insisted he must have slept with Claudette, an almost relieved expression crossed his face. “I was telling the truth. She knew you were coming to see me, and I was desperate enough to fake sleeping with her to get you out of my life.”
The stab of pain in her heart must have shown in her eyes for he quickly added, “It hurt to look at you then, Gabby,” he said. “I felt like a failure. First as Claire’s brother, and then as your husband. I thought I’ve hit rock bottom when I’ve alienated you after Claire died, but finding you in bed with Nick sent me straight to hell.”
“What are you saying? That you and Claudette staged the scene at the apartment?”
“Yes.” Declan averted his eyes, a muscle ticked at his jaw. “Not proud of what I did. How I let that woman manipulate me.” He glanced back at her. “I regret hurting you like that.”
Gabby blew out a breath and with it another weight was lifted off her chest. She couldn’t believe how twisted their marriage had become. No wonder it didn’t survive. This reaffirmed what she told Declan that morning at the carousel. They’d been too young to deserve the love they had in the past and that left a question. Were they ready now?
Unable to process that question on top of all the revelations battering her that day, she changed the subject. “I just ran out of there.” Gabby jerked her head toward the door. “Maybe Nadia had more she could tell us. Breadcrumbs of their pissing contest at least. What else would cause Ortega to throw caution to the wind and have a prominent Hollywood player killed?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
Another thought occurred to her and anxiety rippled through her as she stared at Declan. “Shit. What do I do? Do we tell Theo that I’m his mother?”
“Of course we do!” Declan’s eyes flashed in irritation. “Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know, all right?” Her voice rose. “I’m scared. What if he hates me? I mean … I can’t just feel like a mom.”
“Welcome to the club,” Declan muttered.
Gabby laughed, albeit, not entirely in humor, but with a little bit of terror. She hugged her arms. “I don’t know, Dec. I’m glad I don’t actually hate him, you know. Just tried not to feel anything for him.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think you guys were bonding this morning.”
“I don’t know if I can—”
Hands gripped her shoulders, turning her toward him and his head dipped, emerald eyes blazing deeply into hers. “We’re in this together, Angel. Theo doesn’t need a mother. He needs you and he needs you to acknowledge that you’re family.”
“We,” Gabby said. “No matter what happens between us, I’ll never make it difficult for you to know your son.”
“Our son,” he said, giving her a reminder shake.
Gabby shook her head, unable to speak through the giant size boulder lodged in her throat.
“We have a son,” she whispered. The tears she’d been holding back finally streamed down her cheeks.
“Heaven help us,” Declan chuckled.
She punched him lightly on the chest before resting her face on it. He held her through her shifting emotions of joy, sadness, bittersweet fury, and back to joy.
The exit door opened again, and she heard Declan murmur to someone. Gabby didn’t care who saw her crying on her ex-husband’s chest.
The shell around her heart cracked open and tentative tendrils of hope sneaked through. And hope was what everyone needed right now.
17
Killing someone in cold blood had never crossed her mind until today.
Watching Raul Ortega struggle to breathe while lying on a cot in his cell didn’t even come close to giving her the satisfaction she needed. Floor-to-ceiling safety glass took the place of prison bars. The holding cell was big enough to accommodate a portable patient monitor.
The captain allowed her to see Ortega after she and Declan gave their blood samples. She’d been watching the crime lord for over ten minutes, not saying a word, letting her hatred of him drive her thoughts to a morbid turn.
Maybe she had a fever.
Some of the guys in the war room looked flushed, their temperatures were elevated and they’d been separated from the rest of the group. Bristow was cautiously optimistic that their response was simply mass hysteria, which wouldn’t be unusual under the circumstances.
Ortega shifted on his cot; his skin was almost purple and glistened with sweat. He turned his head and opened his eyes. A ghost of a smile touched his