Page 30 of Before You Go

“It must be difficult to take a case that old to court.”

“It can be, but with DNA technology advancing as quickly as it is, it helps.”

“I read an article the other day about DNA and genealogy identifying Jack the Ripper.”

“I think I probably read that same article. But I’m not sure if Aaron Kosminski was the Ripper, even if he does look like a viable suspect, given his history and that he was brought in for questioning during the murders.”

“Why do you think he might not be the guy if they have his DNA?”

“The article of clothing they got the DNA from is over a hundred years old. It was passed around numerous times over the years without anyone knowing what they do today about preserving evidence. And the DNA wasn’t his; it was just linked to him through his family.”

“Is that what you do when you’re working a case? Try to prove that the suspect isn’t guilty of the crimes he’s being charged with?”

“Kind of. Going into a case, I already know there’s going to be someone on the opposite side of the courthouse attempting to get their client off, so I have to figure out all the angles they will use to do that before I bring them to court.” I lean back when a Caesar salad is placed in front of me, with two pieces of the fish they use for the dressing laid across the top. I look over at Franny when she makes a noise and quickly slides her salad bowl away from her.

“Sorry.” She covers her mouth.

“Just breathe through your mouth,” I tell her quietly, trying not to draw attention to ourselves.

It takes a minute, but the color starts to come back to her face, which had gone pale.

“I’m okay,” she whispers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thanks.” She picks up her water and takes a sip. “I’ll be happy when this part is over.”

“What part?” Barrett asks, and Franny’s expression turns panicked.

“She was just saying that she can’t wait until the bidding starts,” I cover quickly, and her shoulders, which had tensed, relax.

“Oh, are you going to bid on something today?” Barrett asks, picking up the card on the table with the list of things that are going to be up for auction.

“I was thinking about going for one of the spa days. Maybe I’ll take Mom.”

“That would be nice, but I figured you’d try to win the wine package.” He smiles.

“I would, but I’m currently doing that no-alcohol trend that’s popular on social media right now.”

He raises a brow. “You should have your brother do that with you.”

She snorts. “Jacob wouldn’t last a week without drinking.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not wrong,” Barrett says, cutting into his salad, and the color once again drains from Franny’s face.

Reaching under the table, I wrap my hand around her thigh, hoping to distract her. Her skin is smooth and warm, and the little gasp she makes reminds me of the noise she made when I slid inside of her. I’ve thought about that night a lot—the sounds she made, the way she felt wrapped around me, and how everything happened so fucking fast. The instant it was over, I regretted taking her like I did and hated that I couldn’t say no when I should have. Then I regretted not taking my time with her, enjoying the moment, stretching it out as long as I could. I also think about how I ran like a fucking coward because the first thought in my head after I fucked her was once would never be enough.

Covering my hand with hers, she presses her fingers into my skin, and she looks over at me with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Okay?” I mouth, and when she nods, I slide my hand off her thigh.

As lunch carries on, she doesn’t eat any of the food placed in front of her; all she does is move stuff around on her plate to make it look like she did. I want to ask her if she’s been eating and keeping any food down, but now is not the time to do that, and honestly, I don’t know if it’s my place to ask her at all.

I’m walking a very thin line, trying to be supportive while keeping myself distant. It’s difficult, and I have a feeling it’s just going to become harder the more time that passes. And it will likely become impossible when I can confirm that she is pregnant with my child—something I already believe, even with the knowledge that it should not be possible.

Maybe I would feel differently if I thought she had something to gain from naming me as the dad. But I don’t have money—not much of it, anyway—and I’m a fucking nobody, especially when you look at her social circle and who her father is. She’s surrounded by men who could provide more for her baby than I would ever be able to. So, if she were looking for financial security, she wouldn’t have to look very far. And I have no doubt that most of the men she comes in contact with would tie themselves in knots in order to give her whatever she wanted if she were willing to give them a chance.

Including her ex-husband, who made it clear the night we met that he wants her back.

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