Page 51 of Tangled
His own stomach clenched at the sound of her retching, and while he didn’t feel as miserable as she did, he still felt terrible. He joined her in the bathroom and held her hair. When she finished, he helped her up and held her steady as she brushed her teeth.
“I’ll call Kara,” he said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. Her eyes were glassy as she stared back, then she shook her head.
“I just want to sleep. I have one more anti-nausea pill she gave me. Let me try that first.”
He helped her back to bed, then fetched a glass of water and the medicine. Ten minutes later, she was back asleep. And he was wide-awake. Deciding to get some work out of the way, he grabbed his laptop, made a cup of coffee, and took a seat on the couch.
Three hours later, Scarlett ambled out of their room, her long hair mussed and poofy with sleep. She’d changed from her pajama shorts and tank top to a pair of leggings, a thick sweatshirt, and a pair of his wool socks.
“How are you?” he asked, gesturing to the seat beside him. Her eyes had lost some of their dullness, and her face didn’t look nearly so strained or hallowed.
She flashed him a tentative smile. “I think I’m okay.”
“But?”
The smile turned sheepish. “But any chance I could get some pancakes?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was one o’clock by the time Ryan made it to the apartment. Scarlett had wanted himto come as soon as Brad told her about the envelope, but he’d insisted that she eat first and see how that went. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being dictated to—even as gently done as it was. As he was the provider of the pancakes, though, and his hesitancy came from concern, she let it slide.
Brad offered his cousin and Detective Cheng coffee when they arrived. After everyone settled in the living room, mugs in hand, Ryan handed his phone over. On the screen was an image of a piece of white paper, note card-sized. Written on it in black ink were two lines of numbers. Neither of which she recognized.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what these are,” she said, studying them. The sequencing looked familiar, but not the numbers themselves. Then she frowned. “Could they be bank account and routing numbers?” she suggested, handing the phone back.
Cheng’s glance flickered to Ryan. “That’s exactly what they are,” she said. “But I assume they aren’t yours? Or Gracie’s?”
She frowned in thought. “Not mine. As for Gracie’s, I closed her account a couple of months ago. I’m not 100 percent sure, but I don’t think they are hers, either. There might be an old statement in her things, though.”
“I don’t remember seeing one, but I’ll double-check when I get back to the station,” Mari said.
“So these mean nothing to you?” Ryan pressed.
Scarlett lifted her shoulders and shook her head. “Not without context.” Her gaze drifted to the phone in Ryan’s hand, and she shook her head again. “Sorry.”
Ryan sighed. “It was a long shot. Akers is looking into it, and I might ask Sabina to help. Katz addressed the envelope to you, so obviously wanted you to have the information. It must mean something. Even if we don’t know what that is yet.”
He started to slide the phone into his pocket, but it rang in his hand. He glanced at the screen, then shot from his seat. “Is everything okay?” he asked as he answered. He listened for about five seconds, then lunged for the coat he’d hung on the coat tree. “I’ll be right there. No, I won’t speed. Much. Do you need Kara to come down? How far apart?” He tried juggling the phone and putting his jacket on. Too flustered to manage, he ended up dropping the coat over his arm.
“Liv’s started having contractions,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll keep you posted,” he added before darting out the door.
When it closed behind him, Mari laughed. “I think that’s the most flustered I’ve ever seen him,” she said.
Scarlett smiled, and Brad chuckled. “I guess thereissomething about this house.”
By nine that night, Gabriella Maria Warwick had made her entrance into the world, as stoic and as thoughtful as her father—or so the pictures seemed. Olivia’s father, Miguel, and Ryan’s brothers, Chad and Josh, provided the rest of the family with a steady stream of pictures. Gramps, who’d raised the three brothers after his son and daughter-in-law—their parents—had been killed in a car accident, added more than a few of his own to the text thread.
“She’s adorable,” Scarlett said, leaning against him and looking over his shoulder at the photos. “It’s amazing what a difference a pound and a half makes, isn’t it?”
The two sets of twins had been healthy and around six pounds each. Gabriella, as a single, weighed in at seven and a half pounds, and the difference showed. Her cheeks a touch rounder, her arms a little fuller, and her tiny body—wrapped burrito-style in a flannel blanket—a bit heftier.
“If all goes well, we’ll be holding our own in six months,” he said. That reality both hard and so easy to see.
“Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?” Scarlett asked.
He lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t given it much thought. I’m more concerned about keeping you healthy these days.” He paused. “But if I were to hazard a guess? I’d say a boy.”
Scarlett laughed. “But only because it would even out the numbers, right? With Jasper, Will, and Finley now being outnumbered by Maya, Ruby, Violet, and Gabriella.”
