“Anna? Anna?”

I look up from my desk. “What?” I ask no one.

Trevor leans over, blending into my eye-line. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Looks like you just got slammed by a bus.”

That’s exactly what this feels like.

A speeding bus just collided with my life. I feel ill and terrified. I had a very specific image in my head of who the father of my daughter was since the day she was conceived. That’s now shattered into a thousand pieces.

He’s a liar. A fraud. He’s got connections to the Irish mob. His criminal record is a mile long.

My murder suspect fathered my baby.

Oh, god.

“Anna.”

I blink out of it again. “What?”

Trevor kicks off the floor and slides his chair to get closer to me.

I stand up. “I’m gonna get some coffee.”

“Wait—”

I don’t stop. I feel him watching me as I navigate through the sea of desks toward the break room but the thick walls closing in on me block him out. Luckily, the room is empty and I’m left to experience the complete breakdown of everything I know in peace.

How is this even possible?

Did the clinic screw up? No, this wasn’t a matter of some idiot clerk accidentally switching a few profiles around. Milo knew exactly what was in my donor’s file. #7134-C. The tall, dark, and handsome lawyer from Chicago.

He did this on purpose. He scammed the clinic, took their money, and ran. And I suffered the consequences.

“Hey, Silva.”

I glance up at Kendall in the doorway, quickly realizing I’m holding an empty mug. I set it down. “What’s up?” I ask.

“We just got security footage from Ramsay Park,” she says. “You need to see this.”

I swallow my personal shit and follow her back onto the main floor. Trevor stands over Dougie’s chair with his hands on his hips and a sour look on his face.

I reach them and exhale, calming down a little bit more. “What’d I miss?”

Dougie points at the screen. “The city just sent this over. From two nights ago…”

I look at the footage. Dozens of happy, smiling people wander by on the sidewalk. Behind them, the Hot Sauce taco truck sits in its usual spot across the street from The Smoothie Zone.

And, clearly, I see Milo in the window.

“What time is this?” I ask.

“Seven twenty-four,” Dougie answers. “He putts around for another thirty minutes or so and then drives off.”

It sinks in. I’m not sure if I’m more disappointed or relieved.

“He didn’t kill Detective Wells,” I murmur.

Trevor leans in. “Well, wait. He still could have—”

“Wells died at seven thirty. There’s no way Milo could have driven across town in time. He was right. Someone’s framing him.” I rub my heavy eyes. “Let him go.”

“He could still have killed Canon McGregor,” he argues.

Dougie shakes his head. “Nah, already checked that. He was there the night before, too. Airtight alibi.”

Trevor grits his teeth. “He had the murder weapon in his truck.”

“It could have been placed overnight by anyone in the Quinn’s parking lot. We have no case,” I say. “Just let him go.”

“Anna,” he leans over to look me in the eyes, “are you okay?”

I breathe in, feeling my air rattling around in my chest.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna take off. Pick up my kid and…” My voice falls. “I don’t know. I’m just gonna go.”

He reaches out to touch my arm. “Call me if you need—”

I walk out of his touch toward my desk with tunnel vision to grab my things and get out of here.

I just want to go home and hug my daughter.

After that… I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.