Sully’s voice in my ear: Breat
he. Focus. Think.

  Breathe. My chest expands as I inhale deeply through my nose, exhale through my mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. It’s enough to slow my heartbeat so that at least it’s not pounding in my ears.

  Focus. I wipe everything from my mind except what I can control right now.

  Think. Pearce or his associates have to be behind this – there’s no other explanation. And my instincts tell me they figured out what I did last night and saw it as an opportunity to frame me.

  If I wasn’t technically on the run before, I sure as hell am now. It won’t just be the DoD looking for me, it’ll be homicide detectives.

  I need to make sure Sara is safe. I pull out my burner phone and call her number. It rings six times before going to a voicemail that’s simply a beep, no message, like we agreed.

  What do I say? I can’t talk in any detail in case the authorities find her and get into her phone. It has to say so much in just a few words.

  Before I know what I’m doing, my mouth says: “Please trust me.” I wait a beat before adding: “I love you.”

  103

  66. SARA

  The twenty-minute train ride to Kelsey’s gave me far too much time to think. So many questions without answers, so much at stake, so many crazy emotions. It seems I’ve barely blinked and I’m at the station up the street from her condo.

  My phone buzzes. The number on the caller ID is Chance’s. My stomach sinks as I hit “ignore.”

  Have I made the biggest mistake of my life? Or have I saved myself from making the biggest mistake of my life? I just don’t know.

  “Jesus, girl, you look terrible!” Kelsey blurts as she opens the door and sees me.

  “Thanks,” I say with a wan smile as she leads me inside. “That’s what I was going for. It’s all the rage this season.”

  Kelsey brings me a coffee and sits down at the other end of the sectional in her living room, a place where we’ve whiled away countless evenings with popcorn, beer and Netflix. I’ve always associated it with good feelings and safety.

  Now, I’ll never be able to think of it as anything other than the room where I finally had my nervous breakdown.

  “What the hell is going on, Sara?” she asks. “Sudden wedding, cryptic phone calls, a new number, blonde hair. You’re not…”

  Then her eyes widen as she realizes what she’s saying. I can read her mind; she’s thinking about my mother.

  “I’m not bipolar,” I say. “At least, I don’t think I am. My problems are coming from the real world, not inside my head. Sort of.”

  I wonder if I sound as ridiculous to her as I do to myself right now.

  “Then tell me,” she says. “Let me help.”

  With Dacosta’s death, things have gone from just crazy to downright dangerous. I can’t let Kelsey be pulled into this. But I need her clear thinking right now more than ever.

  “I can’t really talk about all of it. What I need from you right now is your opinion of Chance.”

  “My opinion? You married the guy, isn’t it a little too late to be asking that?”

  I sigh. “I can’t help but wonder if maybe I made a mistake. It’s important for me to get your read on him.”

  “Honey, letting your friends influence how you feel about a man can be a really slippery slope. It usually leads to heartache in one form or another. Besides, you’ve known Chance since you were kids. What am I going to bring to the table?”

  “I know all that, but this situation is… unique.” To say the least.

  “All right,” she shrugs. “Want something specific or just a general ‘hot-or-not’ answer?”

  “You’ve had combat experience,” I say. “You’ve been around soldiers in dangerous situations. Plus you only met him a couple of times.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “What’s your gut impression of him? If you were headed into a firefight with him and had to sum him up in a few seconds, what would it be?”

  She frowns in thought. After several seconds, she says: “He keeps himself tightly controlled. He’d be the kind of guy you could trust to have your back.”

  “But?” I can sense she’s holding something back.

  “But controlled guys tend to be calculating, too, and they play things close to the vest. You never know what they’re going to do until they’ve already done it. That makes them unpredictable in combat, which can be a good thing and a bad thing, depending on the circumstances. Does that make sense?”

  “It does,” I say.

  “But it doesn’t help you. You want to know if you can trust him with your heart.”

  I sigh. “You read my mind.”

  Kelsey puts a hand on mine.

  “Listen, Sara, for what it’s worth, my gut tells me Chance is a good man.”

  I don’t doubt that. It’s whether or not he’s an honest man that’s killing me right now. I know he’s done things that crossed the line, and I’m okay with that. But he’s keeping things from me, and I don’t know what they are.

  And I can’t help but wonder if Sebastian Dacosta is dead because of me. Because I happened to know who he was.

  Too many questions.

  104

  67. CHANCE

  I can’t take the risk of using my phone – even if they can’t trace it, they may be monitoring the people I call. So I surprise Mrs. C for the second time today.

  “You’re popping up like a stray cat today,” she smiles as she answers the door. “Just like when you were a boy, hanging around my door looking for food.”

  I take her hands in mine and her eyes widen.

  “What is it, hon? Something wrong?”

  “Is Tre planning to come over again tonight?” I ask.

  She nods. “He’s going to help me finish last night’s leftovers. Why?”

  “I need you to give him these for me.”

  I hand her an envelope full of notes I scribbled on motel stationary before I left. She cocks an eyebrow as she takes it.

  “Why don’t you just give this to him yourself? You sure nothing’s wrong?”

  “I can’t explain right now,” I say. “I wish I could. Can you make sure he gets these?”

  “Course,” she says. “But I want to know what this is all about when it’s over, you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, kissing her cheek. “One last thing: tell him that Sebastian Dacosta wasn’t me.”

  Her eyes widen. “Sebastian Dacosta? The man from the news?”

  Shit. I couldn’t risk writing it in my notes, just in case they get intercepted somehow. I didn’t realize she might have seen it already.

  “Chance, what the hell is going on?”

  “I need you to trust me, Mama. Okay? Tell Tre and only Tre. And only when he comes over tonight, not over the phone.”

  She stares at me for a long moment before nodding. “All right,” she says. “But like I said, you owe me an explanation.”

  “You’ll get it,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “Thank you for trusting me. One last thing: if Sara gets in touch with you, tell her I love her.”

  She glares at me. “Why don’t you just tell her that yourself?”

  “Circumstances,” I say. “I have to go.”

  As I turn to leave, she grabs me and pulls me into a hug.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” she says in my ear. “But you take care of yourself, you hear? And you keep Tre and Sara safe, too. I need all of you kids.”

  “Roger that, ma’am,” I say, wishing I felt as confident as I’m trying to sound.

  105

  68. SARA

  Last night was the longest night of my life since the one when I sent Chance away from my door all those years ago.

  Sleep avoided me like an angry ex all night. I lay awake staring at the ceiling of Kelsey’s living room for what seemed like an eternity, going over my decisions in my head. So many regrets. So many uncertainties.

  I wonder what Chance is doing this afternoon as I walk to
the Starbucks near Bishop & Associates’ office. When Grace called in a panic, I tried to think of an out-of-the-way place to meet that wouldn’t be under surveillance, but then I thought fuck it. I’m already tired of running.

  She waves at me through the window as I approach the door. Once inside, I slide into the seat across from her.

  “That’s my blouse,” I grump. “And you couldn’t have bought me a coffee?”

  I can tell by her eyes that Grace is busting at the seams to tell me something. I told her not to talk about it over the phone, even though I can’t help but wonder if Chance isn’t completely full of shit about all this surveillance stuff.

  “What’s got you so wound up?”

  “Shit is getting real, Sara,” she hisses as she leans over the table. “Quentin Pearce came by the office this morning with a check for $150,000. He said he needed to talk to you – he used the word ‘imperative.’ And he told me to mention somebody named Sebastian Dacosta to you. He said you’d know what he was talking about.”

  It’s as if I dared the universe to throw me one more fucking curveball, come on, let’s see what you got. Now it’s flying straight for my head.

  Grace looks around to see if anyone is listening to us. The coast is clear.

  “And then I saw the news online,” she whispers. “The guy Pearce said to mention was murdered yesterday afternoon, Sara. What the fuck is going on here?”

  God, I wish I knew.

  “What did you tell him?” I ask. “Did you give him back the check?”

  “No!” she snaps. “We still have bills to pay. And to be honest, Pearce didn’t seem like the bad guy you made him out to be. He was concerned about your safety.”

  “His friends attacked me in the park, Grace!”

  “Are you sure about that?” she asks. “Or were they defending themselves against you?”

  The moments run through my mind again: they definitely started it, but if I’m being honest, Pearce didn’t condone what they did. He tried to get them to stop. “Don’t hurt her! I told him this was a stupid idea!”