Page 31 of Surprise Baby for the Enemy

Is this food poisoning, or some kind of allergy? The flu? I feel fine, but her pad-thai had shrimp in it and mine didn’t, so maybe that’s it.

Once it seems like she’s spit up all the bile in her stomach, she manages to catch her breath and flush the toilet. Her face is still a little clammy. Unthinking, I brush a bit of sticky hair off her forehead, and she suddenly seems to remember I’m here.

“Did you feel all right last night?” I ask, pressing the back of my hand to her forehead. She immediately smacks my hand away.

“I’m fine, really. It’s nothing,” she says, her voice shaky as she stands up, a little off-balance. “I just need some water... maybe some ibuprofen.” She turns on the faucet, cups her hand under the stream, and rinses her mouth out.

“You almost tore my hand off and then you puked up your insides,” I counter, holding my ground by the sink so she can’t just walk off. “Was it the food? Are you allergic to wheat or seafood?”

I'm waiting for a reply, but she seems distant, her brow furrowed in thought as she stares at the countertop, her fingers tapping anxiously against the edge.

“Raleigh?” I call, but she’s lost in her own world, clearly grappling with something more than just nausea. I can see the wheels turning in her mind, and a flicker of concern crosses her face before she masks it with bravado.

“Yeah, well… sometimes I get nauseous right before my period starts.” She raises her eyebrows at me, daring me to argue with that.

I don’t, no matter how tempted I am, but that doesn’t mean I believe her. The quiet sincerity of last night is already gone, and blustery, standoffish Raleigh is suddenly back. I missed the energy of this side of her, of course, but I dislike how quick she is to lie to me.

I walk with her back to the bed, where I can get to my uniform’s equipment belt and retrieve a handcuff key. Just before I unlock the handcuffs, I meet Raleigh’s hazel eyes.

“If you steal the cruiser, we’re going to have problems,” I warn.

“Promise?” Raleigh asks sweetly.

Fuck me, are we still on kissing terms? We probably shouldn’t be, after everything that’s happened, but I’m sorely tempted.

Instead of putting her up against the wall before we’re separated, I unlock our handcuffs and set her loose on my house. I shift my discarded uniform from last night around on the carpet until I find a phone. Hers, not mine. It must’ve fallen out of her clothes yesterday, but it looks like it’s dead now. Secretly I hope it died before we reached my house so Iris can’t immediately track her here. I find my phone next and dial my deputy sheriff’s number.

Cassidey answers just when I think he’s about to miss the call. “Hey sheriff! I’m not sure if you know this or not, but it’s your day off today.”

“Maybe,” I say, only half listening. The rest of my attention is on all the sound Raleigh’s making as she moves through the house. I hear her get some water from the fridge and realize I should probably grab her those pain meds. “But yesterday wasn’t, and yesterday I got the license plate for a car that might belong to Silver.”

“What- how?”

“Pure luck,” I admit. “I watched him walk out of the Cooper’s bar on Hackney Street. Can you run the plate for me? Text me the address of whoever has it registered and I’ll check it out today.”

“OrI could run it and then send one of the guys to check it out instead,” Cassidey suggests, “and you can stay home for one single day. Read a book. Play fetch with the boys. Go for a drive, if you absolutely can’t sit still.”

I find some ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet- then hear my back door open. “Thanks Cass,” I say quickly, and hang up.

I find Raleigh standing just inside the back door, my dogs on the other side. They’re all staring at each other in vague consternation.

“Should I let them back in, or do you think they’ll poop on the floor?” Raleigh asks, her voice a little too casual, like she’s trying to fill the silence.

Chance and Justice catch my eye through the door, definitely offended by the assumption that they’re not house trained.

“They’ll let me know when they need to go out,” I tell Raleigh, opening the door so the dogs can come back in. “I’m planning to install a dog door for them soon, but I’ve been… busy.”

“Really truly looking for Silver, huh?” Raleigh asks, taking the ibuprofen from me and swallowing three of the pills dry.

“Really truly,” I confirm. “I got his license plate yesterday and my deputy sheriff will tell me who the car’s registered to in a few minutes.”

“And then you’ll storm the house,” Raleigh guesses, with a little too much enthusiasm.

“And then I’ll investigate the owner of the house,” I correct. “I’ll probably go ask them some questions first. The car or the plate could’ve been stolen from them. Luckily we can also keep an eye out for the car itself through traffic cams. Regardless, we have a lead as long as we don’t tip off Silver too soon. If he dumps the car, we’re back to square one.”

Raleigh looks decidedly unimpressed with the amount of steps involved before any S.W.A.T. teams can start breaking down doors. “What about me?” she asks.

Yes, what about her? It’s a question I’ve been avoiding thinking about since I convinced her to come back with me last night.

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