Page 49 of Paternal Instincts
Nixon’s brother embraced him, shushed him, and said he didn’t know.
Imogen stared blankly into the middle distance, her entire body taut and trembling. Without word or comment, she left the kitchen.
A moment later, the shrill sound of screaming filled the house. Jordyn, Nixon, Flynn, and I darted from the kitchen, following the sound. In the living room, shocked and startled family members stared at Imogen.
Red-faced, fists balled, and tendons protruding from her neck, she shrieked at the top of her lungs, not at anyone in particular, but in what seemed to be pure hysteria.
Nixon shoved past Jordyn and me, shouting his wife’s name. “Genie. Genie, baby, calm down. No, no, honey. The baby. You can’t—”
She spun on him the second he touched her shoulder, bellowing, “Get away from me. This is your fault.” Then, to her audience, “All of you, get out of my house. Get out. Get out right now.”
Another high-pitched wail emerged from her throat before she collapsed to her knees and sobbed into her hands. Then, as though possessed, she twisted around and glared with the devil in her eyes at her husband, who seemed too stunned to talk and hid behind Flynn. “Give. Me. Back. My. Son!” A final shrill cry shattered the day before slowly waning in intensity. The last of her energy zapped, Imogen lay on the floor in a fetal position, hiccupping and crying.
Not a single person in the room moved, let alone breathed. Sparrow appeared in a different doorway with Zoey behind her. The poor girl looked like she’d seen a ghost.
My professional brain told me to monitor people and note actions and reactions. Manage the situation because it had spiraled out of control. My heart, on the other hand, begged me to scoop Sparrow into my arms and take her away from this horror movie shit show that had become her life.
I snagged Jordyn’s arm and hissed, “Get Imogen upstairs in bed. I don’t care how, but she needs to calm down before she puts herself into labor.”
Jordyn jumped into action.
I made eye contact with Zoey, who looked apologetic. Withoutwords, I communicated that she should remove the child immediately. Sparrow didn’t need to see this.
To Flynn, I said, “Take your brother to the kitchen. Get him a glass of water. I’ll be there in a second.”
Before I started herding people out the door, which I didn’t want to do, I considered other options. We needed to separate family members, but first, we needed help.
I punched Aslan’s name into my contacts, not having the capacity to write him a text.
“Hey, hot stuff. I was just—”
“I need you.”
“Aww, I need you too.”
“No, I mean at the Davises’ house. Things are out of fucking control. Are you with Costa?”
“I am. What’s brought on the big boy words?”
“Pure fucking anarchy. Get Costa, please.”
When the phone switched hands, I asked, “Did you look into FedEx?”
“Yep. I was able to trace the package to the depot where it was mailed. Got off the phone with the supervisor not twenty minutes ago. He didn’t want to play nice, so I threatened to get a warrant. He was more cooperative then. He said they could timestamp when the package was put into their system, but depending on how busy they were, it might not reflect when the package was dropped off. Also, if the person sending the package didn’t disclose their personal information, which is not required, he has no way to discover it.”
“Fuck. Camera footage?”
“Need a warrant, but he has one aimed at the front counter, and he’d be happy to provide it if we go through the legal channels.”
“Please make it happen. We got another delivery less than five minutes ago. I’ll snap a picture of the shipping label and send it to you once we’re off the phone.”
“Roger dodger.”
“Is Aslan still there?”
“Yeah, you wanna talk to him?”
“No. Tell him to move his ass. Oh, and have him pick up a McDonald’s Happy Meal on his way. The chicken nugget one. Make sure he gets the toy.”
