Page 209 of Push

The battle lines weredrawn. I was armed. NoBo was dangerous.

World War Fruit raged again.

I jiggled the punnet of blueberries in my hand. “Yummy,” I cooed, smacking my lips to sell the con job. “Blueberries…Yummy.”

Noah’s head fell back against his highchair with a wail. I grimaced.Epic fail.My gaze flicked over the banana smooshed on the floor—beloved no more—and landed on the fruit bowl. Apples. Oranges. A lumpy avocado. I’d tried all those pathetic options and gotten zero love.

Noah grunted, his chubby hands clamping on air, and he pushed himself up, trying to grab…something.

My brows knitted. The only thing left on the kitchen counter was…

Uh.

His mama’s raspberry pancakes.

Wisps of steam curled from the plate. The pancakes were fresh and toasty out of the pan, just begging for Gwen to drizzle them with syrup when she wandered downstairs for breakfast. She was running late for work after I’d taken some—ahem—liberties with her gorgeous body before she’d finally wriggled free to dash for the shower.

“This?” I asked Noah, pointing at the pancakes.

Grunting, he smacked his hands on his highchair. Yep, that was what he wanted.

“Uh…” Guilty as sin, I darted a look between the plate, the empty doorway, and the furious baby with his tear-stained cheeks. “Mama won’t mind…”

I whipped a pancake off the pile and had only torn off the first nibbly bit when Noah’s hand shot out and grabbed the rest. Laughing, I shrugged and let him happily gum on the stolen pancake as I tidied the kitchen.

Moments like these—quiet moments of nothing much in particular—made me appreciate my new job. A month had whizzed by without any regrets. I had set hours and late starts now, which meant I could spend more time with my family. No management. No stress. The only thing I had to do was rock up and do a damn good job.

The free time also gave me the mental space to stay on top of the lawyers and wrap up the partnership. Good riddance. Ian couldn’t buy me out. He was living on nothing but mob money and borrowed time. Well, Wayne had whispered that part to Gwen one day when we’d left the police station, anyway. Buyers had snapped up the clinic for a reasonable price, and the last shackle tying me to Ian had disappeared. We were free.

I was ready to take the next step, too. Well, more like…leap. A big jump into an abyss that started with adand ended with ane. A doctorate.Me.The guy everyone had written off as too dumbto go to university was going to specialize in pediatric dentistry. Gwen had always been my biggest cheerleader—the only person who’d ever believed in me—and damn, the way she’d smiled when I’d held out my acceptance letter. That smile was the stuff dreams were made of.

Life is good.

I grinned as I grabbed the breakfast dishes from the sink and started loading the dishwasher. When I launched a fresh attempt to maneuver the skillet into the bottom rack, the TV caught my eye. I’d barely paid attention to the morning show droning in the background, but the flash of red and blue lights distracted me. I flicked another glance at the news.

“Christ,” I muttered, glancing at the caption running along the bottom of the screen. “Something big is going down in Mosm—” My hand froze. The skillet fell with a clatter into the dishwasher. After swallowing the rock lodged in my throat, I blinked, then forced myself to read the caption properly.

Man dead in Mosman after suspected criminal underworld slaying.

I sucked in a deep breath.Nah, can’t be, I thought, shaking my head.I’m being paranoid.But when I glanced back at the TV, I knew I wasn’t overthinking.

The news footage zoomed past the police cars to the building swarming with officers. My heart stopped. I’d pulled up outside those apartments a hundred times before. The news crew zoomed closer. Men wearing blue coveralls and gloves were busy collecting—I gulped—evidenceon the third-story balcony. I’d sat on that outdoor lounge and shared a beer with Ian a hundred times.

A reporter stood in front of the chaos, a microphone gripped in her hand. I scrambled across the kitchen, grabbed the remote, and jabbed the volume button a few times.

“Police are now investigating,” the reporter was saying, “but a spokesperson has confirmed the man’s death. Police have so far refused to corroborate the account of residents of what happened in the early hours of this morning, but it is believed the death is tied to underworld figure Marcello Morelli…”

I didn’t hear any more. My brain had turned to fuzz, my ears stuffed with cotton wool.

Ian, you stupid damn fool.

I bent over. Shivering, a rush of nausea raced through my blood, and the test pancake sloshed around in my stomach.

“Tobes?”

A hand rubbed my back, and a kiss landed on my cheek. A long pause followed.

“Tobes, are you…okay…?”

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