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Dead.
God, he should have called her last week when he was thinking of her. Or even yesterday when he’d gotten home. Maybe even a message from him—a two-minute call—could have changed when and where she was on the road by that fraction of a second that could have saved her. In her hour of need, he’d been asleep. She’d probably bled out alone on the fucking highway.
A sound burst out of him, and he was vaguely aware he had to keep it together in front of this stranger, but the grief was too big to hold in entirely. It leaked from his eyes even though he tried to staunch it. It bled from him and as the stranger fetched him a box of tissues. She didn’t seem to disapprove.
Oh God.
“The baby?” he managed to ask.
“Beau is fine. She was with a babysitter. The sitter called CPS when she couldn’t figure out where Ms. St. Germaine was.” She sighed. “Mr. Ellis, that’s why I’m here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand from the
babysitter that you haven’t had much contact with your daughter, but you’re going to have to step up to the plate.”
He gazed at the woman in confusion. “I— My daughter? Beau? Who told you she was mine?”
The worker’s eyes rounded. “You’re listed as the father on Beau’s birth certificate.”
“What?” He gripped the arms of the chair, blood rushing in his ears. His mouth was dry, and his overtaxed heart was drumming so fast it wasn’t pumping enough blood to his brain.
The woman was staring at him, brows raised, but said nothing.
“But—I’m not. Bethany and I hadn’t been . . . intimate in months when she got pregnant. She hooked up with some guy when she was gone on business. It’s why we gave up on fixing things between us.” He stared at her, not sure what else to say. “She didn’t want me to have to raise another man’s kid.”
“Oh dear!” She looked aghast. “Do you . . . know the father’s name, by any chance? Where he lives?”
“No, but neither did she. He gave her a fake number. His name was Mike, unless he was lying. She looked for him, but she didn’t have his last name and he didn’t work where he’d said he did.”
Sue rose, smoothing her slacks. “Well, that changes things. If you agree to a paternity test and it comes back saying you’re not the father, you’re off the hook.”
“But what about Beau? Who would she go to?” He stood, too, even though his knees felt like water. Cold dread trickled through him.
“Ms. St. Germaine’s family, I would assume.”
Fuck. “Beth was raised by you people. She has no family.”
The woman’s brow furrowed with concern. “Then I guess we’d make an adoption plan for Beau. Unless you know of someone else Ms. St. Germaine was close to? We couldn’t find another next of kin.”
“She hadn’t lived in Albany long and was too busy for friends. I don’t know any of her friends from here who’d been visiting regularly. No one who’d know the baby very well, anyway.”
“Then Beau will go to an adoptive family that CPS chooses.”
“Or she’ll get bounced between foster homes until she ages out,” he said sourly, still angry for what had happened to Beth. She’d been eight when her mother had died, and had lived in thirteen foster homes before she aged out. In care, she’d had some good homes, but mostly she’d been ignored, abused, and/or mentally beaten down. It would be the very last thing she’d want for her kid.
“Beau’s a baby, and a girl. Her chances of getting adopted are good.”
“But she’s just a number to you people.”
Sue sighed grimly. “I can assure you that I care very much about the kids on my caseload. Most of us do, in this line of work. We do what we can for the children in our care, Mr. Ellis. Maybe with your considerable wealth”—she gestured vaguely at the house—“you’d be able to have her adopted privately by someone you know. Someone you’d approve of—if you think we’re doing such a terrible job.”
“I could do that?”
“Legally, you’re her father.”
Fuck. It was the least he could do for Beth. He should have checked in more. He should have called her. Visited.
