Broken (32 page)

“He’s not my—”

“Thank you.” Arena smiled.

Berg shot him an annoyed look, but since he had been the one to secure her an emergency appointment with a family friend who happened to be an ob-gyn, she put up with it. He was trying to be supportive. Fact was, he was all she had right now. No one else was lining up to take responsibility for her . . . or the baby.

He tried to grab her hand and hold it, but she pulled away. She knew he was just trying to be kind, but she had her limits.

The ultrasound dug into her belly on its seek and find mission.

Berg and Arena looked up at the screen, and saw what looked like a jellybean on a string jumping in her stomach.

“Somebody’s got the hiccups.” The technician grinned. “If the baby will stay still long enough, I’ll get some measurements.”

Berg watched the baby bounce up and down as if her uterus was a trampoline. It seemed weird that this was happening inside her and she felt nothing.

Finally, the jellybean seemed to settle down for a nap and the technician took a few quick pictures.

Berg watched the process, a growing fear spreading throughout her chest. The baby had to be the judge’s.

While most of what he had subjected her to that night could not possibly result in a child, he had enjoyed fucking her the more traditional way at the end of their session, when she was broken and bloody and semiconscious—just the way he liked it. He usually used a condom, but she had no idea if he had that night. She hadn’t been in a fit state to care or ask.

“I’m guessing about three months?” Berg asked with trepidation.

Fuck!

If it was his, she knew what she would do. She had to. There was no way she would saddle herself to that sadist by having his spawn.

“No, at least a month more,” the technician said. “Judging by your measurements, you’re in the sixteenth week. Good strong heartbeat.”

Sixteen weeks? That’s not possible.

She had been celibate and deep in recovery four months ago. She hadn’t even thought about slipping back then.

She opened her mouth to ask the woman to check again when it hit her.

There was one night . . .

One perfect night when pent-up passion had two lovers throwing caution to the wind—one single, perfect night with the man she loved. The night she absolutely never allowed herself to think about so she could stay sane while watching Maroney posture around Jay possessively.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. This possibility opened up so many more complications. If it had been the judge, then the decision would’ve been easy. But now?

The woman wiped the wand and put it away. “You’re well overdue for your blood work and first trimester scan,” she said, turning off the monitor. “I’m going to schedule those for you right away, and you can pick up your appointment time and care plan from the front desk on your way out. I’ll leave you two alone. And congratulations!”

Arena reached for Berg’s hand again and grasped it tightly. “How are you?” he asked with concern.

“I have no idea.”

It was the truth—she wasn’t sure how she felt about any of it. Should she tell Jay, or leave him be? Maybe he would want to know? But he was with Maroney now. Maybe she should transfer before she started to show. Could she be a single mother?

She realized, with a jolt, that she was already thinking in the long-term. Like she was actually planning on having the baby.

Motherhood wasn’t something she had ever considered with any seriousness. Not only because she had never had a long-term relationship, but also because . . . well, her life was a mess. She was a sex addict with depression. She was shocked she had even gotten pregnant. She had assumed that she’d been unable to have children. She had never, ever had a pregnancy scare before, despite all her sexual activity. Granted, she had almost always been careful.

But still . . .

Arena was oblivious to her inner tug-of-war. “Berg? Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.” He smiled.

Berg looked over at him. “You realize this baby’s not yours, right?”

Arena shot her a glance that could cut glass. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but I’m not. I do know that biology doesn’t make a daddy.” Arena shifted and awkwardly shoved his hands in his pockets. “And in case my feelings aren’t obvious . . . I-I-I’m in love with you, and I want to make us a family. You, me, and the baby.”

“Arena—”

“Don’t say it. I’m guessing, as no one else showed up here today, whoever the father is isn’t lining up to do his job?”

Berg remained silent.

“We’re doing this,” he said, bobbing his head once firmly.

“And if I told you I wanted to transfer?”

“Then I’m coming, too. In fact, that’s a great idea! Let’s start fresh, away from . . .” He flung his hands up and gestured at nothing, his lipped pressed tight together, but Berg knew exactly to what—or more accurately,
whom
—he was referring.

Jay.

Berg sighed. She had no fucking idea what to do.

Babies need a father, right? But
Arena
?

There was no point in arguing right now. She wouldn’t be able to make a dent in that thick skull. She was willing to bet if there had been a preacher anywhere in the medical facility he would’ve dragged her down the aisle kicking and screaming and married her right then and there.

“Come on,” she said, sitting up and reaching for her clothes. “We’ve got a warrant to get.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I am a woman on a mission.

Nothing can stop me I’m stronger than ever,

I wanna see this through.

I am a woman on a mission.

Whatever it takes I will do what I gotta do.

–Gabriella Cilmi, “On a Mission”

B
erg knocked on the double wooden doors and resisted the urge to either throw up or run away. Or both. Simultaneously.

She heard footsteps on the cold marble inside.

Damn it, he’s home.

“Alicia! Dare I hope that you’ve reconsidered my offer?” he asked, smiling and practically salivating at the idea of moving her in permanently and ensuring her final transformation into an irreparably fucked-up mess.

“No. I’m not here for that. I need a warrant.”

“Oh,” he said, looking disappointed. “Come in, then. I assume this is a spurious circumstance, and I’m your last resort?”

You have no clue
.

“You assume correctly.”

She outlined the Young case and her suspicions about Elizabeth. She was also able to add the profile information that she and Arena had managed to compile thanks to interviews with Elizabeth and Emma Young’s old high school guidance counselor over the past two weeks.

Tracking him via one of the many alumni websites, he had been very reluctant to be drawn into conversation on the sisters, but after considerable pressure, he’d admitted that he had spoken to the girls after seeing consistent bruising on Emma. Once he completed several sessions with both of them, he’d concluded that Elizabeth had a pathological jealousy and deep hatred of her sister. He’d recommended that Elizabeth’s parents have her treated in a psychiatric facility for a severe personality disorder, after which Elizabeth had ripped her clothes and given herself a black eye, and accused him of making a pass at her. She had been fourteen at the time.

He had insisted the allegation was false, but it had dogged him his entire career. Eventually, he had given up, left the education system, and become a private therapist. As far as he was aware, Elizabeth had never been treated for her problems.

The portrait he had painted of Elizabeth was disturbing, to say the least, but while their suspicions, the profile, the doctor’s statement about Emma’s healed wounds, and the counselor’s statement all added up to Elizabeth being disturbed, it wasn’t enough evidence to accuse her of killing her sister or probable cause for a warrant—and the judge knew it.

“This is entirely circumstantial.” He waved the paperwork and shook his head. “If I do this for you, what are you going to do for me?” The judge smirked and cocked his brow. “My room is ready and waiting. No one fills it quite like you, you know. My other visitors break long before you do.”

“I’m not doing that tonight,” Berg replied, not interested in doing anything that might put Jay’s baby at risk. It was a part of him and she loved it. She caressed her stomach covertly with a fingertip and wondered if it would be a boy or a girl.

Amazingly, she had passed her first trimester scans with flying colors. The next fetal scan was in a few weeks, so she still had a little while to decide what she was going to do about Jay . . . and Arena, who was at her place so often he’d practically moved in.

“Then what incentive do I have to give you a warrant without probable cause? A warrant that could potentially damage my reputation and career?”

He spoke so easily, so sure, that Berg knew he had used this particular form of blackmail many times in the past. She had chosen to be there, and most of the time she didn’t care if she lived or died.

But if masochism wasn’t something you voluntarily signed up for . . .

She felt sick wondering how many of her colleagues had ended up screaming for mercy in his room.

She crossed her arms and smiled. “You give me the warrant and I’ll keep your sick little secrets,” Berg replied. “Consider that your fucking incentive.”

He looked momentarily taken aback at her threat before he was able to pull the self-righteous mask back in place. “You have as much to lose as I do. Try again, detective.”

“Please. Don’t kid yourself. I’m only a female detective. You’re a bigwig Chicago judge with an excellent reputation and designs on a seat on the Supreme Court. You have far more to lose than I do, and you know it. Everyone has already heard the rumors that I’m a whore, but what would they say if they knew about your proclivities? The rape. The mere accusation? If I go public with what you did to me, how many more women do you think will come forward to tell their stories?”

He pursed his lips in annoyance. “Fine,” he spat. “I’ll sign it. But you better pray to whatever god it is you worship that you find something incriminating. And I don’t want you darkening my door ever again. Find someone else to exorcise your demons, you slut.”

He signed the paper Berg thrust at him with a flourish, pushed her out of his house, and slammed the door in her face.

Berg and Arena knocked on the door of the three-bedroom Evergreen Park home early the next morning, a swarm of patrol officers behind them ready and waiting.

The house was big—at least twice the size of the cozy family home Elizabeth and Emma had grown up in. And while it was almost perfectly parallel and only three miles west of her parents’ Pullman house, they were worlds apart.

Where the Youngs’ modest family home had been worn but loved, Elizabeth’s new brick house was shiny with fresh renovations—much like the woman herself. The glossy white door and shutters were spotless, the front lawn lush and green with fresh spring growth, and a window box with colorful flowers sat in all its bright glory below the second story double window.

It was an idyllic façade for the monster it housed.

“Detectives!” The monster herself practically squealed as she opened the heavy wooden door. She actually managed to look pleased to see them. “How can I help you?”

She was calm and unruffled in her brand-name-emblazoned workout gear and perfectly tied long, blond ponytail and despite spying the group of uniforms behind them.

Are those hair extensions?

“We have a warrant to search the premises and seize any personal computers and electronic communication devices for analysis,” Berg said and thrust the paper in Elizabeth’s face. “Step aside.”

Elizabeth snatched the warrant, scanned it, and smiled. “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding, but of course, please come in.”

Berg had half expected Elizabeth to dial the lover she was blackmailing, but she made no move to do so, instead stepping back and allowing the team to enter unimpeded. For the first time, Berg felt doubt over her suspicions.