Chapter 2 - THE MAN FROM THE HOSPITAL
Damian’s security team moved before I could think.
Two men ran through the kitchen.
Another stayed beside Leah.
Damian grabbed my wrist.
“Stay here.”
I yanked away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You just identified a man who may be connected to both of us.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to order me around.”
A crash came from the alley.
Damian looked toward the kitchen.
Then back at me.
“Fine. Stay here because there may be somebody outside who knows exactly who you are.”
That worked.
I stayed.
Leah still had one hand wrapped around my apron.
She looked terrified.
I crouched.
“It’s okay.”
Her eyes locked on mine.
“Mama,” she whispered.
My chest cracked open.
I had imagined hearing that word thousands of times.
Just never like this.
Never from someone else’s child.
“Leah,” I said gently. “I’m Emma.”
She shook her head.
“Mama.”
I didn’t know whether I wanted to cry or run.
Damian watched us.
Something in his face had changed.
Not suspicion anymore.
Recognition.
Or fear.
One of his men returned.
“He got away.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“How?”
“Car waiting in the alley.”
“Plate?”
“Covered.”
The guard handed him a phone.
“We pulled a still shot.”
Damian looked at the image.
Then handed it to me.
“Who is he?”
I studied the face.
Older now.
Heavier.
But the eyes were the same.
“I don’t know his name.”
“You said you saw him at the hospital.”
“I did.”
“Where?”
“Outside the recovery room.”
I closed my eyes.
Three years disappeared.
Bright hospital lights.
The smell of antiseptic.
My mother crying beside my bed.
A nurse avoiding my eyes.
And that man.
Standing in the hallway.
Watching.
“I asked if he was a doctor,” I said. “He told me he worked in administration.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“Only once.”
“What did he say?”
I remembered.
And suddenly wished I didn’t.
“He told me paperwork had already been handled.”
Damian went still.
“What paperwork?”
“I thought he meant my baby’s death certificate.”
Damian slowly looked toward his security chief.
“Find every employee at St. Catherine’s from three years ago. Start with administration.”
The man nodded.
I stood.
“I’m leaving.”
“No.”
I laughed once.
“You really need to stop saying that.”
Damian stepped closer.
“Emma, somebody recognized what happened here and ran.”
“So call the police.”
Something passed through his expression.
Distrust.
“The police can come after I know who we’re dealing with.”
“That is exactly the kind of sentence people say right before they end up on the evening news.”
For half a second, I thought he might smile.
He didn’t.
Instead he said, “We need a DNA test.”
My stomach turned.
“No.”
Leah looked between us.
Damian lowered his voice.
“You need the answer too.”
He was right.
I hated him for it.
“I’m not going anywhere private with you.”
“We can have a medical team come here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then choose the location.”
I looked down at Leah.
She was rubbing the edge of my apron between her fingers.
Like the texture calmed her.
There was something familiar about the gesture.
My daughter had done the same thing inside me.
At every ultrasound, she had curled her fingers near her face.
I hated myself for noticing.
“Public hospital,” I said.
“Fine.”
“No intimidation.”
“Fine.”
“No disappearing test results.”
His eyes went cold.
“If someone stole your child, I want that answer more than you do.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
His voice softened.
“No. But I know what it feels like to bury a wife.”
That stopped me.
He looked at Leah.
“And I know what it feels like to spend years wondering why the person you love stopped being herself.”
An hour later, a private room at Northwestern Memorial had been cleared.
A nurse swabbed my cheek.
Then Leah’s.
Damian requested his own test.
I stared at him.
“Why?”
He looked away.
That was answer enough.
“You don’t know if she’s yours?”
“I was told she was.”
“Told by who?”
He didn’t answer.
A security officer stepped into the room.
“Mr. Caruso.”
“What?”
“We found the hospital administrator.”
“The man from the restaurant?”
“No.”
The guard placed a photograph on the table.
An older doctor.
Silver hair.
Cold eyes.
“Dr. Victor Mercer. Head of maternity services three years ago.”
I stared at the photograph.
My stomach dropped.
“That’s him.”
Damian looked at me.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
The guard shook his head.
“No, ma’am. The man at the restaurant wasn’t Mercer.”
He slid over another photograph.
The man in the gray jacket.
Under it was a name.
PAUL REEVES.
Former hospital security.
Damian read the next line.
His face changed.
“What?” I asked.
He handed me the paper.
My hands started shaking.
Paul Reeves had been fired from St. Catherine’s six months after my daughter’s birth.
The reason listed was simple.
Unauthorized access to the maternity morgue.
I looked at Damian.
Then the nurse came back into the room.
Her face was pale.
“Mr. Caruso?”
“Yes?”
“You need to see this.”
“What?”
She held up Leah’s preliminary blood type report.
May you like
Then she looked at him.
“You cannot be this child’s biological father.”
