Jericho pushed the end call button and walked right past her. First to the kitchen so he could retrieve his badge from the counter. Then, toward his bathroom, she quickly realized, when she followed him.
“Look, I sympathize with this problem you’re having with your father,” he said, taking a bandage from the medicine cabinet. “Herschel shouldn’t be raising any kid. But I can’t help you.” Jericho slapped the bandage on his shoulder and then went into his bedroom.
She followed him there, too.
Even though there were dozens of things on her mind, important things, Laurel still felt the punch from the old memories here. The room hadn’t changed much in the twenty-two years since she’d been here for the first time.
Since she’d landed in that bed with Jericho.
Laurel made the mistake of looking at him before she could rein in the heat that trickled through her. A big mistake. Because Jericho saw that heat, and he scowled at her.
“My answer’s not going to change,” he insisted, taking a gray shirt from the closet. Once he had it on, he clipped on his badge. “It doesn’t matter what happened between us on that bed. Or what happened over two years ago.”
Laurel was about to tell him that it did indeed matter, but this time it was her phone that rang. She took it from her pocket, and when she saw her father’s name on the screen, she let it go to voice mail—along with the other dozen messages he’d left her in the past couple of hours. She didn’t have to listen to the message to know what he was demanding again.
That she hand Maddox over to him.
Or else agree to every detail of his sick plan.
She didn’t intend to do either one of those.
“I can’t let him get his hands on my son,” she whispered.
“Good luck with that.” It sounded like a dismissal, but she thought she saw some concern in Jericho’s eyes. “I take it you’ve hidden the baby so that Herschel can’t find him?”
She nodded. “He’s with a friend I trust.”
“A friend,” he repeated, that cop’s stare coming at her again. “But I’m guessing this is a friend who can’t help you with your marriage problem.”
“No.”
He huffed, scrubbed his hand over his face. “I can’t do this. What I can do is make some calls and arrange a safe house where you can stay until you work things out with Herschel. For now, I need to get to the station to question this dirt-for-brains suspect.”
Yes, Jericho had made it crystal clear that he had more important things to do and no intention of helping her. So, Laurel pulled out the big guns. Or rather, the picture. It was the screen saver on her phone, and she held it up for him to see.
“That’s my son, Maddox,” she said.
Laurel didn’t need to see the picture to be able to describe it in complete detail. The precious little boy with the blondish-brown hair, amber eyes and a melt-your-heart kind of smile.
Not a newborn baby.
As Jericho had likely been expecting.
Since Laurel was watching him so closely, she saw the change in his expression when he began to connect the dots. It wasn’t a huge change. Just the muscles in his face going tight for a moment. Followed by a head shake, and then that lethal stare came back to her.
“How old is he?” Jericho asked. Except it wasn’t just a question. It was a demand spoken through clenched teeth, and he practically ripped the phone from her hand for a closer look at the picture.
Laurel tried to steel herself for what was no doubt about to be a fierce storm. “He’s eighteen months.”
There. That was the last bit of information that Jericho needed so he could finally understand why she’d had come to him. Why their marriage had to happen and happen fast.
Why she couldn’t turn to anyone else.
“Yes,” Laurel verified. Her voice cracked, and she had to clear her throat before she could continue. “Maddox is your son.”
The blood rushed to Jericho’s head.
It happened too fast for him to get hold of himself before it felt as if someone had slugged him with a hammer.
So many emotions went through him. The shock. The anger. The feeling that his life had just turned on a dime.
Because it had.
Everything had just turned.
Laurel and he had been together two years and three months ago, the perfect timing for them to have an eighteen month old son.
“Why?” he managed to say, though it would be the first of many questions. Questions that Laurel had darn sure better be able to answer.
Laurel didn’t exactly jump to answer, but then she didn’t back away from him, either. Even though he had to be giving her his worst glare, she held her ground.
“You should probably sit down,” she suggested.
No way would sitting help. Nothing could at this point. His entire body was a tangle of nerves and fresh adrenaline—all caused by that picture of the little smiling face on Laurel’s phone.
Everything about that face was familiar.
Because it was practically identical to pictures he’d seen of himself when he was a baby.
“Why?” he repeated, his jaw so tight now that he was hurting.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want my father to find out. I was afraid he would kill you.”
“He would have tried,” Jericho conceded. Now the profanity came, and he couldn’t stop himself from cursing Laurel. “You still should have told me.”
Her chin dropped a little, and while she still held her ground, the tears shimmered in her eyes again. He wasn’t immune to those tears, but right now he had no intention of giving Laurel one ounce of comfort.
How dare she do this.
“I already had your father’s death on my conscience,” she said. “I didn’t want your death there, too.”
“That’s no excuse.” He jabbed his index finger at her and considered punching the wall just to release some of this dangerous energy revving up inside him. Hardly a mature reaction, but this had shaken him to the core.
A baby!
Except he wasn’t exactly a baby now. He was eighteen months old. Born nine months after Laurel and he had ended up in bed. And she’d kept it from him this entire time.
“You had no right,” he warned her.
“Maybe not, but what’s done is done. I’m sorry I can’t give you more time to come to terms with this. I’m sorry about a lot of things. But right now, we have to stop my father from taking him.”
Jericho got a new surge of anger, too. Except this was more rage, and it was aimed at Herschel. “That won’t happen. No way will I let that snake take custody of...” But the words wouldn’t come so he could finish that.
My son.
However, it was exactly what Jericho meant. It wasn’t happening. It already sickened him to realize that Herschel had been part of the little boy’s life this entire time.
And that Jericho hadn’t been.
Later, he’d address that with Laurel.
“Why is Herschel trying to