Page 24 of Spring Break With a Baby Daddy
“Don’t.”
My gaze focuses on Easton’s knowing eyes. “What?”
“You can’t touch her.”
“What makes you think?—”
“C’mon. You know I’m right.”
How does he know me that well?
One date and one night together and suddenly he’s a Vivi expert?
“We need to talk about when you might have come into contact with Lisa,” I say to divert his attention.
“Who’s Lisa?” Vail asks.
“The baby’s mother. All we have is a note signed by Lisa and a legal document that gives me guardianship of ‘baby of Lisa’,” Easton explains.
“I think Lisa knew Easton about ten or so years ago. From what she said in her note, her mother was a single mom who Easton gave a get out of jail free card in the way of an open offer of help.”
“Ten years?” Vail asks.
I shrug. “Give or take.”
“My cameras didn’t get a good shot of Lisa when she dropped the baby off, but she looks young, late teens, early twenties at most.” Easton walks over to where we left the folder from the baby’s bag. “Here. Read this, see if you can help me remember.”
We’re quiet for bit while Quade and Vail read Lisa’s letter and the legal paper. It’s Quade who comes up with the first real clue.
“Jenny.”
“Who?” the three of us chorus.
“Jennifer Kincade. She cleaned our first office in Charleston. Got herself into an internship at a legal firm in Atlanta.”
Vail nods. “She used to clean in the early afternoons so she could get her daughter from school.”
“Leelee, she brought her with her at least once a week, sometimes more,” Quade adds.
“Leelee. Lisa?” Easton asks. “Could that be?—”
I’m busy scrolling through an article but the silence has my head lifting.
Easton’s gaze bores into mine. “What have you found?”
“Why do you think I’ve found something?”
“Because you’re you. Of course you’ve found something.”
“Okay.” I lower my gaze back to my phone and read. “Jennifer Kincade was killed in a multi-car accident on the I85 south of Atlanta three months ago. She left behind one daughter.” My gaze meets Eaton’s again. “Lisa Kincade.”
“That tracks with what Lisa wrote in her letter,” he murmurs.
“Do you want me to get an address?”
It takes a while, but finally, Easton answers with a shake of his head. “No.”
“I can?—”
