Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(84)

“Of babies,” Afton said. She was basically repulsed.

“Yeah,” Kinghorn said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Sure.”

“No,” Max said. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You want me to delete everything?” Afton asked.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Max said.

“No!” Kinghorn cried. “Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.”

Max grabbed the camera from Afton and shoved it roughly into Kinghorn’s hands. “You know what? You can have your stupid camera back. But I’m going to have our tech people watch your website like a hawk. If I find out that you’ve used even one of the shots you took, I swear I will have my guys deliberately burn your site. Then I will personally hunt you down and rip you a new *. You got that?”

“Yeah,” Kinghorn said, cradling his camera. “You’re a tough guy. I got that.”

“Now get out of here.”

A cagey look spread across Kinghorn’s face. “You know, if you had a couple of minutes, we could do a quick interview. You’re clearly part of the Darden investigation, so maybe you could give me your perspective on it. That’d make a great article. My readers would love it.”

“Get out,” Max said. “Get out.”





36


SHAKE stretched out her legs and very gingerly pulled the white chenille coverlet up to her chin. She’d been shocked to wake up and find that she was back home, lying in the double bed she shared with Ronnie. It had seemed too much like a fuzzy, weird dream. But when she opened her eyes again and the cobwebs cleared, it was indeed where she was. Tucked in bed, propped up on a bunch of pillows like some kind of cripple or sick person. She guessed that Ronnie must have driven them all home early this morning and then carried her upstairs.

Was it only last night that she’d gone into labor? Was this Friday night? Shake guessed that it was. But it felt like an eternity had passed. Hell, her labor and the unrelenting pain had stretched on like all of eternity. Everyone said that once it was over, you’d forget all about the pain. But she could recall every single torturous moment. The sweating, the muscle cramps, the torment of her body heaving and fighting to push that baby out. And just when she’d hit her breaking point, just when she’d thought she couldn’t endure another second, a miracle had happened. Her baby had slipped out and the pain had slowly receded.

Not all the pain had gone away, of course. She still felt like she’d been run over by a two-ton truck. And she still felt cramping in her back muscles and a dull ache in her gut. But it was a different kind of pain now. A pain that said, You’ve been through the worst, girl, and you’ve finally had your baby. Now you’re going to slowly get better.

Her baby. Shake turned her head to look at her baby. Ronnie had miraculously produced an old wooden crib and Marjorie had found a tiny baby mattress and some sheets and blankets. Now her baby—goodness, she was going to have to figure out a name for this sweet little girl—was lying there asleep. Looking pink and perfect with tiny little eyelashes that brushed her chubby cheeks just like the softest snowflakes. Just like a tiny angel.

As Shake had been lying there, sipping water through a straw, she’d been rethinking things, trying to explore where her emotions were taking her. And she was pretty sure that maybe she’d experienced a change of heart. For one thing, she’d decided that she definitely did have feelings for her little baby. In fact, she might actually love her.

That realization had been shocking. Had come tumbling at her pretty much out of the blue and freaked her out. Humbled her even. But over the last couple of hours, she’d begun to embrace these new and conflicting emotions. And Shake had decided that she might have to formulate a whole new plan for her life.

Like dancing in Florida maybe wasn’t such a great idea after all?

No. Not with a baby to take care of.

If she could get herself to a bigger city, maybe a place like Chicago, there would be a lot more opportunities. Then she could get herself a decent job, maybe as a waitress or even some type of office worker. She could almost picture herself, dressed in a nice skirt and sweater, taking notes, filing pieces of paper, maybe even sitting in a meeting. If she made enough money, she could even afford a little apartment.

It would be a struggle, of course, just the two of them. And she’d have to find some kind of babysitter for the days on which she worked. But it was a germ of an idea that had taken hold deep inside her heart. An idea that suddenly felt very right.

“Knock, knock,” came Ronnie’s voice. He was standing outside her door holding a tray. “I brought you some food.” He came in and set the tray on the nightstand. “You hungry?”

Shake looked at the fried egg and toast and her stomach lurched. She shook her head. “Not really.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” She rubbed her belly. “Really sore.” She looked out the window and saw that it was dark. “What time is it?”

“Mmn . . . about seven o’clock.”

“What do you think?” Shake asked him. She needed to feel him out, needed to give him a chance.

Ronnie cocked his head. “About what?” He was looking thoughtful, more so than Shake had ever seen him look before.