Chapter 2
Brooklyn Sloane
The revolving door deposited Brook into a welcome embrace of cool air.
She stood still for a moment, relishing the reprieve.
She'd merely walked across the street from the parking lot, but the humidity had already plastered the back of her blouse to her skin and left a thin sheen of perspiration across her forehead.
Oddly enough, the pregnancy had turned her into a furnace.
She'd spent most of her adult life seeking warmth wherever she could find it, from extra blankets to scalding showers to thermostat settings that would make most people sweat.
Yet here she was, over eight months into carrying a child, and the D.C.
summer had become something closer to an adversary than an ally.
Graham had noticed before she had, and he’d quietly adjusted the thermostat at the estate weeks ago without saying a word about it.
That was how he operated. He didn’t announce his consideration.
He simply acted on it. Decades of military command had made him that way, and retirement from his post as Commanding General of the Marine Forces Special Operations Command hadn’t changed a thing.
These days, General Graham Elliott took government contracts when it suited his schedule, but there was no changing the ingrained nature of who he was at his core.
Brook was still blotting her temple with the back of her hand when a familiar voice called out from across the lobby. Charlie McPherson had immediately abandoned his post behind the reception desk with enthusiasm. His smile was wide and genuine, the deep creases around his eyes a permanent fixture.
“Ms. Sloane, isn’t this a nice surprise?” Charlie crossed the foyer with quick strides, despite the slight limp from a construction accident in his previous job. His uniform was pressed to perfection, the brass buttons on his navy blazer catching the light. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“I’m fine, Charlie.”
Though he had already been aware of her pregnancy for a while now, there was no hiding her physical condition any longer.
Her business suits no longer fit, her running outfits couldn’t stretch far enough, and she’d come close to tossing her bra in the trash this morning.
No amount of reading could have prepared her for the third trimester.
Her irritation went beyond the physical, though.
She wasn’t used to the additional attention from others, and it was taking every ounce of strength she had not to be arrested for assault.
Her moodiness might have more to do with the lack of caffeine in her daily life than anything else, but the reasons were vast.
“I’m just stopping by to check on the condo.
” Brook shifted her leather bag to settle more comfortably on her shoulder, serving as both a purse and a briefcase.
She still had her keys in her hand. “The movers aren’t scheduled to be here for another month.
I’ll call you with an exact date and time, so you’re prepared, if that’s alright. Everything good with you?”
“I’m still on the right side of the grass, Ms. Sloane,” Charlie replied with a chuckle. “The flu that’s been going around slipped right past me, for which I am very grateful. You should know we miss having you around, and this building isn’t going to be the same.”
Brook got the sense that Charlie was being sincere, but she doubted that some of the tenants would agree with him. It was because of her that Lorraine Upton had been brutally murdered. The woman had done nothing wrong except live across the hall from the sister of a serial killer.
Lorraine had often offered Brook tea, patted her on the shoulder in the elevator, and fussed over her working too much. In return, Jacob had slit her throat and carved the flesh from her face, leaving her unrecognizable on the floor of her own living room.
The building had never been the same.
Residents who had once offered polite nods in the elevator now avoided eye contact entirely.
Others had been less subtle. A petition had circulated within days of Lorraine’s murder, requesting that the property management company review the terms of Brook’s lease.
It hadn’t gone anywhere legally, but it hadn’t needed to. The message had been clear enough.
Brook was a liability.
“You still have Theo to look after, Charlie,” Brook reminded him as she fought the urge to check the time. She’d hit traffic driving into the city this morning, all because she’d left the estate two and a half minutes late. “Did he share the good news with you?”
“Mr. Neville did share the good news, and we couldn’t be happier for him.
A Spring wedding just when the cherry blossoms are at their fullest.” Charlie fell into step beside her, apparently unwilling to let the conversation about her colleague and best friend end at its natural conclusion.
Charlie’s shoes clicked against the marble in a rhythm that was slightly slower than her own.
“Now, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but the staff is planning a little something for your moving day.
A baby shower, if you will. Nothing too big.
Just a few decorations, some cake, maybe a gift or two. ”
“Charlie, that really isn’t necessary,” Brook replied after counting to five. She hadn’t made it to ten. “In all likelihood, I probably won’t—”
“Oh, it’s already in motion,” Charlie murmured with a dismissive wave. “Maria from the night shift is handling the cake. Lou ordered balloons. You can’t stop it now.”
“Really, I think it’s best not to—”
“Everyone needs a little pampering, Ms. Sloane,” Charlie said, cutting her off with a pat on the shoulder.
She pressed the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth to keep from saying something she would regret, while at the same time pushing the button for the elevator. The frustration wasn’t about Charlie specifically. He was a good man who cared about the people who lived in the building.
The problem was all the fuss.
The unwanted attention.
There was no stopping a moving train, though Brook could easily come up with several reasons to avoid it altogether. Considering she had a month to figure it out, she decided it was time to cut this discussion short.
“I won’t be long, Charlie,” Brook advised him, not giving him a chance to continue down the baby shower path. Fortunately, the elevator chimed its arrival. “I just need to grab a few things.”
The doors parted with a quiet hiss. Brook stepped inside and then pressed the button for the twenty-third floor. She was relieved when the doors closed shut. The elevator car hummed as it climbed, the faint vibration traveling through the soles of her flats and up through her swollen calves.
She rested her right hand against the curve of her stomach, a gesture that had become reflexive over the past several weeks, even though she still hadn’t fully adjusted to the reason behind it. There were moments when the reality of her situation caught her completely off guard.
The digital display above the doors counted upward in clean white numbers.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
She had never imagined herself as a mother. That wasn’t a dramatic declaration or a confession born from some pivotal moment of self-discovery. It was simply the truth, as plain as the fact that she preferred cheap Moscato or that she drove a Volvo.
Motherhood had never appeared in any version of the future she had constructed for herself.
Not when she had been teaching psychology at the university.
Not when the FBI had recruited her as a consultant profiler.
And not when she had founded S&E Investigations with Graham, aiming to bring closure to the families of victims like those her brother left behind.
Graham had never pushed, either. That was the thing about him that she hadn’t expected and still hadn’t entirely reconciled.
He’d helped her build an entire investigative firm from the ground up for the sole purpose of finding his daughter’s killer.
His wife had taken her own life shortly after they’d lost their daughter, leaving Graham to carry the weight of two unbearable losses without visibly buckling under either one.
Brook understood what this child meant to him.
She understood it the way she recognized most things about Graham, quietly and completely, without needing him to say it outright.
He’d stood over two graves where there should have been none.
And now there was this, a child neither of them had planned for, growing in the body of a woman who spent her professional hours examining individuals who craved sin.
Brook thought about the nursery he had already begun preparing at the estate. He hadn’t asked for her input on the room itself. He’d simply cleared it, painted it a soft neutral color, and then left the other decisions to her.
But she’d found the books on the nightstand on his side of the bed.
Paperbacks on infant development and childhood attachment, and the specific challenges facing children of parents who have experienced significant emotional trauma.
He had flagged pages with small yellow tabs, as though they were simply part of his nightly reading and not evidence of a man doing everything within his considerable capability to be ready.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
The fear hadn’t arrived all at once. It came in fragments, usually late at night when Graham was asleep, and the bedroom was quiet enough to hear the cool air coming through the vents.
It had started with a simple question that her rational mind comprehended was reductive and unscientific, but that her body responded to as though it were an absolute fact.
What if evil was in the blood?