Chapter Three #2
“What kind of evidence?” Brody asked.
“A surveillance video of the bar fight and two key witness statements,” she answered so quickly that Brody suspected she’d been giving this plenty of thought.
“One of the witnesses was iffy and might have been able to be swayed. But the other had recently died in a car accident, and she’d given her sworn statement that could have been used to convict Tarrant. ”
“An accident?” he questioned, his cop’s instincts kicking in.
“Possibly murdered,” Remi admitted, “by either Tarrant or someone he hired. Obviously, the man is bad news.”
Brody opened his mouth to respond, but a small, hiccuping sound cut through the tension.
His gaze snapped to the baby. Tiny fists wriggled free from the hospital blanket, and his face scrunched up in that partly awake, confused way newborns had. Another soft noise—half whimper, half yawn—escaped his lips.
Something in Brody’s chest twisted. Hard.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he reached down, sliding a careful hand beneath the baby’s body. He was so small. Warm. Fragile. Brody swallowed against the lump rising in his throat as he lifted the baby and ran a gentle thumb over his tiny fingers.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended. “I’ll keep you safe.”
The baby blinked up at him, his little face still scrunched with sleep. Then his fingers curled around Brody’s thumb.
Brody went completely still.
The world outside the hospital room, the threats, the unanswered questions, the danger faded for a heartbeat. Right now, all that mattered was this tiny life in his hands. His son.
And no one was going to take him away.
The tiny fingers remained wrapped around Brody’s thumb, the grip surprisingly strong for someone so small. Brody didn’t move, barely breathed, afraid that if he did, he’d break whatever fragile connection had just formed between them.
Then the door opened, and a nurse stepped in, a tray of medical supplies in her hands.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said softly, offering a small smile. “But we need to get that blood sample.”
Brody’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the idea of anyone poking at the baby, but he knew it had to be done. He forced himself to nod and slowly pulled back his hand.
The baby let out a soft sound of protest, shifting against the blanket.
The nurse moved in to get to work, rolling the baby’s blanket down just enough to expose one tiny foot. “We do a heel stick for newborns,” she explained. “It’s the safest way to draw blood at this age. Just a quick prick, and I’ll have what we need.”
Brody watched as she picked up a small lancet, then gently pressed it to the baby’s heel. The baby cried out, a high and thin sound that felt like a punch to Brody’s gut.
He clenched his fists. He’d seen grown men take bullets without making a sound, but this—a helpless infant reacting to pain—cut him deeper than he expected.
The nurse was quick, dabbing away the small bead of blood before wrapping the baby’s foot in a soft bandage. “All done,” she murmured.
The baby let out a fussy whimper, his little face red now. Without thinking, Brody reached out again, resting his palm over the baby’s blanket-covered chest.
The cries softened almost immediately.
“Looks like you’ve got the magic touch,” the nurse said, glancing at Brody with something like approval.
Brody didn’t respond to her. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny boy in front of him.
“Dr. Patel will call you with the lab results,” the nurse went on, gathering up her things. “She said I’m to tell you that you’re free to go once you’ve given the hospital a copy of the protective custody order.”
As the nurse walked out, Brody pulled out his phone. His fingers felt stiff as he messaged Jolene.
Need a copy of the protection order. Text it over. Also, have a cruiser fitted with a car seat. We’ll need to transport the baby soon.
The response came almost immediately.
On it, boss. Give me a half hour.
He exhaled, tension coiling low in his gut. This wasn’t just any protection order. It was a direct response to the danger he felt closing in around them. His child had been used as proof, but his twin was still out there. Vulnerable. At risk.
The baby let out a soft sigh, his tiny body finally settling, and Brody glanced up to find Remi watching him.
She hadn’t said a word since the nurse left, but her expression spoke volumes. There was something in her eye. Something softer than he’d seen in years. Maybe regret. Maybe something else.
Something he didn’t want to see, so he looked away. Fast.
Brody’s phone dinged again, and he thought it might be a response from Jolene. But there was no name. Just Unknown Caller.
His stomach dropped. His heart began to pound. And he forced himself to look at the message.
If you want your other son, find Tarrant Eddington. Bring me his head on a silver platter. Then we’ll talk.
Brody’s grip tightened so hard on the phone his knuckles went white and the edges of the screen blurred. The person who had his baby wanted him to do something that no one else had been able to do. Hunt Tarrant down. And kill him.
For his son.
He forced a slow breath, swallowing back the rage threatening to rip through him. His baby, his other son, was out there, in the hands of someone willing to use an innocent child to get what they wanted.
He lifted his gaze to Remi. She was watching him.
“What?” she asked, dread in her voice.
Brody turned the phone so she could see the message.
Her expression barely flickered, but he saw the quick inhale, the way her body stiffened. “Tarrant Eddington.”
“Yeah,” he verified. “Now we know exactly what they want.”
Remi exhaled, slow and deliberate. “And what are we going to do?”
Brody studied the baby, so small, swaddled in the bassinet. Then he glanced at the text again.
He looked Remi straight in the eyes. “We’ll do whatever it takes to rescue the baby.”