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“Oh, god,” she says.

“She’s mine?”

Anna freezes. “Ugh…”

I rush forward, slapping my forehead against the bars. “Ow—! Really? Are you sure?”

She bolts for the door.

“Wait, Anna! Detective!” I extend my arm out of the cage. “Wait a minute. Detective, wait a minute!”

The door slams behind her. I listen to her shoes crashing down the hallway.

Holy crap.

I pull my arm back and clench the bars to hold myself up.

“Whoa…”

CHAPTER 11

ANNA

“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.