I covered my face with my hands, and the surgeon placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. The sound of my mother shrieking and sobbing in the background pierced through my shell-shock.
“Mom! She’s fine!” I shouted, realizing that she read our body language and thought the worst. “Um, thank you, Dr. Okafor. When can I see her?”
“Give us about thirty minutes and she’ll be settled in a room. Family can visit in pairs. We’ll let you know if anything changes.”
I returned to our family, caught in a daze. The stakes had risen. Kiyah was pregnant. Not only did Branson plan on killing my wife, but my child, too?
“Kiyah is doing fine. She is in recovery. She will be admitted for a few days for observation.”
The collective gasps of relief echoed through the corridor.
“When can we see her?” Kieran asked.
“Soon,” I responded, barely aware that I was speaking. A million things were running through my mind. Mom stepped forward.
“I need to talk to you… privately.”
I looked at her, and something twisted in my chest. She seemed to age overnight. The worry sat in the fine lines around her red-rimmed eyes, and her shoulders slumped as if she couldn’t carry the weight of the world on them any longer. The little tell-tale signs that she was approaching fifty were pronounced and undeniable.
I took her by the elbow and led her down the hall near the elevator bank. I waited patiently as she reached into her purse and pulled out a wad of tissues. She swiped her sniffling nose and clutched the tissues in her hand, returning her gaze to mine.
“Grant,” she said, voice cracking. “He has to go,” she whispered. “Do you know what I mean?” I nodded. “He took my baby, and he… he stabbed my baby.” Her breath shuddered as she spoke the unbelievable words. “He’s running.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the cops aren’t here handcuffing Kiyah to the bed for running off with a politician’s kid. Are you telling me that one of the most talked-about political figures in our country doesn’t have an Amber Alert out for his child? He sure was in front of the camera when his wife died. He’s bailing.”
Everything she said made perfect sense, which angered me more because the thought of Branson skipping the country without getting justice for Kiyah and our child was unfathomable.
“Your father,” she paused to snort, “he believes we should let the authorities handle it.”
“And you don’t,” I replied grimly.
She shook her head and stepped closer. “Grant… I have $30 million sitting in an account from my settlement. It’s yours. Hire a team, track him down, and kill him.”
I came alive like a live wire was whipping inside me. “You’re serious.”
“Kill that motherfucker, pray for forgiveness, and live your life.”
Chapter Fifty
Grant
My mother’s offer plagued me as I stood at Kiyah’s bedside. She had woken briefly, long enough to tell me everything, down to Branson breaking Pete’s fingers for shits and giggles and Desi helping her escape. I didn’t even have time to ask her about the pregnancy.
The pregnancy didn’t feel real yet. It felt abstract, like something that belonged to another couple—the perfect couple, who were solid and trusted each other—the couple who would be excitedly discussing nursery paint colors and baby names. Not the couple who dropped bodies and were planning to assassinate a political figure.
We were having a child, and I couldn’t even be excited. Images of Kiyah slumped over the steering wheel wouldn’t leave me, and her blood was still caked beneath my nails. I thought about how close I’d come to losing her without ever knowing she was carrying a piece of us. The idea hollowed me out, and my hands curled into fists at my sides.
A knock sounded at the door and was followed by someone clearing their throat. I looked up just as a man in a suit and a badge at his waist entered. He didn’t look surprised by the sight of Kiyah unconscious in the bed with wires and IVs spilled across the sheets. He looked like a man who’d already seen worse.
“Mr. Baker. I’m Detective Dennis Calhoun. I’ve been assigned to Mrs. Baker’s case. How is she?” he asked, catching me by surprise. I’d expected him to jump right in—hounding me about all the gritty details.
“She’s still here,” I answered honestly. “She woke briefly to give me as much as she could before passing out again.”
Detective Calhoun nodded. “Fair enough. Right now may not be the best time to speak, but it’s the most crucial time. The more information I gather, the more we can give to the FBI when they hit the scene.”
I raised a brow. “Do you have him in custody?”