Page 41 of My Omega's Baby
I frowned. “What would I do?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes people are desperate and they make foolish decisions.”
I gave a gruff laugh. “I’m not going to swallow sleeping pills or anything.”
“We appreciate your giving us all the options, Mom.” Wyatt met my gaze. “Blade and I will talk it over in depth.”
I didn’t really want to keep talking about what was happening, but I realized that wasn’t realistic. If the tests were correct, then I was carrying his baby. A warm flush of confusion went through me as that image came to mind.
I’m carrying Wyatt Smith’s baby.
I slid my gaze to his, and he gave me a weak smile. “Yeah, thank you for talking to me about all of this,” I addressed his mom.
“Of course.”
We walked to my car and got in. I started the engine and slowly pulled out onto the street. I was distracted by all that we’d talked about, and I didn’t notice the car barreling toward us from behind until the last second. Pure instinct caused me to yank the wheel just enough that the other car missed my door and slammed into the front fender instead. The airbags deployed as the force of the collision smashed us into a parked car over on Wyatt’s side.
Jarred and dizzy from the impact, I pulled my gun from inside my jacket and flicked the safety off. Wyatt looked dazed but unhurt, and I pushed him down so that my body blocked him from the driver’s side. I was grateful we’d clicked our seat belts into place seconds before the other car hit us.
“What happened?” Wyatt growled, struggling to sit up.
“Stay down,” I snapped, clawing at the airbag that had deployed from the steering wheel. I wasn’t sure if this was actually an accident or if someone had hit us on purpose. I had a bad feeling.
I unsnapped my belt and peered at the car that was piled into us. The hiss of leaking radiators and the smell of gasoline made me uneasy. I couldn’t see any movement inside the other car.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
“No. You?”
“I’m good.” I opened my door and tried to see around my car. There didn’t seem to be anyone creeping up on us, but it wasn’t like I had a good view, and my side mirror was hanging broken and useless.
“I can’t get out on my side.” Despite the circumstances, Wyatt sounded calm.
“Then I guess you’re coming out over here.” I pushed the door open more, and I slid halfway out, scanning the immediate area. I still couldn’t see anyone inside the other car, and that made me nervous. If this was just an accident, where the fuck were the other car’s occupants?
“Hello? Anyone hurt?” I yelled toward the other vehicle.
Nothing.
I stretched my neck hoping to get a better view inside the other car. There didn’t appear to be anyone slumped over the steering wheel or even in the passenger side. “Hello?” I tried again.
Wyatt scrambled over the center console and crouched behind me on the driver’s seat. “Can you see anyone?” He sounded breathless.
“No.” Something was wrong. I knew it with every nerve in my body. I moved away from the door a little. “Follow me.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement on Wyatt’s side of the car. His mother was approaching from her house, looking horrified. “Stay back!” I yelled, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong.
She stopped in her tracks. “I’ve called the police.” Her voice shook, and she looked relieved when she must have glimpsed Wyatt next to me.
Something hit the car next to me, spitting metal and paint into the air, and I recognized the buzz of bullets. “Shit.” I dropped down and yanked Wyatt by his shirtfront onto the ground next to me.
“Ouch,” he growled as his elbow slammed into the ground. But he managed to scoot into a less awkward position quickly. He pulled his gun from inside his jacket.
“Your mom needs to get in her house,” I hissed. “She’s liable to get hurt.”
Looking panicked, Wyatt tried to stand as he yelled toward his mom, “Go back in the house!”
I held on to him tight, determined to keep his head down. Mrs. Smith was the last thing I needed to worry about right now. Someone was definitely shooting at us, and we weren’t exactly in a great position. From the trajectory of the bullets I knew the shooter was most likely across the street. If he’d been closer, I’d probably already have a slug in my head.
I peered under the car toward where his mom had been, just in time to see her front door close. Okay, one less person to worry about. “Your mom’s in the house.”
