Oh no. What has she found now? I swear she can get her hands on the most important and/or valuable items in existence in the blink of an eye.
I practically drop the bowl of grapes onto the counter as I rush toward the noise. “Bernadette Grace. You better put down whatever is in your hands right?—”
I’ve been through everything in this apartment five times recently, deciding what could go and what had to stay, and I know for a fact nothing looks like the envelope gripped in her tiny little hands.
“Can I have that?” I move toward her slowly. I really don’t feel like chasing her through this place right now, and I know Mr. Lewis downstairs doesn’t want to hear me chasing her either. “Where did you find it?”
At just under a year and a half old, my daughterdoesn’t have a good grasp on language yet. But I’m not one for baby talk, so I speak to her like she’s an adult and just don’t expect any response.
Not an understandable one, anyway.
As expected, Birdie's babbling explanation is incoherent at best, but very animated, so I’m going to give her points for that. As she flails around, I manage to pluck away the envelope, flattening it against my stomach before tearing it open.
The name at the top of the letterhead has my stomach dropping to my shoes and bile climbing up my throat. I shake my head in denial, even though it won’t do me any good.
Nothing will.
Because Senator William Sheppard is threatening to take me to court.
3
Tucker
Ihave an idea.
Is it agoodidea? Possibly. Will it work? Could go either way.
Am I gonna try it anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely.
But first, I’ve got to figure out who my future fake girlfriend actually is. I’ve got her first name—Ruth—and ‘our’ daughter’s name—Birdie. It’s not a lot to go on, so thank God for the third thing I managed to get.
Her license plate number.
It took about thirty seconds of scrolling through my security camera feed to get a shot of the collection of letters and numbers that will help me hunt down my Cinderella. Except I’m not showing up on Ruth’s doorstep with a shoe. I’m bringing what I suspect she actually wants.
Money.
After jotting down the plate number, I pick up the phone to call one of the two people I know can help me link it with an identity, and the only one I don’t mind dragging into this scheme of mine. I know Titus would helpme, but my brother isn’t a great liar. He’s not as terrible at it as I am, but he’s close, and my mother would know something was up by the look on his face.
Especially since he won’t have someone like Ruth—who so far seems like a talented liar—at his side to help him through it.
I couldn’t have picked a better partner in crime than Ruth. The woman who delivered herself right to my doorstep, never guessing she’s the solution to all my problems. Hopefully, I can be the solution to hers too, because that’s how I’m planning to convince her to play along with my little charade.
Heidi answers on the third ring, sounding like her usual perky self as she says, “It’s baby Bradshaw. To what do I owe this honor?”
“Are you really going to act like we don’t talk on a regular basis?” I don’t normally need Heidi’s assistance the way Titus or even Walker does. I just call her because I like her. She’s hilarious. Doesn’t take life too seriously, and loves to dish out shit. “How are the kids?”
“Rotten. Just the way I like them.” There’s a smile in her voice whenever she talks about the babies she shares with her boyfriend Shawn. “I’m thinking I might pop out a few more. Just for funsies.”
“I think you’re the only woman I’ve ever heard refer to labor and delivery as fun.” I have zero experience with what actually goes on during childbirth, but I paid enough attention in science class to understand it’s not a fucking walk in the park.
“The popping out part isn’t fun. The putting them in there part is, though.” She cackles at her own joke. “I know you’re more than a little familiar with that process.”
Not so much recently, but that’s a secret I’ve been keeping to myself. I don’t want anyone asking questions. Especially since I can’t answer them. “As much as I love to shoot the shit with you, I do actually have a favor to ask.”
“Is it about dead Dan? Because I don’t want any more baggies of human fluids shipped to me.”
Super glad Toby was the one who had to deal with that. “Not even remotely related to dead Dan. I’ve got a license plate number I want you to run.”
