Page 46 of Missing Justice
Next thing she knew, they were in a full-on make-out session and she was about to climb into his lap when her phone rang with Beckett’s ringtone.
“Ignore it,” Matt said, his hand tugging on her ponytail as his teeth grazed her neck.
“Can’t. I’m down to forty-eight hours to solve this case before it gets handed over to Leo the shark.”
She shifted her body and answered her phone. “Make it quick,” she said into the phone.
Matt shifted the lapel of her white shirt over and kissed his way down the top of her breast and she had to force herself not to moan.
“Got a list of the births during the timeframe you asked for, boss,” Beckett said. “And I’ve got at least nine kids who match the profile you gave me.”
Matt had found his way to her breast, pulling aside her bra and licking her nipple. “Good…job. I’ll be…in the office…” She had to bite her lip as Matt sucked her breast into his mouth, twirling his tongue around her areola. “Holy shit—I mean…uh, shortly. I’ll be in the office…shortly.”
“Are you okay, Taylor? You sound—”
She didn’t listen further, disconnecting the call and tossing the phone over the seat. “I hate you”
“No, you don’t. Now, shut up and let me have my way with you, Mrs. Dillinger.”
Taylor didn’t argue.
* * *
At exactly 7:00 p.m. Dottie strolled into the common area of the birthing center where four other couples had congregated with Matt and Taylor. Or, as they were currently known, Randy and Adela Dillinger.
Taylor, as promised, had done her thing and paid a little visit to the Dillingers, explaining the situation and the FBI’s need to temporarily use their names for an investigation and voila, Matt and Taylor were suddenly six weeks pregnant and searching for options outside of a hospital birth.
Jeez, this was nuts. As a single man who’d had precisely two relationships he’d even considered possible long-term material, he didn’t have a clue what kind of questions an expectant father would ask. And, Taylor? God love her, but she hardly seemed the type to be skilled in this area. Give her a Glock and a ripe murder and she was an ace. Motherhood?
He glanced at her, studied the curve of her cheek, the way she nibbled her bottom lip as she read one of the birthing center brochures.Yes.Definitely motherhood material. All that assertiveness and intensity, the need to right wrongs, she’d be fierce as a mom, but good. Protective.
She leaned over, slid a hand across the back of his shoulder and got close to his ear. “Relax, Mr. Dillinger. Before I kill you.”
Shit. Apparently his apprehension about this whole thing was showing. He always hated undercover work. Too many things could go wrong at too many times. For some, it got their juices flowing, him? Nah. He enjoyed the puzzle of working a case, asking questions, figuring the angles.
Dottie breezed into the room. She wore a navy dress and had pulled her reddish hair back into a severe bun. Matt figured her for mid-fifties, but she could have been older. These days, with all the Botox and other treatments women put themselves through, who knew?
“Hello, everyone,” Dottie said, her gaze moving to each couple as she offered up a cheery smile. “Thank you so much for being here.” She looked over at Matt and Taylor. “Welcome back! Lovely to see you.”
“Thank you,” Taylor gushed. “We’re so excited!”
Matt looked over at her, marveling at her ability to be a tough-talking FBI agent one minute and a gushing expectant mother the next.
A blonde woman across from them reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed it. The two of them exchanged a look and the man nodded. Clearly they’d just experienced a non-verbal message, similar to what Matt and Taylor had done yesterday at the hospital. But that had been business. This? This was personal. What would it feel like to be here and not pretending? To experience the nerves and excitement of planning the birth of your child.
He tried to conjure an image of it. Of him coming home, to Taylor, her belly full and round with his baby. Would he rub his hands over her, maybe talk to his child? If it was a boy, he’d probably roll a football or baseball over that belly just to get things rolling in that direction. Couldn’t hurt, right? A girl? Well, she’d get kisses. And maybe a softball. Daddy’s girl.
“Okay,” Dottie said, “let’s head on back and we’ll get started.”
She led them to the back of the center to a sitting room large enough to seat ten. The muted paint and thick carpeting gave the place a homey feel and Matt immediately understood why they used this room for open houses. Everything about the place screamed upscale, comfort, and luxury.
Right up Felicity’s alley.
Dottie waved them all to the cluster of sofas and chairs near the fireplace she stood in front of. Matt moved to the one closest to Dottie, spotting the dark blue binder with the birthing center’s logo on the front—fancy-shmancy raised lettering—sitting on his chair.
“If you would,” Dottie said, “open your binders to page one. This will tell you a bit about our process. There are forms to be filled out and given back to us so we may reserve your spot in one of our amazing birthing rooms. From there, you’ll be assigned a caseworker who will help you put together your birthing team.”
While Matt opened the binder and skimmed the first page, Taylor raised her hand. “Can I ask a question?”
