Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Sabine
I’ve just come in from the garden when I hear an incessant thud, thud, thud, followed by something crashing against the floor. The sound is coming from Astor’s office.
Has Valerie completely lost it? I picture her destroying the house in a fit of rage as I hurry into the hall.
But her bedroom door is closed.
I turn toward the office the moment something else crashes to the ground.
What the hell?
I rush into the room.
“Astor,” I gape. “What are you doing?”
Standing on a chair, Astor is pulling down stacks of boxes from the built-in shelving above the computer desk. His face is flushed, his eyes puffy and dark. Toppled boxes scatter the floor, along with papers, old pictures, random knick-knacks.
Streaks of blood run down his forearms.
“Astor!” I whisper-hiss, quietly closing the door behind me so as not to disturb Valerie. “What the hell—get down!”
He appears to be in some sort of trance—and very, very angry. When he doesn’t respond, I grab his elbow, and drag him off the chair.
He’s unsteadied. His breath is coming in short, panicked pants.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not my baby.”
“What?”
He refocuses on the boxes, eyes wild. “Chloe wasn’t my baby. It was Carlos’s.”
“ What —What are you talking about?”
He spins around, face contorted with rage. “What don’t you understand about it’s not my baby?”
I stumble back, startled, the reaction reminding me of the brutally savage man who once slammed me against the shower wall.
Seeing my reaction, his face falls. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Sabine. I’m so, so —fuck!” He scrubs his hands over his face. “I’m so sorry.”
I inhale and square my shoulders. I will not allow myself to be scared of this man— again.
“You need to calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
In spurts of half-sentences, Astor repeats the conversation he had with Dr. Squire hours earlier.
I am so stunned that I gape at Astor for a full twenty seconds before speaking. His expression guts me. Behind the anger is profound hurt. Shame, embarrassment, regret.
“I want to kill her Sabine,” he says, his chin quivering as he fights tears.
“No,” I take his hands, pull him to me. “You will not kill your wife. I’m not going to let you. You have too much to live for, including me and the business you’ve built from the ground up. You won’t get away with it, Astor, not this time. You can’t ruin your entire life for revenge. She’s not worth it.”
“Sabine—”
“No. We are leaving this house this second. Don’t even get a bag, let’s go. Brittany’s here and Jackie will be here later, and I think Cillian is going to be back soon. You need to get out of here.”
“No.” He jerks out of my hold and turns back to the boxes. “Not until I find what I’m looking for.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Chloe’s first baby tooth. Somewhere here, we have a box of sentimental things that we couldn’t throw away but I can’t find it?—”
“We’ll look later. Why do you need it now?”
He spins around, tears pooling in his eyes.
My heart breaks.
“I need to know—without question—that Chloe wasn’t mine, Sabine. I’m going to have them do a paternity test on it. I have to know the facts. I have to know.”
I swallow deeply. I can understand that. I look over my shoulder. “Okay, let’s find it and then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
Ten minutes later, the door opens and Cillian steps inside with his carry-on luggage. His brows pop as he takes in both the mess and also the disheveled demeanor of his boss.
“Found it!” Astor surges up, a little baggie containing a white tooth secured in his hand.
Cillian looks at me, desperate for answers.
I exhale, shake my head— too much to explain right now.
Astor stumbles over the boxes, hands the baggie to Cillian. “Take this to Jenkins at the local FBI office. Have him run a paternity test on it and compare the DNA to Carlos Leone. He’ll be in the database.” Astor’s voice begins to shake. “I need it done immediately. Tell him I’ll pay him, tell him?—”
Patience cashed out, Cillian interrupts. “Will someone please tell me what the hell’s going on?”
“Chloe wasn’t my baby.”
“What?”
“And I’m going to kill Valerie.”
Cillian’s hands fly up. “Hold the fuck on?—”
“I’m getting him out of here,” I say quickly. “He’ll call you on the way to the airport.”