Page 108 of Chasing Sparks

“Speaking of that,” I point at Lucille’s belly. “Let’s back up a minute. How did I get named as the father again?”

“I didn’t plan it,” Lucille blurts out, the desperation thick in her tone. “When Kevin started hitting me the other night, demanding to know what I’d done, I panicked. I didn’t know whatitwas. If he found out I was working with Trace, I’d be dead—no doubt about it. So, I played the only card I had—I broke down crying and told him I was pregnant. He called me every name in the book—whore, bitch, cunt—and then, as calm as you please, he proclaimed that youmustbe the father. Like he’d solved a puzzle. Was almost smug about it. He said that made me someone else’s problem now.” She pauses, hanging her head. “I seized the moment and ran with it.”

Holy shit.

“You agreed I was the father?”

Lucille nods, seemingly unaware of the shitstorm she’s thrown my way. “I was so afraid I’d lose the baby if he didn’t stop.”

But two and two arenotequaling four. “Why doesn’t Kevin think the baby could be his?”

“He had a vasectomy years ago. Didn’t work, obviously, but the truth doesn’t matter to Kevin when it fails to suit his narrative.”

I stand and pace the length of the grimy, threadbare carpet, sucking in a lungful of the stale motel air. “So, what now? What’s your end game here, Trace?”

“Lucille moves in with you under the guise that you two are having a child together.”

I screech to a halt and look at Trace, my jaw slack. “You’re fucking kidding me. Theremustbe another option.”

“I put Lucille into witness protection, far beyond Kevin’s grasp.”

“Great idea,” I reply, motioning toward her. “Request somewhere tropical. You love the beach.”

“If we do that,” Trace continues, “then Kevin may grow suspicious and shut down his operation. If Lucille stays local and visible, it lends credence to her story that you two are having a baby. It keeps his focus on her—and you—and off the trafficking.”

Lucille shifts in her seat, wringing her hands. “If I disappear, those women will vanish, too.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, yanking a hand through my hair.

The weight of what they’re asking crushes me. They don’t just want me to lie—they want me to become part of this fucked-up charade.

“We need you,” Trace says, his tone firm. “If Kevin thinks the baby is yours, it buys my team time. Time to finish the investigation. Time to keep Lucille safe. And time to stop the women at the club from disappearing.”

“This is insane.” I scrub a hand over my face, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Trace’s voice hardens. “I won’t lie to you—it’s dangerous. Guys like Kevin think they’re untouchable, but they all slip up,eventually. If we pull this off, we can shut Kevin down for good. Countless women are depending on that.”

“And what’s the plan after that?” I inquire, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Am I supposed to raise his kid, too?”

“No one’s asking you to do that.” Trace shakes his head, the exhaustion etching lines into his face. “But we need your help to keep Lucille safe.”

I understand how much is riding on Trace’s investigation, and I’ve watched the documentaries—girls, some barely teenagers, stolen from their homes and sold into a life of sexual slavery.

Doesn’t change the magnitude of their request.

“You really can’t do this without me?”

“Brother, I wish we could. Trust me, I don’t enjoy involving civilians in my work. Right now, Kevin doesn’t know what to believe. That’s why he’s digging into your business. He’s trying to figure out if Lucille’s pregnancy claim is a setup. If you play along, act like the stand-up guy helping the woman he got pregnant, it might throw Kevin off the trail.”

“Or he might shoot me in the street.” I bite out the words, although at this point, anything is possible.

Trace shakes his head. “Kevin is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. I’m hiding you two in plain sight. Everyone knows you in Sparkwood, Ash. If something happens to you, the whole town will be out for blood—and Kevin knows it. He’ll make your life hell, but he’s not stupid enough to risk collapsing his entire operation by taking you out. His house of cards is wobbling, and he knows one wrong move will bring it all crashing down.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” I mutter, the whiskey threatening to make a reappearance. “How long is this for?”

“Six weeks, maybe less. There’s been talk of a new shipment within a month.”

“Shipment meaning?—”

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