Page 106 of Chasing Sparks

Trace notices my stiff stance and extends his hand. “Easy, brother. I come in peace.”

Now I know this is about to get messy.

I stare at his outstretched hand, still not trusting the situation—or either of them.

“Trust me. I’m not here for you.”

Although Trace might be full of crap, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. What other choice do I have? He’s standing between me and the door, so if I want to get past him, I’ll have to go through him.

With a sigh, I shake his hand before swinging my gaze back to Lucille. “Want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know about you, Ash, but I need a drink.” Trace pulls a bottle of whiskey from his coat pocket, sloshing the liquid inside. “You game?”

“Why the hell not?” I mutter, my eyes bouncing between Trace and Lucille like a pinball on speed.

He grabs two disposable cups from the counter and pours out the amber liquid.

He hands me the shot, and I nod toward Lucille. “Where’s yours?”

“I’m on the wagon.”

At first, I figure she’s drying out, but then I notice the slight swell of her belly.

There’s no way.

“You’re pregnant?” I choke out.

A feeling I’m not familiar with shoots through me—a jealousy that she’s having a family. Lucille never wanted kids, but I was champing at the bit to have a few. That is until she eviscerated my heart.

After that, I shelved the idea, right next to love and all its trappings.

Now,she’shaving a kid?

Fucking figures.

Lucille rests a protective hand on her belly. “Fifteen weeks. Hard to believe, right?”

“That’s an understatement. Are you the dad?” I motion toward Trace. Anything seems possible at this point.

Trace snorts into his glass. “Hell, no. That would be too easy.”

I grab my keys from my pocket, jerking my thumb toward the door. “Look, Lucille, Trace is here. He can take care of you, okay? I’ve got to go.”

“That’s not why you’re here,” Trace replies, motioning for me to take a seat at the battered wood table.

I scoff, growing more irritated by the second. “Then someone better tell me why the fuck I am here.”

“Because we need your help.” Trace’s voice is firm, unyielding.

“We? As in you two?” I wag my finger between Trace and Lucille.

Trace shakes his head, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “We, as in the United States government.”

I rub a hand across my eyes, certain this is some crazy fever dream concocted by my sleep-addled brain. “Wait, are you?—”

“I’m with Homeland Security.” His tone is matter of fact, but the words knock me off balance.

“I thought you were part of an MC.”

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