Page 40 of Her Reluctant Hero
“We don’t have any information on a kid.”
Chills rose up over his skin that had nothing to do with being wet in the draft from the open door. Had she lied to him? He didn’t want to believe she would lie about something like that, so he pressed.
“His name is Hector. He’s three years old. Born at the compound.” He looked to Isabella for confirmation. “He was born…” He waited for Isabella to supply the info.
“September 12, 2006,” she said.
He repeated it into the phone.
“We don’t have any intel on a kid,” Captain Winters repeated.
Alex scrambled for an explanation. “So Saldana hid the info, didn’t let him go near windows or anything so you couldn’t get pictures.”
“Except he had to order his supplies from the outside world. There were no diaper deliveries, bottles, none of the stuff you need for a baby. There was no baby.”
Alex’s stomach heaved and he barely registered the info he was given as he looked at Isabella’s stricken face.
“Yeah, okay,” he said to acknowledge the list of names and places Saldana might be.
“We’ve got people on these men already. We need you to stick with the girl, get her to trust you.”
Trust. What did she know about trust? But the minute he flipped the phone closed, he took two steps toward Isabella. He yanked the waistband of her pajamas down and pushed her shirt up.
“What—?” She shoved at his hands and he lowered his head. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for stretch marks.” And not finding any. He traced his fingertips across her smooth—very smooth—skin. Watched it jump under his touch. Backed away and glared. “You didn’t have a baby.”
“What?” She tugged her clothes back in place, her movements shaky as she stared at him as though he’d lost his mind.
“You never had a baby.” He snatched up a towel and whipped open the door.
Isabella stood frozen for a moment. What had they said to him to make him think she was lying? Not that it took much for him to think badly about her. She dragged her hair back from her face, pushed away from the sink and followed him.
He was pulling on jeans even though droplets of water still glistened on his back and chest. She strode past him to her suitcase, popped it open and pawed through it, her eyes blurry.
“What are you looking for?”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and battled the tears. “Do you think I would come all this way and not have proof he’s my son?” She found the bag she was looking for, turned with it in her fist.
A bag of camera film, undeveloped.
He looked at them. “What’s this?”
“Pictures of me and Hector.”
“Pictures.” He paused in the middle of pulling on his shirt, with the T-shirt caught at his elbows. “Not even developed. You don’t have like a birth certificate or something?”
“I looked.” Her voice rose in desperation. “I couldn’t find it. Santiago must have hidden it so I would never claim my boy.”
He pulled his shirt on the rest of the way. “My people said there were never any diapers delivered, no baby food, none of the stuff babies need.”
His words staggered her and she pressed her palm to her middle in shock. “You know what was delivered to our house?”
“Sweetheart, I know what kind of tampons you used.”
Embarrassment threatened to swamp her. She fought back against it and lifted her chin. “Then you know that for nine months I didn’t get any tampons.”
He blinked at that. “I’ll check into it. Do you have any other proof?”
