Page 87 of Parker
I watch as he lifts her dress, exposing her swollen belly. His hands run over her skin, pressing and pushing to check her precious cargo. He turns around to the machines behind him, pulling forward a unit.
“We are going to take an ultrasound scan to ensure baby is all right.”
He squirts gel onto her stomach, then lifts the scanner, pressing it into the goo. The monitor flickers on, and the sound of a heartbeat resonates around the ambulance. My eyes are glued to the screen, taking in the blurry human outline that is my son.
My protective instincts go into overdrive. My wife and son are mine to defend, and I failed horrendously. Right now, I plan to never let them out of my sight. I will never fail them again.
***
Nicky sits in the passenger seat as we pull through the electric gates that secure our home. She hadn’t been happy about returning here with me, but there was no way I was letting her go elsewhere. She’s been giving me the silent treatment since I put my foot down.
Outside the house, she climbs out of the car, and I take her arm. We walk into the house together.
“I’ve had your library made up as a bedroom,” I tell her as we move. “You’ll have your own space, and we can see out this pregnancy together.”
She swallows but stays silent.
“Nicky, I’m here for you and our son. Whatever you both need. But there will be no arguments; you’re staying here.”
“I need to call Sophie,” she interrupts. “She’ll be worried.”
We reach the front door, and I turn the key in the lock. As I push the door open, the smell of vanilla engulfs us.
“My mother has been keeping her up to date. It was her who came to me and raised the alarm. She told me about the baby.” Her eyes drop to the floor as we stand face to face in the living room. “Nicky, why didn’t you tell me? At the garden party…”
She puts her hand up to stop me from speaking. “Joel, I’ve been locked in a room with gangsters for days. They beat me, threatened to rape me, and almost caused the miscarriage of our child. Please, can we talk about this tomorrow?”
“Did they touch you sexually? Did you lie to the doctor?” I growl. This is the first mention of them suggesting they would rape her. She sighs softly.
“No, they didn’t. It was a warning. I just want to have a shower and go to bed,” she mutters, and without waiting for my response, she turns then walks away up the stairs towards her library.
Chapter thirty-nine
Joel & Nicky's Home, Glasgow
Nicky
My pillows are propped up all around me as I sit on the massive bed in the middle of the book-lined room. A leather-bound volume of Little Women is open on my nine-month pregnant belly. Reading has become my daily escape from reality in the weeks I’ve been here.
From the start of month eight, everything about my pregnancy sucked. My back breaks trying to carry my giant cargo around. I have cankles rather than ankles, and my breasts have swollen so badly that none of my bras can contain them.
Bits of flesh stick out in all directions around the pretty lace. At this point, I don’t need lingerie, I need scaffolding. For the past two weeks, all I’ve done is laze around the house and wander in the garden when the mood takes me. That part has been blissful.
Sophie has taken charge of the shop. We’ve employed a part-time seamstress to help manage the workload. I hope to be back a few weeks after giving birth.
I’ve missed working with my friend since the kidnapping. There wasn’t enough time between recovering from my ordeal and getting too big to get back. She has a playpen and crib already set up in the back room, so we have an on-site nursery ready to go as soon as I’m able.
The nightmares come in the darkness with memories of my time at the brothel. Most nights, I lie awake reliving the terror Drayton put me through.
Joel lies at the other end of the corridor in our old marital bed, alone. The desire to go to him is overwhelming, to feel safe in his arms once more.
The door on anything other than a platonic relationship seems to have firmly closed. He looks after me and checks on me constantly, but not once has he suggested more. Perhaps he doesn’t want to push me. Or he’s only doing this for his son, to make sure I don’t run. Maybe it’s duty, not love, that keeps him close.
The day after my rescue, we argued. He was furious with me for not telling him about the pregnancy. When he questioned if I ever planned to tell him, my response cut him to the bone. I could see it in his eyes.
“I hadn’t decided,” I said. “Joel, your world is dangerous. Our son will be expected to take charge after you. I hadn’t decided if I wanted to subject my child to that life, no matter how much I love his father.”
He walked away and locked himself in his office, working for hours. Each time I wandered past the door, he was shouting at some poor bastard on the phone. I retreated to bed before he reappeared.
