Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
He can’t be.
“Cameron sent messages during our fight. One was after she realized I had joined the bureau, and the second time was after I admitted I loved Macy.” My voice chokes during my last three words. This is my fault. Macy is fighting for her life because of me. “Love,” I correct, not wanting any dishonesty to stain this investigation. “I said I love Macy.” A memory smacks into me so hard and fast it staggers me back a step. “Cameron said that it’s embarrassing to have a child without a partner. That if we were meant to procreate by ourselves, it wouldn’t require parts of a man and a woman.”
Alex steers this investigation toward a slam-dunk conviction. “The victims we’ve recovered thus far were all going it alone. There were no father details cited on their birth plans or in their medical records.” He directs his eyes to me. “This could be how she excuses her actions. If she believes the victims are unworthy of the child they’re carrying, she’d feel no guilt taking them and giving them to someone she deems worthier.” He hesitates for barely a second before he asks, “Does that profile match Cameron? Is that someone she could be?”
I want to say no. I want to protect Cameron as I failed to do years ago, but alarms scream too loudly to ignore. So instead, I nod.
Alex matches my gesture, wordlessly thanking me for my honesty, before he issues orders to Markwell and Adeline. They resemble the ones Markwell gave earlier, but with a personal edge that only someone who cares deeply about Macy can issue. He even assigns tasks to Brandon and Crew, uncaring that they’re not a part of the bureau. They’re my family, and to Alex, that’s good enough.
In a matter of minutes, the corridor goes from a bustling hive of activity to dead silent. A baby’s faint coo is the only sound, along with the occasional uncomfortable swallow from the nursing assistant, who feels out of her depth.
She’s not the only one struggling.
My lungs are screaming for air like my head is being held underwater, and I’ve never felt more helpless.
My father registers my fight in an instant. He requests the nurse to give us a minute before he approaches me without a snick of hesitation crossing his face.
For a brief second, I consider maintaining my anger, to deny his wordless offer of help, but I can’t. I’m drowning, and the pain is so much that I can’t catch my breath.
I gasp in a sharp breath when he bundles me up in a hug like the night I fell out of my treehouse and broke my collarbone. I was seven then, and he issued promises similar to the ones I gave Macy’s son earlier. He told me he’d never let anything bad happen to me, and he never did.
The treehouse looked more like a prison than a clubhouse when he installed a dozen safety rails to ensure I’d never fall again.
He’s protected me for years, so when he tightens his grip around my shoulders, I let him share the weight of the burden I’m carrying, while also praying his suit jacket will soak up the handful of salty blobs I can no longer hold back.
38
MACY
“She’ll wake when she’s ready. She’s breathing on her own for the first time in two weeks, and we removed all the medical equipment and wires. She’s ready to wake; she might just need more time to trust her body to continue the recovery process on its own.”
Is she talking about me?
If so, why is this the first time I’ve breathed on my own in two weeks?
What happened?
Desperate for answers, I beg my eyes to open. The more I fight, the more I drift between a space that feels like sleep but not the reviving kind I usually seek. It’s hard to explain. Although I inhabit my body, it feels foreign, as if I’ve borrowed it for the day.
A faint whisper accompanies my journey through the dark. “We will continue lowering the sedatives keeping her under throughout the morning. She’ll return to you soon…”
A wave of nausea rushes over me as a faint rock lulls me awake. The only way to describe what I’m feeling is to imagine stuffing your backside into a semi-deflated tube and going for a prolonged float down the Aare River. My body feels heavy, and my mind is wandering, caught between sleep and the unpleasantness of waking up after too much sleep.
A dull, persistent thump is causing havoc with my temples, like someone is knocking from the inside, and my mouth is as dry as desert sand. My limbs react slowly when I try to move. I’m lying on my back, which is never suitable for a pregnant woman.
Perhaps that’s the cause of my achy muscles?