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The further along she would get in pregnancy, the more vulnerable she would become, making it easier to subdue her. But when Jo requested new blood work, and sent the samples to a different laboratory, a lab Esteban couldn’t bribe, he was forced to put his plan into action.
The theory makes sense. It also pisses me off that I wasn’t more proactive in suggesting Josephine get a second opinion earlier in the pregnancy when I found her diagnosis hard to believe. Perhaps if I had asked Josephine to retake the test earlier, her abduction may have been avoidable.
As far as Ziggy, Butch, and Luke’s team can tell, the clinic’s medical staff was unaware of Esteban’s meddling. Doctor Stoll was dead as soon as he hit the ground, along with two nurses who resisted when they first breached the clinic.
Punk was questioned about what he had witnessed at the hospital. Even though he had drawn his gun, it was self-defense. He took out the two gunmen who had taken shots at him, but none of the injuries were life-threatening. The police are questioning them, but getting no responses. They’ll be handed over to the FBI for further questioning once released from the hospital.
For hours my crew and I brainstorm plans, none of them hitting the mark. I sit numbly at the head of the table and look at the seat next to me—Josephine’s seat as my First Lady. I momentarily imagine her sitting next to me. What would she be doing if the shoe was on the other foot? Would she be as lost as me? Would she feel the same hollowness inside her?
For a moment, I swear her eyes are staring back at me until my vision comes into focus. Runt sits in hermamá’schair, staring up at me, whimpering and sensing my profound loss. I pinch the bridge of my nose to stop from losing it in front of my men.
Gauge lays a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You need rest, brother.”
I laugh dryly. I’ll not rest ‘till Josephine is back in my arms. I’ll not rest until I watch the life leave Esteban’s eyes. Gauge’s request is pointless.
“I stay here until I have a plan in my hands,” I say in a ragged voice. “My wife is in danger; that’s not something you can sleep off.”
“We can do shifts. Right now, you need it more than the rest of us,” my VP counters.
I’m not sure if I moved on my own accord or if Gauge helped me to my feet, but I find myself shuffling out of the teleconference room toward the stairs. Runt runs ahead of me, her ears flapping behind her.
A whimper catches my attention. I follow the noise to the front door.
Hades sits patiently, staring through the privacy glass of the door, waiting for hismamáto come back home. I have to steady myself against the wall, the sight of her baby boy wishing she would walk through the door hitting me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
“Hades,” I say under my breath.
The beast turns toward me with his golden eyes flooded with tears. Who knew dogs could cry?
“Come on, big boy,” I say with a tilt of my head.
But the dog won’t move, steadfastly refusing to leave the front entry.
When I try to coax him again, he throws his head back, howling like a damn wolf separated from his alpha.
“Oh, Hades,” I choke, falling to my knees and wrapping him up in my arms. When he’s finally gone hoarse, I pick him up and take him upstairs to our suite.
With the door closed behind me, I set Hades down. Runt whines from the bed, calling for Hades to join her. I walk forward and stop once I’m in the bedroom.
She’s everywhere I look, from her work computer on her nightstand to the dent we put in the wall from our wedding morning romp. I lay on the bed and am engulfed in her scent, the lemon citrus of her musk permeating our sheets.
On instinct, I grab her pillow and bring it to my nose, her scent overtaking my senses. I squeeze my eyes tight, squeezing the pillow like I’m holding her once more.
Unashamed, I shed my tears, clinging to the only remnants I have left of the only woman I have ever loved.
* * *
When I open my eyes, I can tell I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours. My head pounds, my eyes burn, but nothing compares to the ache in my chest. I’m pretty sure when Josephine disappeared into the sky, she took my heart with her and left a gaping gash in her wake.
My fingers shake as I remove my tungsten wedding band and examine the tattoo underneath. My finger trails over her nickname inked into my skin—my real wedding band. I then run my fingers over the puckered tattoo of her lips on my chest, seeing if it feels the same as when I do it to her lips. I close my eyes, imaging the heat of her breath on my fingertips, the sticky texture of her lip balm, the wet slip of her tongue when as she wraps it around my thumb and pulls it into her hot mouth.
I grab my cell to see what time it is. Not even 0400. Hades is curled against me with Runt against him. The dogs had a hard time last night; I don’t want to wake them yet. I sit up in the bed and notice the journal Josephine had bought me at Christmas is next to my dad’s. She must have packed these when I told her we were moving back into headquarters.
Brandon had suggested journaling to relieve some of my suppressed emotions. Just because Josephine isn’t here doesn’t mean my promise to her ends. I need to better myself. I pick up the journal and write my first entry.
I write about the day we met on the trail, not leaving out any details. I write about how we ran into each other again an hour later at the diner. She thought she was rid of me, but it was only our beginning. That was the moment I knew I’d marry her.
With an aching heart, I write about our first date and first motorcycle ride. I mention my first real fuck-up with her, and how I nearly lost her. I write about sweeping her off her feet and begging her to take me back.
