Page 21 of The Chief's Captive

"Good afternoon," I hear, and I recognize Brigid's voice instantly. When my eyes focus on her, I see she's standing by my bedside holding a glass of water. "Here ya go."

I blink a few more times and sit up. It takes me a minute to get my bearings and lean against the headboard as I take the glass of water from her and sip it.

"Mr. O'Rourke sends his apologies. He had to tend to some business, but Dr. Butcher is waiting down the hall for you. We wanted to let you sleep as long as possible." Brigid is a polite woman and very sincere. But she works for Ronan, and I know they're all loyal to him.

"Thank you," I tell her, and I sip the water a bit more. I'm not really ready to see a doctor this soon after waking, but he's probably been waiting a while. "What time is it?"

"It's just after one, ma'am. You were very tired." She takes the glass from me and sets it on the nightstand. "Should I call the doctor?"

"Yes, okay," I tell her before rubbing both hands across my face. I feel nauseous again, but for now, the extreme exhaustion has abated. Though, that likely has something to do with how much I've been sleeping.

The man who walks in is short, balding on top, and a bit plump. But he has a pleasant smile and a warm demeanor ashe examines me and asks about my diet and routine. He takes my pulse and temperature. Then he listens to my breathing and checks my blood pressure. When I feel like he's exhausted every basic physical thing to look at, he sits on the edge of the bed.

"Well, you're not feverish. You say you've been cold a lot?" His white, bushy eyebrows tent in the middle, and I nod at him.

"Yes, a lot. Like so cold I can't warm up. It's a cold that seems to come from inside me." Just thinking of it makes me want to start shivering again.

"And you're not sleeping or eating well, on top of the nausea?" he asks, and I feel like he's going somewhere with this.

"I don't have much of an appetite, and when I do eat, it just comes up. Sleep is all I do, actually. I'm so tired, I can't seem to stay awake, and I have no energy." I rest my head on the headboard and swallow the bile in the back of my throat. I'm so close to heaving again, I have to take a few deep breaths.

When Dr. Butcher asks, "And when was your last period?" I snap.

The idea that I could be pregnant with Ronan's baby was the last thing on my mind. The doctor's question makes my stomach unleash its fury. I jerk off the bed and run to the bathroom. He doesn't follow me, but I don’t need a babysitter. I drop to my knees by the toilet and throw up. My body shakes with the force of it, but my mind is shaking for another reason entirely now.

Pregnant with Ronan's baby? But we've only had sex twice. It seems ridiculous that I could be pregnant, but now that the doctor has asked me, I do wonder when my last period was. I can't remember. I've been here for so long, I don't even know how many days it's been now.

When I'm done throwing up, I linger in the bathroom a minute, washing my mouth out, wiping my face clean. If the doctor suspects it and wants to do a test, I'll have to. He'll tell Ronan if I don’t, and then Ronan will know… I have to think fast, because if Ronan finds out there's this possibility, I'll never get out of here.

But if I play this right, I'll get my answer without Ronan being the wiser.

I let myself out of the bathroom and smile meekly as I climb back into bed. The doctor waits patiently for me to get situated and then asks again, "Your period?"

I smile and bat my eyelashes, knowing my blood pressure is through the roof. I’m not good at acting. I'm not sure whether this guy is going to buy my act or not, but I have to try.

"Well, I’m not sure. With everything happening, I've lost track. Ronan and I are trying…" I bite my lip sheepishly and pretend to be happy about this, but it only makes me more nauseous. Lying isn’t something I’m good at.

"Oh, I see," he says, and his broad grin is evidence that he is most likely believing me. "Well, we should get a test. It may account for all of your symptoms. Sometimes, a woman experiences a shift in hormones that affects the thyroid. With this vomiting so severe, it makes sense." He reaches into his little black bag and starts pulling things out. I see a needle and get nervous. He's going to draw blood.

"But I don’t want him to know," I snap, and the doctor eyes me suspiciously, so I continue. "What I mean is, if it's positive, I want to be the one to tell him. You see, we're very excited to start our family now, you know, with everything." I don't know what"everything" is, but I'm hoping there is something significant enough that the doctor falls for my lines.

"Of course." His smiling reply puts me at ease. "How about this? If it's negative, you won't hear from me again. And if it's positive, I'll call tomorrow. We can also get you on some Zofran for that nausea."

I extend my arm to him, and he uses an alcohol swab to wipe it down. I wince as he searches for the vein in my arm. Even as a surgeon, I could do this better myself. I wonder what sort of doctor he is, but I can't really ask him. I'm in a very precarious situation right now and I can't make waves.

He finally finds the vein and takes a vial of blood for testing, and when he lets himself out, Brigid returns with some food for me, toast and eggs. I thank her, but I can't even touch the stuff. All I can do is curl into a ball and pull the covers over my head and cry. I could be eternally linked to this family, and there's nothing I can do but wait to find out.

The next twenty-four hours could be torture.

15

RONAN

The waitress comes to remove the empty plates as Mr. Finch brings a cut cigar to his lips and flicks his lighter to life. She scowls at him as she balances one plate after another on her outstretched arm and says, "Sir, we don't allow smoking inside." She looks as annoyed as she is scared, and while her timid voice might speak the truth, I can see the look in her eyes. She knows he's not going to listen, but it's her job to lay down the rules.

"Thanks, sweetheart, but I'll be fine." The flame dances around the end of the cigar as he sucks on it and the tobacco ignites.

She rolls her eyes and walks away, carrying the dirty dishes, leaving me and my business associate to continue our discussions. It's been a very productive dinner, though I would rather be home with Maeve. Dr. Butcher told me she's doing fine, but he did prescribe her some vitamins, which she's been taking. And while she's been eating more healthily and she's resting better with no sign of vomiting for days, she's listless. I think she's depressed, and I want to change that.

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