She was Elisabeth’s.
Absolutely. One hundred percent. Without question.
By the time I tore my gaze up, Heath was gone.
I didn’t do as he’d instructed. I didn’t pick the phone up and make any calls.
Instead, I grabbed my keys and stormed from the office.
One destination in mind.
And it wasn’t home.
I’d cried myself to sleep the night before. That wasn’t anything new. However, this time, I did it in Walt’s arms. I’d had no other choice. He hadn’t let me out of his sight since he’d stormed into Luke’s office, yanked me into his arms, and hugged me as if he hadn’t seen me in decades rather than minutes. He glared at Luke only for a second before he guided me, with Tessa in my arms, out to a waiting car in the parking lot. The police were swarming, but no one could touch Walter Noir.
The entire day had been mind-boggling. I’d expected Walt to lose his shit that I’d spoken with the police—even if they had been the ones speaking to me. But the minute we arrived home, he gave me the kind, gentle, and understanding man I’d fallen in love with while we had been dating. I knew now that that man didn’t exist, but as my heart struggled to beat with the newest gaping hole, I’d never been so grateful for the fa?ade.
The moment he got me behind closed doors, he guided me up to the office, where he produced two sets of DNA results. My name at the top of one, his at the top of the other, Tessa’s on both. I stared at them as he crouched in front of me, holding my hand and explaining that the police had approached him weeks earlier about the possibility of a lab error. He’d refused the DNA test because he’d feared they were using it as a ploy to once and for all get a legally surrendered sample of his DNA.
For an average man, handing the police department a sample of DNA would be no big deal and the results would end up in a dusty box in the evidence room at the end of an investigation.
For a man like Walter Noir—a money-laundering, drug-dealing, murdering low life with ties to people so bad that the government didn’t even have them on a radar yet—handing his DNA over was the equivalent of a life sentence. I didn’t know everything Walt was involved in, but I knew enough. I was positive there was a case file the size of a library on him, and the cops were begging for a way to tie him to it all.
So he told me that he’d had his own DNA tests performed at a private lab to ease his mind, and he hadn’t told me because he hadn’t wanted to upset me.
As if he’d ever cared if he upset me before.
Still in a state of shock, I listened to him while tracing my finger over Tessa’s name, but never Noir. And, for the briefest of seconds, I wished that the results read differently. I couldn’t live without Tessa, but if it meant she wasn’t Walt’s, I could die with a whole heart.
I nodded and told him that I understood.
But I understood nothing.
The truth was masked by a million lies.
The only thing I knew for sure was that Walt’s “results” were worth about as much as the paper they were printed on, based on nothing more than the fact that they had come from his hands.
I wasn’t sure if the cop’s story held any validity, but I wasn’t in any position to ask questions.
At least, not yet.
Tessa was mine no matter what a piece of paper read.
My job as her mother was to keep her safe, and that didn’t end because of genetics—or the lack thereof.
Unfortunately, that job became exponentially more difficult the very next day.
Tessa and I were playing with sidewalk chalk on the driveway when a black Range Rover stopped at the front gate.
It wasn’t unusual for Walt’s men to show up and let themselves in, but they all had their own code to get inside, so it caught my attention when the man put the car in park and exited his vehicle.
“Mrs. Noir?” he called, moving toward the bars of the gate.
He was big, his shoulders broad, his hair perfectly styled, but he was wearing a pair of tattered jeans and a vintage T-shirt that had to be older than I was. And it should be known he was wearing it really well. But there was no way a man like that could afford a car like the one he rolled up in. He had to be one of Walt’s men. I didn’t care what the old slogan said—crime definitely paid.
“Did you forget your code?” I called out, using my hand to shield the sun from my eyes.
“I…ah… Yeah. Any chance you could let me in?”
Not if I value my life. I strolled closer, figuring he must be new. “Sorry, man. You know the rules. Call one of the guys.”
“I…don’t have my phone,” he replied. “Any chance I can borrow yours?”
I barked a laugh. Clearly, he didn’t value his life. I was off-limits to all of Walt’s guys. This conversation alone was borderline dangerous.