When the Bough Breaks (Rose Gardner Investigations #6) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,45
dresser drawer and checked the clip. I had no idea what to expect when I saw James, but I wasn’t leaving until I got answers.
I was on autopilot as I drove to James’s house south of town, but I repeatedly checked my rearview mirror to make sure I wasn’t being followed. No one appeared to be tailing me, though.
Of course, I hadn’t been with James in months. No one was following me anymore, and everyone in the county was well aware I was living with a deputy sheriff. Nevertheless, with Mike and my niece and nephew missing, it made sense to be more vigilant than usual.
I still had his garage door opener in my glove compartment. When I pulled up in front of his house, I put the truck in park and scooted over to dig it out. I held my breath as I pressed the button, hoping he hadn’t changed the frequency. The door opened, and equal parts relief and dread washed through me when I saw the garage was empty. James wasn’t here yet. If he still came at all. For all I knew, he hadn’t been out here in weeks or months, but I was committed to seeing this through.
Once I pulled inside, I closed the garage door, then found a step stool and used it to unplug the door opener from the outlet. I wanted the element of surprise, which would be blown if he saw my truck before he saw me. He’d likely be on edge when he walked through the front door, but it was a chance I was willing to take. Especially since I had my gun.
I went inside and found the kitchen and living room spotless. Another wave of worry washed through me—had I come here for nothing?—but then I opened the fridge and checked the contents. There was a half-empty carton of eggs with an expiration date a week away, a slightly empty half gallon of unexpired milk, and a partially consumed package of deli turkey. But it was the loaf of bread that brought tears to my eyes. It wasn’t the fact that it was fresh; it was where I found it. Last summer, I’d told James that it was better to keep bread in his pantry than his fridge. He was still following my advice.
I wasn’t sure why that stupid bread made me emotional, but I walked into the living room and broke into sobs. James Malcolm was domesticated enough to put his bread in the pantry, but he couldn’t handle the thought of me having a baby, his baby.
I knew they were two entirely separate things, yet my heart broke all over again. But even in my grief, I told myself I’d always known there would be no happily ever after with James…so why couldn’t I let the man go?
My belly began to shake, and I couldn’t help smiling when I realized the baby had the hiccups. Wiping my tears with the back of my hand, I said, “Oh, sweet baby. I didn’t mean to upset you. I promise that when you are born, there will only be happy tears.”
I wasn’t sure what to do while I waited. I considered going upstairs to see James’s room, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Too many memories, yet there were memories downstairs too. We’d had nearly two months of pretend domestic bliss, and our make-believe life together had made me lower my guard and consider the impossible. It had made his sudden departure from my life hurt that much more.
It was getting dark outside, but James always left a living room lamp on. I sat on the sofa and turned on the TV, reasoning that he’d designed the house so he could see any visitors’ cars as they approached. When I saw James’s car, I’d turn off the TV and wait for him to walk in. Then I’d confront him.
If he showed.
And perhaps my plan would have worked if I weren’t nine months pregnant and exhausted all the time, because one minute I was watching Food Network, and the next I was staring into James Malcolm’s face.
Chapter 11
At first, I thought this was another dream. I’d had many of them last fall—dreams where he came to me as James and not Skeeter Malcolm. Where his face was soft and love and adoration filled his eyes, not the scorn and hate that had replaced it.
I smiled, happy that I was seeing him the way I wanted to remember him,