Page 89 of Open Secrets
“They do,” I nod. “For standard treatment. Not the miracle my daughter needed.”
I stand, my chair scraping back across the carpet. My pulse hammers but I keep my voice calm, lethal. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad for us. I’m telling you because I want you to understand—I will do anything to protect my children.”
I step closer, close enough that she leans back on the bed, her hand pressing to her stomach like a shield.
“It’s a feeling you’ll know soon enough,” I say. “So you can do one of two things. You can go back to wherever you came from and find the real father. Or you can keep trying to extort my family for money and I will make sure you cannot walk into a bank, cannot get a job without a lawyer breathing down the backof every application. I’ll sue you for blackmail. For defamation. For every dollar you earn.”
Her mouth works. The practiced answers fail. She scrambles for a different angle. “If I go to his commander—he’ll be finished. He’ll lose his benefits and you’ll be left with nothing.”
“Maybe.” I let the possibility rest there. “Maybe the Army will punish him. That’s between him and his conscience and the Chain of Command.” My voice is rough now, close to pleading and then colder. “But if you go to the commander without evidence, and then we prove the baby isn’t his, what happens to you? You stand in court and say you lied. You stand in front of lawyers and judges and say you wanted to ruin a family. What will you tell your child when they ask why their mother destroyed other people’s lives for money?”
Cece looks small in the hotel light. The fame of her fantasy slips. She’s left with the baby and a robe and nothing else.
“You’re bluffing,” she whispers, too soft now to be dangerous.
“No.” I reach into my purse and show her the screen, still recording. “I’ve been recording since the moment I walked in. With this and the paternity test, it won’t be hard to prove malicious intent.”
Her jaw works. “You can’t—”
“I will if I have to. That’s up to you.”
She stares like a goldfish. The silence stretches and then snaps.
“I came here to make my point,” I say. “And I have.”
With that I turn and walk away, hoping this will be the last time I have to see her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lyle — Present
I’ve been on edge all damn day. Maria told me the confrontation went well, but I can’t shake the feeling it’s not over.
Instead of heading straight to pick up the kids, I drive to Maria’s clinic. The glass doors are locked, but I knock until Debra appears. Her eyes look a little puffy.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says quickly, subdued. “Family drama.”
I nod. “Anything I can do?”
She shakes her head, pulling her purse off the receptionist’s desk. “I’m gonna head home. I was just waiting for Maria.”
Before I can ask more, she’s already halfway out the door. “We closed early—it was slow today. I’ll see you,” she adds, giving a small nod toward the back, where Maria probably is.
I lock the door behind her, and glance around the quiet clinic. The hum of the ac, the faint smell of disinfectant—funny how much this place feels like her.
Then she steps out of a side door, surprised. “Lyle? What are you doing here?”
I grin, spreading my arms. “Have I ever said how proud I am of you?”
Her brows furrow. “Well, I think the talk worked, but—”
“Not that.” I gesture around us, taking it all in. “This. Your clinic. You managed to build this place and raise our kids all by yourself. I’m so damn proud of you, Maria.”
She softens, a smile tugging her mouth. “Well, I had help.”
“Not enough,” I say, crossing to her. “You’re pretty damn amazing, you know that, Dr. Connelly.”
