Page 70 of Scorned Beauty
I was telling myself that if the bigger map of blood was Sloane’s, then her body would be in one of the graves. My bet was it was Billy’s. He had a longer time to bleed out.Cold, I know.
I was pacing the living room of the penthouse. I was promised the results before midnight.
Ginger was sitting like a sphinx on the leather ottoman as if she was waiting with me for the results.
I banned everyone from coming into my penthouse. I wanted to be alone in my misery. I wanted to suffer alone in my guilt and self-loathing.
I took a swig of whiskey when my phone rang with the number from the private DNA lab.
“Mr. De Lucci?”
“Yes.”
“This is Carter. Lucy’s friend.”
“Yeah, I know who you are.” What could I say? My sister offered her help, and I pounced on it even when I had other companies lined up who could do the work, but I discovered this Carter guy was the best in his field. I didn’t know how my sister found these people, but maybe she should work for me.
“I’m sending you the results on a secure link you can download, but I want to confirm that the set of DNA coming from subject A?—”
“That’s the one closest to the wall?”
“Correct. I can confirm is William Scott.”
“And the second set?”
“This is where it could get tricky.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s fetal tissue mixed in it.”
“Fetal…” The implications of what this meant ripped a hole inside me so agonizingly visceral, I could barely speak through the crippling pain squeezing my rib cage.
“Subject two was pregnant.”
“Was?” I could only manage one-word responses now.
“The maternal DNA was confirmed to be Sloane Scott’s.”
“Pregnant…”
“So, in the interest of saving time, I asked for permission from Lucy to use her existing data in our database.”
“You could have called me…” I finally strung a few words together. I was reeling. Spinning. Thrashing in a sea of unexpected loss and stew of emotions I couldn’t identify.
“This was faster and I can retest…”
“Just tell me!” I roared, the thread of control finally snapping. I had to know. But I already knew the truth, didn’t I? Because karma had a way of doubling down on my guilt and shame. “Am I the father?”
“Lucy and the fetal tissue share a match, so you are potentially the father.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not in forensics, but it appeared it was a miscarriage.”
“The baby did not survive?” I whispered brokenly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. De Lucci.”
