Page 6 of Preying Heart
Maybe I should have called her and let her in on the news. Deanna would back me up, wouldn’t she? And she’d knock some sense into Gavin.
I’m sure he didn’t mean for me to get rid of his baby. He wasn’t thinking straight. If it was a shock for me, it must have been doubly a shock for him.
He’ll understand. Except he’s going to be super upset with Slade for not taking me to the clinic. I sure hope Slade isn’t planning on skipping bail. If he does, I’m going to be so screwed with Gavin.
Where is Slade anyway?
I take deep breaths that are supposed to relax me but make my heart jumpier. I’m trying to do the right thing. To not make a hasty decision. But I should have planned this better. Instead, I followed Slade’s idea to take a time-out from Gavin. To give him time to reconsider. After all, if the baby dies, there’s no going back on it.
But I still have the IUD. The baby might still die. Shouldn’t I go to a better doctor than one at a clinic designed to kill it?
I cradle my aching head in my hands and blink at the unreality of it all: the threadbare bedcover, the chipped veneer motel furniture, the faded stains on the carpet, and the blinking red numbers on the old-fashioned clock radio.
This is not my idea of a fantasy vacation without Gavin. I’d always pictured my big “Ferris Bueller” moment as sipping champagne on a private jet, hopping over to the French Riviera, and moving a stack of chips straight up on a roulette table. In my dreams, there’s an attentive man—a suitable billionaire who is smitten with me—and he makes all the arrangements, including a spa visit, dining at the most exclusive restaurants, jewelry showings, and dancing the night away on a moonlit terrace.
Not this!
Alone and pregnant. I reach for my purse and dump out the contents. No phone. Not even a burner. I rifle through my wallet and come up with a few crinkly bills. Slade has the rest of my money that he’s using to make more.
“Slade, where the heck are you?” I shout at the air conditioner and flick it off.
He’s obviously not in the dingy two-bed motel room we rented. His bed hasn’t been slept in. I’m not surprised because he stays out all day and all night. Hit a streak of luck and multiplied my five hundred dollars to over three thousand in a matter of hours. I keep arguing with him to hold some back, at least pay me back, but he gives that “boring” look and says I’m risk adverse.
No fun Remi. Chicken, bawk, bawk, bawk.All the things I get teased about growing up is still haunting me.
Yawning, I fix myself instant coffee from the minibar and help myself to a protein bar. Slade’s usually back to grab me for lunch, and we fill our tummies to the gill at the buffet before he heads back to the gaming table.
I hate wearing the same clothes for the third day straight, but I don’t have any cash. I dab at the stain on my blouse and stretch the wrinkles from my pants. It’ll have to do. I ought to find Slade and ask him for my share of the money so I can at least look decent. I’ll also need a replacement phone so I can contact Gavin and see if he changed his mind.
After showering and dressing, I wander to the motel’s lobby and notice I missed the complimentary continental breakfast. Picking up an apple, I peek out into the parking lot to look for Slade’s clunker.
It’s not there.
My heart racing, I return to the lobby and ask the clerk if she’s seen my brother, Slade Bruckner.
“Can’t say that I have,” she drawls. “You want to leave him a message?”
“No, we’re sharing the same room. It’s just that he’s at the casino twenty-four seven.”
She chuckles. “You know how it is. They don’t come back until they’ve lost every red cent.”
“I sure hope not.” A chill snakes its way down my spine. “Anyway, I think I’ll go for a walk.”
“How about I book you for a mani-pedi?” she asks, looking on her computer screen. “Your room package includes one and I doubt your brother wants to take advantage of it.”
“Sure. That sounds like a great way to spend the morning.”
* * *
Slade isn’t back at lunch, and by evening, I’m starting to worry. He wouldn’t leave me in the middle of nowhere, would he? How am I to get home? Would Gavin come and get me?
I check with the clerk again. “Has my brother checked out or said he was going to another casino?”
There’s a string of them on the reservation, and many gamblers skip around, especially if management suspects they are card counting or doing other nefarious tricks—of which I’m sure Slade learned a slew of them in prison.
She frowns, pursing her lips as she checks. “You’re all paid up until the end of the week. Doesn’t he have a number where he can be reached?”
“He does, but I don’t have my cell phone. It broke on the way over.”
