Page 39 of Desire Me
“Does it?” Because that certainly didn’t feel like a certainty to her. Her entire foundation had shifted out from under her. Who knew what she would or wouldn’t have done before this?
“I don’t believe it does,” Dain said firmly. “You have to trust your instincts, and the minute Saint said something about being married, your instinct was to be horrified. The thought of being with Saint and being committed to someone else at the same time horrified you. Trust your instincts. If your instincts now say that would be wrong, then your instincts two months ago probably said the same thing.”
She had to sit with that for a little while as they wandered down the road. When they reached the fence, they turned and headed back to the house. They were almost to the porch when Rae finally spoke.
“Dain?”
“Yeah?”
“I think you’re going to be a great father.”
He grinned. “Yeah? How do you know?”
“Instinct.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dain left after their walk, headed home to spend some time with Olivia, and Rae spent the afternoon flipping channels on the TV and trying not to worry about what the rest of the team was uncovering a few yards away. By dinnertime her nerves were once more strung tight.
“Why didn’t you all go into work?” And why hadn’t that occurred to her before? It was a weekday, yet they’d spent all day working on this.
Saint was carrying a package of steaks over to the indoor grill. “We worked something out.”
“How?”
“I took the week off,” Saint said.
“And since we’re playing catch-up before the holidays, our bosses are allowing us to do some pro bono work,” King put in.
“All four of you can’t work on my case for free,” Rae protested.
“We’re not working a case.” Saint began salting the steaks. “We’re helping my girlfriend—”
“Our friend,” Elliot interrupted.
“Stay safe.” The grill sizzled as the meat landed on it. “We’re going to figure this out, Rae. You just gotta trust us.”
“Here,” Elliot said, pointing the knife she held toward the seat next to her, “help me chop.”
The younger woman was seated at the island, salad veggies laid out in front of her. Rae joined her and grabbed a round, ripe tomato. “So”—she took the cutting board Elliott passed her—“what have you found so far?”
King added baking potatoes that he’d cleaned to a large air fryer. The scent of the grilling meat had Rae’s stomach rumbling. Her day had seemed to hinge around her trauma and food. Good thing she loved food.
“You were correct about your name,” King began, setting the timer on the now-loaded fryer. “Raegan Elizabeth Conté. Born twenty-eight years ago to James and Catherine.”
I’m twenty-eight.“Where?”
“New Portsmouth, Maine.”
“Hmm.” That made a little sense, at least; she didn’t have a strong Boston or New York accent, but she also didn’t have the twang some of the homegrown Southern nurses had seemed to have either.
When she didn’t comment further, King continued. “Narrowing with your parents’ identity led us to the correct Raegan Conté, and we tracked down your birth certificate, social security number, driver’s license, address, taxes—all the normal adult stuff.”
“My parents?”
Saint turned from the grill, tongs in hand, gaze sympathetic. “Just like you said, beautiful. They were killed together in a car accident ten years ago.”
She closed her eyes briefly, and a flash of that headstone returned. Then two dark-haired faces gazing at her with love.Oh, Mom.
