Woman on the Edge(61)

“Of course,” he replied. “That’s actually wise. A lot of people forget to do that when they have children, and it’s important to make a plan for the worst-case scenario, all the while hoping that it’ll never happen.”

“Yes, exactly,” she replied. “If I have everything in order, then I can rest knowing that whatever happens, Quinn will be safe.”

“She’s a very cute baby,” Rick said, smiling at Quinn as she cooed in Nicole’s arms. “You mentioned on the phone that you want a new guardian and executor of Quinn’s trust? Are you sure Greg won’t contest that? It’s not like you’re legally separated or divorced,” he said.

She stroked her finger up and down Quinn’s smooth neck. “He walked out because he didn’t want this child. I’m fine with him seeing his daughter, but I don’t want him being her guardian or the executor of her trust.”

Rick arched his heavy brows. “Okay. And your good friend Morgan Kincaid is willing to take this duty on should the need arise?”

Nicole nodded.

Nicole asked Mary, her neighbor, to come over to witness her signing, and Rick agreed to be the second witness. It was over quickly, and Mary went back home. Nicole kept it together long enough for Rick to put the papers back in his briefcase and bid her goodbye.

It was done.

Her chest flared with hot poker jabs, so she downed two pills and had to drag herself to the computer. Her hands shook as she typed, hoping to express what she so desperately wanted Morgan to understand.

Lost and Confused: You deserve a child. You are good and kind. One day soon, you will be a wonderful mother. I know this with all my heart.



She stared at the computer, waiting for a message back. But an hour later, there was still no response. Quinn had fallen asleep, her head on her mother’s shoulder. A soft sigh escaped her daughter’s lips, her warm breath tickling Nicole’s skin.

“I love you, Quinn. More than anything in the world. More than myself,” she whispered. “I love you so much that I have to let you go.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE MORGAN




I’m lying on my side, my face flattened against a hard floor. I move my head, and a sharp pain rips through my skull. I sit up, eyes blurry, and touch the back of my scalp where a bump the size of a walnut has formed. I look at my fingers. Blood.

My eyes adjust to the darkness. I’m inside a house, in a living room, judging by the couch against the far wall and the TV mounted on the opposite side of the room. I hear movement in another room, then a strange whooshing sound and the noise of running feet. I look up just in time to see a redhead fly out the back door of what looks like the kitchen and slam it shut behind her. There’s a clock above the TV. It’s 2:00 a.m.

Where the hell am I? And who just ran out that door?

I’m desperate to get up, but try as I might, my body won’t cooperate. It takes me a second to recognize the acrid smell making my eyes water. Smoke. It’s coming from the kitchen the redhead just fled. And then, through the billowing haze, I see a body facedown on the ground at the bottom of the stairs, not moving. The smoke is getting thicker fast, and I crawl over, too unsteady to be on my feet. It’s a man. I turn his head to see his face.

“Greg!” I say, coughing as the smoke fills my lungs. My eyes burn. He doesn’t stir, and I feel for a pulse at his neck, feel it thud under my fingers. This is Greg’s house. It’s all coming back to me. But if he’s unconscious on the floor, where’s Quinn?

My own pulse races fast, and I try to pull Greg toward me, but he’s too heavy to move. “Quinn! Where’s Quinn?” I shriek, grabbing at my throat, which is closing from the thick smoke.

I hold a hand over my mouth and lower my belly to the floor, suddenly remembering the umpteen fire drills my parents used to run with me as a child. Go low; smoke rises. Flames burst out of the next room. Time is running out. On my stomach, I use my elbows to propel me toward the stairs, so I can get to the second floor. Quinn might be up there.

I hear the pop and crackle of the fire as it eats up everything in its path. The heat makes sweat drip into my eyes until I can barely see. I grab the stair railing and hoist myself to stand, taking the stairs as fast as possible, shouting, “Quinn! Quinn!” I can’t see through the smoke.

“We have to get out!” someone yells. It’s Ben’s voice, calling out to me, but I can’t see him.

“Where’s Quinn?” I scream.

“I don’t know! We have to get out of here!”

An explosion blasts from the kitchen and a beam from above lands right in front of where Greg is on the floor. Flames lick up the walls. I turn back and run down the stairs. With a strength I didn’t know I possess, I pull Greg’s leg hard. Then suddenly, he gets lighter, and I realize Ben has his arms. Together, we struggle through the smoke toward the front of the house. We find the door, open it, and drag Greg onto the grass.

Sirens blare in the distance.

Even outside, where there’s less smoke, I can barely breathe. I look up at Ben, who is keeled over, struggling for air. I don’t stop. I run right back into the house. The second I’m through the door, the flames come so close that I know they will kill me soon. But I can’t leave without Quinn. I can’t let her die. I drop low again and go forward.