Page 24 of Juan

“Clara Beverly,” Lovell said, reading something off his phone. Juan focused on him. “Age sixty-four, retired nurse, has lived in the same house for forty years. No priors, no run-ins with the law. She’s involved in a few charities, including knitting hats and blankets for newborns. She was born in Atlanta but moved north for school and stayed. Adrian Mills is not her biological daughter, but her niece. Adrian’s mother—Clara’s sister—got into some trouble, drugs, addiction, that sort of thing, and when Adrian was three, Clara adopted her and raised her as her own. As we know, Adrian, age thirty-eight, is also a nurse. She married young, at twenty-two, but her husband died eight years later from a heart attack. Never remarried. Interestingly, both are NICU nurses, or Clara was.”

“Newborn intensive care?” Juan asked. Lovell nodded. “Amber said she was nearly seven months pregnant when she thought she lost the baby. Who better to keep a preemie alive than two NICU nurses.”

“I didn’t even know a baby could survive born that early,” Dulcie said. Juan hadn’t either. Then again, what he knew about babies he could write on the palm of his hand. Guess he’d be learning fast.

“And how the hell did they end up with her?” Mantis chimed in. Juan didn’t bother echoing that question.

“Like you said, Dulcie, I think we need to brace ourselves for some fantastical fucked-up shit,” Lovell concurred. They all nodded.

“How are you holding up?” Mantis asked.

Juan shrugged. “I hate this roller coaster she’s on, but damn, I can’t even imagine what she’s going through. To have thought you lost your baby only to find out she’s alive? To have a chance at something you never thought you’d have?”

“I asked about you,” Mantis said. “How are you doing?”

Juan slid his brother a flat look. “I’ve orchestrated a few additional levels of hell today, but I’m still not sure I’ve found the right one for Anthony Ely yet.”

Lovell snorted, a ghost of a smile curled Mantis’s lips, and Dulcie rubbed his hands together, as if preparing for a fight.

“We won’t let him get away with it,” Dulcie said.

“Not sure what kind of choice we’ll have,” Juan said. Three sets of eyes landed on him. “I don’t know enough about how these kinds of things work, but Amber may just want to ensure she has sole custody and he’s permanently out of the picture. She may not want to press charges, whatever those charges might be, if they will kick up even more of a storm than the situation itself. And I don’t know what kind of case can be built if she doesn’t participate.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lovell said. “We have today to get through.”

Yeah, today. Felt like a lifetime had already passed, and it wasn’t even two in the afternoon. By the time night fell, he had a feeling he’d sprout a few gray hairs.

Chapter twelve

Amber gripped Spencer’s hand as they stood outside the clubhouse. The sensors on the drive had alerted them to Clara and Adrian’s arrival. And her baby’s.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” she said.

Keeping their hands clasped, Spencer curled his arms around her, pulling her against him, surrounding her with his warmth. “Breathe,” he said. She did. “Again.” The medium-sized camper came into view. “I’ve got you,” he continued. “We all do.”

The camper pulled to a stop, and she’d swear her heart did the same before galloping ahead. Anchoring herself in Spencer’s arms, she stared through the windshield.

She’d never met Adrian, presumably the darker-haired woman in the passenger seat, so she focused on the older woman and her wild gray hair visible through the windshield. She studied her face, warped through the glass, but picked out the familiar shape of her nose and the curve of her chin. It really was Clara. They really were here.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For?”

“For just being here, for not trying to make this anything other than what it is. For allowing it to be what it is. Hard.” She paused, then added, “Hard, but good.”

He squeezed her hand as Clara opened the driver’s door and Adrian slipped out of her seat and into the back. Her stomach threatened to revolt when she realized the woman was probably collecting her daughter from her car seat. Idly, she wondered where a car seat fit in a camper, but Clara landing on her feet in the gravel drive pulled her back to the moment.

Clara’s eyes dipped to where Spencer’s arm came around her, but Amber couldn’t step away. She needed his strength right now. And if she wasn’t mistaken, a pleased look flashed through the older woman’s dark eyes.

“You look good, Amber,” Clara said, walking toward her.

Amber managed a wobbly smile. “Not living with Anthony will do that.”

Clara stopped in front of her. With at least eight inches on her, Amber looked down at the wiry woman, taking in her flowing linen skirt, long tunic, and strings of beautiful beads hanging from her neck.

Amber didn’t miss Clara’s sweeping assessment. When their gazes met again, Clara reached out and set a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you, angel. Your little girl needs you. We need you.”

Amber tried to keep the tears from falling but failed miserably. And when Clara opened her arms, she let go of Spencer and stepped into them. Thin but strong limbs wrapped around her; a maternal warmth and strength she hadn’t felt in ages, if ever, washed through her.