Head Above Water (Nightshade MC Book 4) (32 page)

“How am I supposed to do that, hon?”

“Start by shutting off the light and getting into bed with me,” she suggested. “Quit thinking about what happened and just think about the fact that we don't have to worry about Frankie. Not now. Not ever again. We don't have to worry about him anymore. Now the only thing we have to worry about is Claire.”

“No, we don't,” Monroe corrected. He walked over and shut the light off. “She's going to jail.”

“Wait, what?”

“She's the one who shot Matt. Her fingerprints were on the gun. We put the gun back, called the body in.”

“But the baby?”

“I'm the father. Legally the child will come to me when it's born.” Monroe didn't tell her of Claire's empty threat to commit suicide.

“Holy shit. She really shot Matt?”

“She did, said he got in her face.”

“That sounds like him. Wow. Looks like we're really in the clear with everything. Well, mostly everything.”

“What does that mean?” Monroe got on the bed, careful not to jostle her in any way. “Come on, hon. Lie down. Talk to me.”

“It means... it means that I'm not really mother material, Monroe.”

“Why do you say that now? You've never said it before when we talked.” Panic sparked inside of him. If Drea told him now that she wasn't all in, what the hell was he supposed to do?

“We never talked about the possibility of Claire not being around,” she replied. “I like kids. I love your kid already because he's part of you, but I... I never thought about having kids of my own. Not with the circumstances of my birth. Look who my father was, who my brother was, and what they did. That's what I have inside of me. Evil is in my DNA.”

“You are not your father or your brother, hon,” he said softly. “And you are most certainly not evil.”

“I've killed, Monroe. I've killed in cold blood, no regrets. If that isn't evil, what is?”

“You've done what you needed to do, hon. If that makes you evil, I'm evil too. Look, I know that this can't be easy for you, I get that. I just can't walk away from the kid, my kid. My father took off when I was little, you know that. I can't just...”

“I know you can't, and I'm not asking you to. I'm just saying, I'm not sure that I'm going to be good at this. I'll try, but when I'm not good, what happens then?”

“I might not be good at it either,” he answered. “I figure that we'll figure it out along the way and that it might be a bumpy road, but we've had a bumpy road so far and things have ended up working out.”

“Bumpy might be an understatement.” She shifted so that she was closer to him.

“We can do this together, Drea. Together, there's nothing that we can't handle.”

<#<#<#<#

It was past ten, and Caesar wasn't yet at the table. Phone calls to him went unreturned, which was very unlike the man. Monroe tried to ignore the growing feeling that something was wrong as they waited around the table.

“Bones, call him again. He doesn't answer and we'll head over to the hotel,” Buster said.

Before Bones could get up to retrieve his phone from the hallway, the door to the room opened. “Sorry, I know that I'm late,” Caesar strode in. “You can fine me if you want, but I had a good reason.” He shut and locked the door behind him. “The police have Claire in custody. She turned herself in this morning.”

“She did what?” Monroe asked, floored at the information. “Are you fucking with us?”

“Not at all. She turned herself in. Right now, she's probably giving a full confession.” Caesar was grinning from ear to ear. “I've got something for you, too, Monroe. Not sure how legal it all is, but it'll give you a leg up in court.”

“What's that?”

“A signed and notarized letter relinquishing her parental rights.” He dropped an envelope on the table in front of Monroe. “You're welcome.”

“How the hell did you get her to turn herself in and write this letter? Does she still have fingernails?” Monroe picked up the envelope, opened it and read the letter inside. Like Caesar, he didn't know how legal it was, but it would certainly be a plus on his side if things ever went to court.

“I never laid a hand on her,” Caesar huffed, sounding a little offended by the implication.

“So, what did you do?” Train asked with a laugh.

“I stared at her,” he replied.

“Stared at her?” Buster chimed in skeptically. “That must have been one hell of a stare. They teach you that in the military?”

“It made her nervous, I guess. Whatever the reason, she came up with this all on her own.” Caesar took his seat.

“Monroe, when we're done in here, call some of your friends at the station and make sure that she confessed,” Buster said.

“Will do.”

“Good. Let's get onto business. We checked out Frankie's hotel room last night. There wasn't a stash of money under the bed or in the closet. No sign of it. No real sign of him being there except that we found the key on him,” Buster said.

Monroe felt a surge of disappointment. It would have too easy to have found the money. “No trace of where he might have been staying. We'll keep looking, of course, but we can't expect to find it.” He looked around the table. “Which brings us to the matter at hand. We've been fortunate, we've all had a financial boon since taking over from The Millers. It's been enough that we can be particular about who we chose to work with.”

The Millers had worked with anyone who had the money to put out. Gagliardi and his trafficking was only one such example of how low their standards were. Nightshade preferred to keep a higher standard. They'd turned down plenty of people, and in the process had ruffled a few feathers.

“Let me guess, we'll be getting less particular?” Train spoke up, a frown on his face.

“If we want the income we had, yes. We'll need to get less particular, a lot less particular, to be honest.”

The words hung heavy in the air. No one spoke because they all knew the sorts of people they'd need to work with. “Which is why we're going to vote this out. We can expand our business, keep ourselves, and our families, in the style to which we've become accustomed. Or we can remain as we are and make a considerable amount less.” No one said anything. Everyone kept their poker face on, but Monroe knew that many of his brothers had come to rely upon that money. He'd come to rely on it himself, though he'd saved a good chunk of it, but he didn't have a family to support like so many of them did. Or maybe it was more accurate to say he hadn't had a family to support, because now he did. He didn't want Drea, or his son, ever having to worry about money or where the next meal was coming from. It was going to be a harder decision than he'd thought.

If Buster were to call for the vote right then and there, Monroe couldn't be sure which side he would come down on. “This is something that we should all think about,” Buster said. He cleared his throat. “We won't vote now. Next meeting is soon enough. Until then, we focus on what we've got in front of us.” The subject changed to the upcoming job they were doing for Anzaldi. Monroe followed along and took the opportunity to look around the table at the faces of the men that were his family now for any indication on what they were thinking, how they would vote. He found no trace.

Epilogue

Drea smoothed lotion over the bumpy, raised scar on her side. It could have been much worse; she could have died. Coming away from it all with a couple of scars was the textbook definition of getting off easy. She sighed, walked over to the closet and stared at the outfit she'd picked out for dinner at Caroline and Buster's.

Despite the fact that she'd given birth to twins, a boy and a girl named Simon and River, Caroline had resumed her dinner parties. They were now weekly occurrences, every Thursday night. Normally, Drea looked forward to them, but tonight felt different.

Tonight, the dinner was for Ace because the following morning, he was turning himself in to start his prison sentence. The lawyers had managed to get the charges downgraded in a deal where he'd serve only four years for manslaughter and robbery. Much like her with her scar, Ace was getting off easy, since his sentence could have been in double digits.

Lost in thought, she didn't hear the sound of Monroe's approaching footsteps. She jumped a bit when he opened the door. “Not that I mind you walking around in your panty and bra, but we're going to be late if we don't get moving.”

“I know, I'm just about to get dressed. Five minutes, I promise.”

“You okay?”

“I'm fine,” she answered as she grabbed her jeans from where she'd laid them out on the bed. “Just a little tired, I guess. I slept shitty last night.”

“I noticed,” he replied. “You sure that there's nothing on your mind?”

“I'm worried about Jillian,” she said, and that truthfully was part of it. Claire was the other part. Drea had been keeping track of the passing months; the woman should be giving birth any day. With the way that the prison system worked, Monroe wouldn't know of the birth until twenty-four hours after it happened, when Claire was released from the hospital. Once they got that call, they'd have a baby.

“You sure it's just that?”

“I just said so, didn't I?”

“You're a shitty liar, hon. What's going on in that head of yours?” He leaned against the wall, stared her down. “Is this about the baby? Are you freaking out?”

It was unnerving how often it seemed like he was able to pluck thoughts right out of her head. Drea busied herself putting on her jeans. “I'm not having second thoughts or anything. It's just that... this is getting real. Remember how epically bad I was when I watched the twins?”

“You were not epically bad. The kids both survived, right? No lasting damage?”

“Not that I know of.” Drea reached for the camisole she'd wear underneath her sweater and slid it on. “I was so overwhelmed.”

“There were two of them, Drea. You were outnumbered. This is going to be one baby. We'll outnumber it. And we'll figure it out. Remember, that's kind of our thing.”

“I know. I just don't want to fuck it up. What if I.... what if I can't do it? What if I'm not enough?” Panic unfurled inside of Drea, sending her mind in a thousand directions, each more fucked-up than the last. “What if I can't love a kid? I've never even had pets.”

Monroe stopped just in front of her, reached up to cup her face with his hand. “You can love a kid, hon. You've got the best heart. Look at everything you risked to keep Sarah and her kids safe. You already love kids, they're just not yours. All you've got to do is try and you'll see. Now, put on your shirt and let's get going. I don't want to be the last ones there.”

<#<#<#<#

It turned out that Jillian and Ace were the last ones to arrive, coming in the door nearly an hour after she and Monroe had arrived at Buster and Caroline's. Neither of them looked happy. Ace walked right over to the drinks, grabbed a beer and downed it in two long swallows while Jillian went straight out the back door.

“She's grabbing a smoke,” he explained. “She just needs a minute.”

Drea figured that she could use more than a minute, but she kept the thought to herself and went to find another glass of wine. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Caroline said as she came over. “I didn't think that this would upset Jillian so much.”

“She just needs a minute.” Drea echoed Ace's words. “Do you need some help getting the food out?”

“You're sweet to offer, but I've got it covered. I'm going to drop the appetizers down first, try not to lose a finger,” Caroline cautioned. “Actually, can you grab the other bottle of wine from the kitchen? I think that we'll need it.”

Jillian came back in just as everyone was descending on the appetizers. Drea caught her eyes and smiled. Jillian smiled back in return, but it didn't meet her eyes. If she had wanted the least possible attention paid to her return, she'd picked the right time. Once food was involved, this crowd got very focused on it.

The appetizers were demolished in no time at all. Caroline followed up with dinner, a feast of Ace's favorites, served buffet style. Drea's stomach growled in anticipation as she grabbed a plate. There were more choices than she could fit on one plate: steak with peppers and onions, meatloaf, creamy mashed potatoes and rice with chunks of bacon in it, along with roasted chicken and vegetables. Experience told her to grab what she wanted because with this crowd, it might be gone if she waited for a second trip.

“I saved us seats at the table,” Monroe said as he came up behind her. “I'll be right over once I grab my plate, unless you want to give me that one.”

“I love you, but this one is mine,” Drea replied. She ignored the playful pout that crossed Monroe's face. “I will be nice enough to grab you a beer on my way, though. Oh, get some of the dinner rolls, I didn't see those.”

“Dinner rolls?” Caesar called out from where he was already at the table. “I didn't see those either. Grab me like three.”

Drea laughed as Monroe grumbled, but she knew that he'd bring Caesar the rolls. Just like Caesar would bring him something if he asked. She'd often heard people say they'd do anything for their friends or family, but the men of Nightshade embodied that. It warmed her heart to see Monroe interact with his brothers. The kinship didn't just exist among the men; the women and children were equally bonded.

She'd been reluctant to come tonight; her mind had been bogged down by fear and worry. All the bad things that she'd thought earlier were still somewhere in her head, mercifully silenced as she realized that Monroe was right. One way or another, they'd come out the other side of this stronger than before. They had already created a family, one that they could now rely on if they needed it.

<#<#<#<#

Drea resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Mary Sunshine whined on and on about how it was totally not her fault her random STD test had turned up positive. She'd rattled off a thousand extremely impossible ways that the test could have been wrong.

“Enough.” Drea held up her hand. If Mary wasn't a repeat offender, she might have believed one of the reasons or been inclined to offer some slack in the punishment. After all, people were only human. Unfortunately for Mary, this was the third time that she'd failed the test she'd known to expect. “You can't say that I haven't given you chances. You know that now I've got to shut down production. Everyone gets to sit on their ass while the entire roster is tested and treated if necessary. That's everyone losing time and money because you couldn't take two seconds to make sure whoever he was wore a condom!”

She would have continued to chew Mary out, but the office door opened. “Sorry to interrupt.” Casey cleared her throat. “Drea, there's someone from the hospital on the phone for you. Line one.”

Drea grabbed the phone, picked up the line with her heart already in her throat. Why was someone from the hospital calling her? Had Monroe been hurt? If so, why hadn't anyone from Nightshade reached out to her? “Drea Monroe,” she answered the line. “How can I help you?”

“Mrs. Monroe, my name is Emma Proctor. I'm a social worker with Detroit Medical, calling regarding Baby Monroe.”

“Oh, okay. One moment please,” Drea said, she covered the mouthpiece of the phone and turned her attention to Mary. “We're done here. You're done at GP, in case that wasn't clear. Now, get the fuck out.” She exhaled a deep breath, uncovered the mouthpiece. “Sorry about that. How can I help you?”

“Our records indicate that you and your husband intend to take the child home upon release from the hospital. Is that still correct?”

“Yes,” Drea answered.

“The discharge papers are already in order, you can come any time. You are required to have a car seat to take the child home. Do you need to borrow one?”

“No, we've got one.” Drea felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. It was exceedingly hard to speak. “He's already being discharged? When was he born?”

“Actually, the child is a she. She was born last night.”

“We'll be there soon, within the hour.” Drea got to her feet, grabbed her bag and phone.

“Have reception page me when you arrive, I'll come down and walk you through the process. Please be sure to also bring a government or state-issued photo identification.”

“We will. Thank you.” Drea ended the call, looked over at Casey, who had lingered in the doorway. “I've got to go. I need to call Monroe.” She fumbled her password twice as she tried to unlock her phone. Finally she got it to work and dialed his number. He answered on the first ring. “Hey, where are you?” He named a job site only a few blocks from GP. “Stay there. I'm on my way. We need to go to the hospital, Monroe. The baby is here.”

“What? Wait, how do you know?”

“The social worker lady called me a few minutes ago. I'm leaving GP now and hanging up. I can't talk and drive.” Drea wasn't sure she could drive and drive. “I'll be there in a minute. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he replied.

Drea slid her phone back in her bag. “Casey, you just handle things here, okay? Please?”

“I've got it covered. Don't worry about me. It's not the first time I've held down the fort by myself,” Casey assured her. Jillian, though she'd said she wanted to work, hadn't shown up and she hadn't answered her phone. Monroe had said she was home, hadn't left the house since she and Ace had gone home the night before.

“Do me a favor? Find a reason to call Jillian, just to make sure that she's okay.” Drea checked her bag for her keys.

“I'm on it. Now go!”

Drea made it to Monroe's work site in mere minutes. She saw him at the curb when she turned onto the block. He got in the car quickly, not even saying a word about the fact that she was driving. “Did they say if he's okay? I've been thinking about the name, and I want to call him Anthony, after your uncle.”

“I don't think that's going to work. The woman who called said that the baby is actually a girl. I guess Claire lied. She probably figured that you wanted a son more than a daughter.”

“That's not true. Either way, I just want the baby to be okay.”

“I'd assume that she is, otherwise they wouldn't be releasing her,” Drea told him. “Oh shit, we need to stop at the house. We need the car seat or they won't release her to us. Do you have your ID? We need ID.”

“Drea, start breathing or pull over so that I can drive,” he said. She started to protest that she was fine, but instead, she pulled over to the side of the road and got back in the car on the passenger side.

Time seemed to blur then, to slow. It took forever to get the car seat from the garage and install it in the back. By the time that they got to the hospital, only about a half hour had passed from the phone call she'd received from the social worker, but it felt like a million years.

She didn't realize that she'd dug her nails into her palms as they'd driven until they were talking to the woman at the reception desk. The social worker came down quickly. She was a young redhead probably fresh out of college. “I'm Emma Proctor. Please, call me Emma. I've got to say, I'm surprised that you got here so quickly,” she said. “I'll take you right up to her. I've got all of the paperwork right here. Have you picked out a name yet?”

“We were thinking of names for boys,” Monroe explained. “Is she okay? Healthy?”

“She is.” Emma consulted the tablet in her hands. “According to her chart, she was born at sixteen inches, six pounds and three ounces and is perfectly healthy.” They took an elevator to the third floor, past a security guard. “The hospital provides you with a few things, enough to get you through until you can get to the store.”

“Her room is all set up,” Drea said. “We're ready for her.” The confidence with which she spoke surprised her.

“I'm glad to hear it. I called ahead to let the nurse know we were coming. Once we're through with the papers, I'm sure she'll be all ready to go home. My office is right over here, you can get started looking the papers over.”

Drea let Monroe take the lead. He came across completely composed, but she knew that he was hiding what he was feeling. She'd guess that he was anxious to see his daughter. He already loved that little girl, sight unseen, because that was the kind of man he was. Her man.

After pointing out where he should sign, Emma Proctor left the room to go and check the progress of getting the child ready. It was weird to think of her as the child, or the baby. They really needed to figure out something to call her. “Have you thought of a name?” she asked Monroe as he laid the pen down on the desk.