Kelley Armstrong - Otherworld Chills

The next day, Lucas had a breakfast meeting, which was fine, considering I was in no shape to start investigating that early. When Savannah got pregnant, I’d gone into research mode, which meant, ironically, I now knew all the morning sickness treatments she’d never needed. Crackers and chamomile tea still set my stomach lurching, but I managed to do a decent-enough acting job to convince Lucas I was “much better than yesterday,” though he still lingered until Savannah showed up.

The moment he was gone, I was in the bathroom, throwing up those crackers and tea. Clearly, more research was needed. Also, more mouthwash.

I’d talked to Savannah last night about telling Adam. She had, and I’d barely finished conversing with the toilet before he was on the phone, wanting to talk. I got as far as “Later, okay?” before I was back in the bathroom.

It was a fun morning. Eventually, though, my stomach calmed down—or emptied—enough for me to get some work done, which helped distract me. Lucas showed up at ten-thirty with ginger tablets and matzo ball soup and everything else he’d apparently found in his own research.

“How long before she began vomiting?” he asked Savannah.

“I think you were still in the driveway.”

He turned to me. “I’ve rescheduled my morning tomorrow. I don’t like you going through that alone.”

“Um, hello?” Savannah said.

“I appreciate you coming over, Savannah, but bedside manner is not your strong suit.”

“It’s toilet-side manner that counts here, and mine is just fine.” She looked at me. “Would you rather have Lucas standing behind you, freaking out because he can’t help? Or have me chilling in the living room while he gets some work done at the office?”

“Option B.” I looked at Lucas. “Sorry, but she’s right. Work tomorrow morning and then join me once I’m feeling well enough to continue investigating the case of ‘who got Paige knocked up.’”

“That’s a mystery that doesn’t need solving,” Savannah said. “With most people, I’d say it’s ninety-nine-percent obvious who’s the culprit. With you, I’ll go all out and say there is absolutely no doubt.” She pointed at Lucas. “Him.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I’m not sure how much of a mystery that one is, either. Benicio’s fingerprints are all over this. The biggest question will be what we do about it. I know he didn’t think through the implications, but causing you to get pregnant against your will?”

“It’s unforgivable,” Lucas said.

Savannah and I exchanged a look. If it was unforgivable, what did that mean for all of us?

“This is why we’re investigating,” I said. “To definitively answer the question, rather than pointing fingers. I think I’m ready to tackle that soup. Then we’ll get to work.”

Our first stop was Dr. Mendez. Lucas questioned her. In Miami, it was his name that carried weight, even among supernaturals who avoided contact with the Cabal. Or especially among those avoiding contact.

According to Dr. Mendez, my implant was the correct device, but completely empty, without even a trace of chemicals. She had reconfirmed there were no other reports of problems.

Lucas said, “I’m going to need to ask for a full accounting of your supply and storage procedures, as well as access to the facilities and employees who, in turn, have access to these devices.”

“If you’re planning to sue the manufacturer—”

“I have no interest in suing anyone. If it is indeed a manufacturer defect, they will answer for that. However, I strongly suspect it was not.”

“You think someone tampered with the implants?”

“I think someone tampered with Paige’s.”

She hesitated. “That seems …”

“Unlikely? You know who I am. You cannot be unaware of the succession drama. Carlos has married. His wife is pregnant. Paige and I have chosen not to have children. We have been urged—strongly—to reconsider that. Now she is pregnant, the fault lying with a defective device implanted—here in Miami—shortly after my brother announced his wife’s pregnancy.” He met her gaze. “Please tell me I have no reason to suspect sabotage.”

She granted us full access to her facilities and cleared her own schedule to help. That wasn’t surprising. The most obvious suspect was Dr. Mendez herself, colluding to switch the proper device for the faulty one.

We spent the next two hours getting to know far more about the clinic’s supply chain than we ever wanted to. It was tightly regulated, considering the street value of the drugs. The doctor didn’t keep a large supply—she wasn’t a pharmacist—but they were still valuable.

That tight regulation meant no one could slip into the supply closet midday and swap out my birth control. Also, I wasn’t the only patient receiving that type of implant. It was cutting-edge technology and difficult to obtain—which is why I hadn’t used my Portland doctor. After I’d requested it, though, Dr. Mendez had begun using it for two other patients. She’d contacted both yesterday and tested them, and their implants were working fine. That meant mine had been switched. Specifically mine.

By four, we had our culprit: the nurse who’d delivered the implant to Dr. Mendez during my appointment.

When we first confronted her, there were about two minutes of denials, which quickly turned to a teary explanation.

“They promised to get my son transferred to a minimum-security prison. He was supposed to be in minimum-security. It’s his first offense. But overcrowding and …” Her hands fluttered. “He’s young. Naive. Small for his age. That prison …” She shuddered. “He’s not a bad boy, but that prison was going to make him one. And now he’s where he should be, and I don’t regret what I did to get him there.” She looked at me. “When you have your baby, you’ll understand.”

“No,” I said. “I already have a child. I’d jump in front of a speeding bus to protect her, but I’d never push anyone else in front of it.”

Her lips tightened. “You say you do not want a baby. That makes you the selfish one.”

Lucas looked ready to lose his temper again. I gave him a look and instead he asked, “Have you told your contact that Paige is pregnant?”

“No, I only learned it when you came in today.”

“Who is your contact?” I asked.

“I was approached by two men from the Cabal. They work for him. Directly for him. He asked them to do this, and he got my boy transferred.”

“And he is?”

Her look said the answer should be obvious. And it was. I just needed to hear her say it. After a moment, she did.

“Mr. Cortez. Benicio Cortez.”

We couldn’t go to Benicio and accuse him yet. We needed hard evidence.

The next step was tracking down the two men who’d hired the nurse. She’d provided names and we knew both of them—executives with the kind of vague job titles that tell everyone not to ask what exactly they do. Problem solvers. Fixers. Both of whom reported directly to Benicio.

Lucas knew one of the two fixers—Heath Denby—very well. As kids, neither boy had been particularly enamored of Cabal life, slipping off together when they found themselves at the same function. As for the other man—John Pearce—I was the one who knew him better, having quietly interceded in a family matter that could have cost him his job. So Lucas met up with Savannah to track Denby while Adam and I went after Pearce.

We tracked Pearce to a gym after his shift ended. While Cabal headquarters had state-of-the-art facilities, Pearce was recovering from a back injury and apparently not keen to let his colleagues see that he wasn’t in perfect shape yet.