Page 22 of Juan

Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, Daphne rounded the table and stopped by Spencer. “Now I know you’ve been exploring all sorts of delicious things with my girl,” she said to him. “And I’m happy for both of you, but you need to move that fine ass—”

Lovell cleared his throat.

“…that isn’t quite as fine as my man’s,” she added without missing a beat, “and let me have a chat with her.”

Spencer blinked at the order, but something flickered to life inside Amber. Daphne had always known exactly when and how to take a room by storm. Years ago, they’d been on the same modeling circuit and so many of Amber’s best nights, before her life had gone to hell, were evenings with Daphne that bled into nights, then into mornings. She’d been…lighter then. She’d laughed more freely, more fully. She’d seen beauty in even the smallest of things: snowfall, the sunrise on a horizon, a puppy basking in the sun. She’d been open to wonder. No, not just open to it, she’d sought it out. Craved it.

She would have made a terrible mother then. She’d been too young, too caught up in her freedom. But she missed parts of who that young woman was—that courageous, adventurous person who embraced life.

And Daphne was here to remind her of that woman. Amber would never be the same; she could never go back, but she needed parts of her younger self now. She needed to see the world, or at least this part of it, as hers to conquer.

Spencer rose, and Daphne slid into the vacated seat. “Now, I stopped at the store and picked up a few things because we’re going to get your baby back, your little girl, and you need to be prepared. I’ve got diapers and some clothes. Oh, and look at this.” She dug around in one of the bags and pulled out a tiny swimsuit with octopus print. “It’s frickin’ ridiculously adorable. Babe?”

“Yeah.” Lovell stepped forward.

“There’s a porta-crib in the car, too—can you bring that in?” Then turning back to her, Daphne continued. “I didn’t want to order you a crib; that seemed like overstepping it just a tiny bit.” A burble of laughter climbed up Amber’s throat. “But they have some cute ones at the baby shop in town. Now, according to my auntie research, by her age, she should be drinking out of sippy cups, or open cups, so I have some of those, too. They’ll need to be washed, but so will all the clothes and sheets.”

Finally, Amber laughed. No doubt Daphne’s intent. “You’re over the top, you know.”

Daphne smiled. “I know.” Then turning serious, she reached across the table and took her hand. “But we got this, Amber. We will get your little girl back. Grieve and mourn and be angry and feel everything you need to feel—a few months of therapy probably wouldn’t go amiss—but remember that she’s alive. And while the time since her birth was stolen from you, from both of you, you now have a future. One you can fill with love and laughter and adventure and anything else you want to fill it with. The choice will be yours now.”

Chapter eleven

Juan leaned against the counter in the kitchen as Amber and Daphne consulted on some soufflé—sweet or savory, he didn’t know. He only knew it had kept her busy for the past hour. Laundering the new baby clothes and setting up the portable crib occupied the ninety minutes before that.

Well, the activities kept her relatively occupied.

She still checked his phone every fifteen seconds, casting him anxious glances when no calls came in. He couldn’t imagine the hell she was going through right now. And for the last two and a half hours, he’d been inventing ways to make Anthony Ely pay for what he’d done. The mental and physical abuse he’d inflicted on Amber was enough to send him deep into the depths of hell. But telling his wife their baby died? Well, Juan had come up with the thirteenth and fourteenth levels of hell to send the man to. Dissecting the man alive while covered with lye and taking him down to a depth of two hundred feet below the ocean surface with a scuba tank, then sending him skyrocketing up, were his two leading contenders. He’d heard the bends were torturous. Not that Anthony’s body would survive that kind of pressure change for long enough to suffer. Hmm, maybe he needed to revisit that one.

The facade of peace shattered when his phone rang, vibrating on the metal counter. Amber startled and nearly dropped the bowl, but Daphne was there to catch it. Her big brown eyes flickered to him, wild and panicked.

“You know what to say. Remember what we practiced,” he said, setting a hand on her back. Mantis, Lovell, and Dulcie walked in as it rang a second time.

“Amber?” She met his eyes again. “We’ve got this,” he said, keeping his voice firm and strong. A beat passed, then she nodded. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she connected the call.

“Hello?”

“Amber? Amber Ely. Murray,” a voice said. Judging by the tenor, he’d guess Clara Beverly sat on the other end.

“Yes,” Amber answered. “This is she. Me.” She paused. “Clara?”

“You know who this is?” The woman sounded relieved, which Juan took as a good sign. No aggression or threat.

“I…I do,” Amber said. “I have friends who can track those kinds of things. They told me this morning.”

“Told you that me and my daughter, Adrian, are looking for you?”

Amber nodded, then spoke. “Yes. And that, and that you have my—” She choked, another dozen tears spilling over her lids.

“Your daughter,” Clara said.

Nine seconds of silence followed while Amber took a steadying breath. “He told me it was a boy and that he died.”

Clara huffed. “Yeah, well, your husband is a piece of something, and I wasn’t going to say ‘work.’” A hiccuped laugh escaped Amber.

“My ex-husband.”

“Figured. Well, he lied. And we’ve been looking for you since the night she was born. She needs you now more than ever. We need you,” Clara said.