Page 129 of Merciless Desires

It’s November.

I’ve been gone for over two years.

I back out of the library, bad memories triggering me. Darragh will understand if I don’t put the books away.

I go back into the kitchen to make another cup of tea, something with chamomile to calm my nerves. But they get cranked up when I glance at that peg by the back door and see the pink and white knapsack.

Sophie’s EpiPen!

My heart pounds, and I drop the mug, ceramic shards all around my bare feet. Damn it!

Darragh left at least fifteen minutes ago for the party without it. Where the hell is this party?

The fridge. I bet the invite is on the fridge. I step over the shattered mug, and sure enough, a yellow party invitation is pinned to the fridge door under a magnet.

Celebrate with your creativity for Morgan’s Birthday at Soundly Paints on Fenwick!

Only, I don’t know where that is. Or how far it is from here. Can I walk? Should I run? I can’t run, not with this bowling ball of a belly.

I can call Darragh, only… I don’t know his cell phone number. He gave his card to my lawyer. Who I also have no idea how to reach.

I climb the stairs and go into Darragh’s bedroom to look for more business cards, then remember Sophie has a phone.

I rush into her bedroom. On a white lacquered desk, the hutch above it filled with colorful books, sits an iPhone attached to a charger.

Damn it, it’s probably locked.

Only… It’s not. Makes sense. She’s seven, and if she’s in trouble, she might forget it.

A picture of her and Darragh on the lock screen stills me. He’s smiling, kissing her cheek. I’ve not seen him smile since he plucked me out of that courthouse.

I scroll through the contacts and look for Darragh’s phone number.

Daddy.

I tap the call icon. “Pick up. Pick up. Oh Daddy, pick up. Please.” But it goes right to voicemail.

What the heck?

Maybe he’s in that tunnel we drove through to get here from SeaTac Airport.

I go to leave a message, but he may never see it. My eyes snag an Uber app.

For a kid? But, again, if she’s in trouble, and Darragh’s phone is off because he’s got a precious child on his operating table, it’s for Sophie’s protection.

I step into my shoes and waddle downstairs to set up a ride.

Minutes later, clutching the knapsack, I get into the car that pulls up. I have no choice but to leave the house unlocked.

The sedan smells like smoke. “Hi. I need to go to this address.” I shove the invite at him. “I don’t know where it is. I’m new in town.”

“You are new to Seattle?” His accent freezes me like ice injected into my veins.

Russian.

He glances at the house and knows Darragh’s name. It’s on the account, along with his credit card. “Yes. I’m… I’m the new nanny. And my boss forgot his daughter’s medicine. Please, can we hurry?”

“Da.” He takes a drag of a long black, Turkish cigarette, like Papa.

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