Page 65 of Callum

“She’s dead.”

Of all the things I imagined he would say, that isn’t one of them. “Dead?”

“Dead. Reported to have died in labor. And her daughter went home with the child’s father after three weeks in the NICU.” Grant taps out a message on his phone, an annoyed look on his face.

“So you think her baby daddy has my daughter?”

“No.”

“I swear to fucking god—”

“I think your kid is alive and out in the world somewhere, but she isn’t with Jeffrey Benson. Who, by the way, was absolutely not the father of that stripper’s child.” Grant shakes his head in disbelief at the very idea of this Benson guy being involved. “I believe that the stripper gave birth to a stillborn baby, and the GiGi’s swapped that baby for yours. Then Jeffrey Benson sat in the hospital for three straight weeks pretending to mourn the loss of his wife while watching over your daughter.”

“Why would they swap the babies? And why wouldn’t they tell Rosalind?”

Grant hums deep in his chest, adjusting in his seat to look at me. “I don’t think Rosalind is the only one they lied to.”

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. We sit there for a long time, watching one another as if neither is sure who will make the next move.

“Dammit, Grant.”

“You really can’t figure it out?”

“Get off your fucking high horse and explain it to me like I’m a child.”

“They were hiding your baby from the Father.”

His words hit me in the chest like a ton of bricks. “Why would they do that?”

“Because,” Grant sighs, crossing both arms over his chest. “I believe the Father put a hit out on your child.”

I will kill him. I will tear him apart with my bare fucking hands. I’m going to wrap his large intestine around his neck and hang him with it.

“I can see you spiraling, but I need you here.” Grant snaps his fingers in front of my face, bringing my attention back to him. “We’re going to kill him, don’t you worry. Right now, it’s far more important that we track down your child. You need to ask Rosalind if she remembers anything else from the time around the birth.”

Shit. “I can’t do that.”

Grant gives me a look that warns of another punch to the face. “Why not?”

“I swore that I wouldn’t make her talk about it again after the other night.”

“That’s not a real reason, Callum,” Grant’s eyes narrow, the dots connecting in his mind faster than they have any right to. “This is because you slept with her.”

“I can’t go back on my word, Grant.”

“You fucking dumbass.” He sighs, rubbing both hands over his face and into his hair. “I’ll ask around to see if I can get more information, but no one will place the same significance on that time as Rosalind. She’s going to be the best bet for finding your daughter, so you need to decide what matters more to you: protecting Rosalind’s feelings or finding your child.”

Eighteen: Anita’s

CALLUM

The temperatures have dropped significantly since I left Church, with angry gray clouds rolling down from the mountains. A Sunday afternoon in late November means fewer people on the streets of Forest Falls, and I make it to Anita’s practice in less than ten minutes.

A soft bell sounds the moment I push through the door, the gentle tinkling almost lost to the whoosh of the wind at my back.

“Hello, stranger.”

“It’s been three days, Anita.”

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