“And what?”
I hesitate a moment, but I’m carrying his child. I’m trusting my instincts. “The man showed me a tattoo and told me any communication would also have the exact same image.”
“And the note did?”
“The one in New York that told me to go to Denver did, yes, but I had communication after that and it was missing. I was also promised money for support that never came. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think he’s dead, Liam. He has to be dead.”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “I need to see all of the notes.”
“They’re in my things in the motel. I normally keep them with me, but at the diner I had no place to lock things up and it made me nervous.”
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Yeah, Tellar? What’s the ETA on Amy’s things picked up from the motel?” He listens a moment. “I need them now. There’s some stuff inside that might hold answers.” He ends the call. “He’s on his way ”
I nod and take his hand. “There are memories coming back to me. If I go back to Texas, I’ll remember.”
“No. Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”
“I am tired of being the hunted, Liam. I want to be the hunter. And damn it, I want to say goodbye to my family.” I choke up. “I didn’t even get to go to the funerals.”
He cups my head. “Not now, baby. Not until it’s safe.”
“I can’t wait any longer to make this end. I can’t have a baby like this. I can’t.”
He blanches. “It’s true then? You’re pregnant?” His voice comes out all smoky and hoarse.
“I thought Dr. Murphy told you.”
“No. Tell me. I want to hear it from you.”
“Yes. I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant and that’s why I--”
He kisses me, a touch of lips to lips, his mouth lingering on mine, emotions rolling off of him, crashing into me and my fingers curl in his shirt, before, reluctantly it seems, he presses his forehead to mine. “You’re having my baby.”
My fingers curl on his cheek. “Yes. Yes. I’m having your baby.”
His hand goes to mine and he holds it a moment, and I can almost feel a shift in him, a subtle tension that crawls between us, building and building. “Liam?” I question, pushing away from him to search his face, catching the storm clouds an instant before he releases my hand and stands up.
For a moment, he towers over me, devastatingly male, even more devastatingly tormented, and I have to assume the torment is over my being pregnant.
He rubs the back of his neck and then turns away, stalking to the window, and when he gives me his back, it’s like he slams a door, shutting me out. Shell-shocked, I stand up, and I feel like the deer in headlights he once accused me of being, uncertain where to go or what to do. What to say. “You’re right,” he says, facing me.
“Right?” My question comes out cracked, as broken as I will be if he rejects the child I’d thought he’d embrace.
“You want out of New York. You got it. We’re leaving. We’re going someplace far away from here and disappearing.”
“What?” I gape. “No. Being invisible while we hunt for my hunter, that works. Disappearing isn’t a solution.”
“You’re going as far underground as I can get you.”
“Liam,” I plead, and I’m in front of him by the time his name leaves my lips, my hand flattening on his chest. “Let’s talk about this.”
“We’ll talk when you’re underground.”
“I get why that’s your first reaction to me being pregnant but it’s not the answer. We can’t have a child that we hide away like some sort of animal.” And that’s what he wants. I see it in his eyes. “I won’t let that happen.”
“You having the baby and being safe doing it is what’s most important right now.”
“Ending this before our child becomes a target is what’s most important. I want this to end.”
“
“You mean you’ll take over my life rather than helping me get control of it again myself.”
The doorbell rings. He growls low in his throat, his hands coming down on my shoulders as he turns me and presses my back to the pillar. “You are my woman, carrying my child. This isn’t up for negotiations. We’re doing it my way.” He turns and stalks across the room.
Chapter Ten
Momentarily stunned, I stare after him.
I storm through the living room, determined to stop him from answering the door, but I’m too late. By the time I make it to the foyer, I can hear both Tellar and Derek talking to him. Balling my fists by my sides, I remind myself that I both want and need my suitcase that Tellar is delivering, but I do not know why Derek is required to deliver it.
Knowing I will spout out the many things blistering on my tongue and meant for Liam alone in front of company if I keep standing here, I turn on my heel and head back to the living area. The rumble of Liam’s deep, authoritative voice behind me vibrates in my body and for once it’s not soothing. I am far too tempted to say my piece regardless of who hears.
Saving everyone from a scene, at least for the moment, I detour to the kitchen. Somehow, that leads me to stare into Liam’s pathetically empty fridge. He was right. The kitchen isn’t well stocked and my emotional upheaval seems to be translating to hunger.
I wait a few expectant moments and when the three men don’t appear, my hunt for food has me opening what turns out to be the pantry. I find a bag of Oreo cookies that support Liam’s earlier confessed love of sugar- laden treats. I grab them, fill a glass with milk, which is surprisingly within the proper date considering the state of Liam’s fridge, and head to the table. Claiming the spot that puts me facing the island and anyone who enters the kitchen, I proceed to down six cookies and all the milk without so much as a tiny churn of my stomach. Apparently, the baby has a sweet tooth that won’t be good for my health or waistline but I’m happy to get anything in my stomach that stays down.
I’m about to go for another cookie when my hope that Derek and Tellar would leave proves futile. The three men pile into the room and it takes mere seconds for me to have enough testosterone standing in a row in front of the table, staring at me and my cookies, to make my head ready to explode. Most women would welcome these three men for many reasons, however I doubt it would be when they were stuffing their faces with food like I am now.
Avoiding eye contact with Liam, with his best interest in mind, I set my uneaten cookie back in the container. If I see that arrogant “my way is King” attitude in his eyes, my tongue will be whiplash ready. My distraction gets me nowhere fast. I’m back to staring at the three men’s stony faces, or rather two of them, and they at me. Seconds of silence tick by and it’s like no one breathes, and I get the distinct impression they are all waiting on me. Maybe Liam warned them I was a torpedo ready to blow. He was right, but I’ve practiced way too much restraint these past years to have none now.
I wave at the group. “Hi.”
The instant easing of tension of the room is like a rubber band popping. All three men seem to relax, muscles stretching and shifting. Okay, correction again.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Derek says, setting down a folder on the table, then claiming the seat at the end of the
