Mitchell slid his cheek against the downy blond fur on his newborn son’s head. After slurping down a bottle of formula, Jeb slept in Mitchell’s arms. With five children, the three-bedroom house was no longer adequate. Mitchell’s eight, seven and three-year-old daughters shared a room, and his five-year-old son’s room now doubled as a nursery for the newest member of the family.
The baby gurgled and Mitchell rocked the chair in which he sat. He glanced at Ronnie, who remained asleep, a good sign. Since the baby and Spenser came home from the hospital last week, Ronnie hadn’t been sleeping too well. He was out-of-sorts with another boy. He and Mitchell had developed a brotherhood, being the only two males in a house full of females.
Sighing, Mitch stood and placed Jeb in his crib and stared down at the baby, his heart hurting. Spenser refused to allow the crib in their bedroom, refused to nurse Jeb and touched the infant as little as possible. It was almost as if she hated the child. Mitch believed she hated him and was taking out her feelings on a baby she hadn’t wanted in the first place.
He rubbed a hand over his eyes. How to proceed? The strides they’d made after the attempt on her life had disintegrated when she’d given birth. Though it crushed him he’d grown accustomed to her withdrawal from him. Her disdain of the baby concerned him however. Spenser would feed the world had she the ability to do so.
He leaned over, kissed Jeb’s cheek then turned and made sure Ronnie was covered. Afterward, he checked on his girls, looked in on Spenser then headed to the den. Pouring himself vodka, he threw it back, the conclusion he faced bringing tears to his eyes.
Whenever they’d separated, Spenser had initiated it. But maybe he had to face reality. Spenser no longer loved him and he believed the mild, pre-partum depression she’d been diagnosed with had turned into severe postpartum depression. Spenser needed help but she refused to accept his suggestions. And the one person she’d listen to lived hundreds of miles away. Spenser’s mother would make her see reason when he couldn’t. His mother-in-law would watch over his children too, while he was at work. He hated the thought of coming home to find Spenser had done something unspeakable to herself and the baby. She might even hurt their other children.
Another upside to sending Spenser and the kids to her parents’ was that he’d get her away from whoever had sent those assholes after her. Every lead fell through. Each time he thought he had answers he found dead-ends. Mitchell swore Karl Wilson had sent those men. Just as he was sure the man had raped Brittany Donovan…er, Wilson. But Mitchell was beginning to have doubts about everything. Worse, he was putting his entire career—and those of a couple of dedicated officers—on the line. They were proceeding with this investigation without Brittany’s knowledge and with illegal permission. Unless she consented to press charges nothing would come of the investigation until he found another way to get the man behind bars. Not only would Brittany have to consent, she’d also have to cooperate and go along with the pretense that she’d willingly allowed them to look into the matter with the help of a private investigator. When they case was officially picked up, Mitchell would’ve told Brittany to sign a sworn affidavit that she’d feared for her life and had been too afraid of the powerful and beloved minister to openly accuse him.
The explanations had all been so fucking perfect. Now, though, the case seemed to be falling apart.
Dianna continued to work with single-minded focus to assist him but hadn’t found a DNA match in CODIS. Officer Wekler, so smitten with Brittany, trailed Karl when he was off-duty. Wekler didn’t know about Brittany’s rape. He only knew she’d been at the house the night of the shooting and he wanted to find whoever was responsible.
So far Karl’s activities centered around his church and his girlfriend. He donated more money in a month than Mitch earned in ten years. The reverend didn’t have a criminal record, was well respected and well liked.
Perhaps the misleading observation he’d made to Brittany about not liking Karl because she’d had a crush on him had been the truth. She’d been quite young and emotions were fickle at that age. Maybe she’d focused on Trey after Karl spurned her.
Scowling, Mitch poured another vodka then finished it as fast as he’d polished off the first. His head buzzed with warm fuzziness but didn’t fill his emptiness.
In the middle of the night, with a single lamp on and a dark silence, he felt as if he were the only man in the world. Without the noise of his children, the sound of his wife’s voice, the scent of cooking food, he was lost. He didn’t know where he’d find the strength to send them to Nebraska.
The electronic sound of his cell phone’s ring startled him and he jumped. Snatching it from the pocket in his pajama pants, he frowned when he saw the number.
“What the fuck do you want? You’ve been married eight hours. You should be making love to your wife instead of calling me.”
“Shut up, Mitch.” Even though he whispered, Trey’s growl was clear. “Brittany’s asleep.”
“So is Spenser,” Mitchell admitted. “We must be some sorry sons of bitches if our women would rather sleep than spend time with us.”
Trey chuckled. “We’ll give them a pass. My wife’s pregnant and yours just delivered.”
Mitchell wouldn’t comment. He’d recognized from the first time he’d met Brittany, there was nothing more important to Trey than her. Once he’d discovered she was having his baby, the man had been on a mission to marry her. If she hadn’t consented this evening, Mitchell believed Trey would’ve taken her somewhere and held her hostage until she had. He believed Trey had deliberately made her pregnant, not that he’d admit that to anyone, including himself. It had been a subconscious deed to tie her to him after he’d been so determined to push her away. He had to find some way to justify his determination to stay single when he realized he couldn’t let her go. Only something dire had Trey on the phone with Brittany as his new wife. Sleeping or not, Trey would want her in his arms.
“What can I do for you, Sergeant?”
“She has a journal.”
He straightened, not needing to ask what Trey suspected the journal contained. “Have you read it?”
“It’s in my hands where it’s been for the past half hour. Unopened.”
Mitchell poured another drink, silent, his mind throwing all types of scenarios his way. He sipped the vodka.
“Mitch?”
“Umm hmmm?”
Trey sighed. Mitchell drank.
“You’ve always acted against my wishes in this matter. Why the uncertainty now?”
“Motherfucker!”
Knowing the curse wasn’t directed at him, Mitchell didn’t take offense. Trey was releasing his frustrations. Very understandable, considering the situation.
“You haven’t been married a day yet. Give her a chance to show you whatever is in there. Don’t abuse her trust in you.”
“She’s never going to tell me,” Trey insisted. “And neither are you.”
“I don’t fucking know who the fuck did it.” Not anymore. The man he’d suspected, based on Brittany’s reactions, seemed not a viable person.
“You do—”
“I suspected,” he corrected. “The more I discover, the more I believe I was wrong.”
“If that’s the case, then we’d both have our answers. All I have to do is read this.”
Mitchell cursed. His relationship with Spenser seemed doomed. Bryson was miserable and alone and Trey was hell bent on fucking up his future with Brittany. “You’re a very intelligent man, Wilson. So why the fuck do you insist on fucking sabotaging you and Brittany? You got her pregnant, sent her away, forced her to marry you and now you’re about to spy on her. Invade her fucking privacy.”
“Look—”
“You called me because you know you’re on the threshold of crossing the line. You wanted me to validate your actions. It’s not happening. Put her fucking journal away, go back to bed and take her in your arms, and thank your lucky stars you have another chance with her.”