Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(57)

I flip through them, finding the ones with my picture, until I spot one I like. Then I make up my mind.

Apollo Temple is dead. He bled to death in a hospital in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I'm David McCay now. I slip the papers in my pockets, and fill the bag with the bearer bonds. After I close the boxes and knock on the door, the bank men come back and put it all away, under my supervision.

Dealing with the bonds takes the rest of the day and I spend it on edge, my heart racing as I think about what could happen to me if they decide they were stolen. At the end of it, I use the money to open a new account. I would say in my own name but no, it's just another number.

After a fitful sleep in the hotel fighting my achy leg, I make another trip to the bank. I spend the next day making three trips back and forth, and then the next, and then the next, until I'm sitting in the hotel room with about fifty million dollars worth of stolen goods and a thousand dollars worth of packing supplies. The diamonds and such I'll move myself. The identifiable items, ranging from watches to necklaces to what I'm pretty sure is something that's supposed to go in a girl's belly button.

Tempted to keep that one.

I take every precaution. I'm going to ship from the bank, I'm handling everything with gloves, and I bought everything I'm using from the computer I will type the letters on to the printer to the paper and envelopes with cold hard cash, using every trick I know to avoid being noticed. The damn boxes are heavy, the shipping is going to be expensive, but I don't care.

The diamonds might have come from someone shady. The rest… I don't know if the police will be able to identify the owners of all these things. Hopefully if they can't they'll auction them off and put the money to good use.

On my last day at the bank I ship boxes full of treasure to various police agencies. Interpol, the FBI. I'm tempted to send one to the FDA in Diana's honor but I don't think they'd get the joke. I drain all of my father's accounts and wire the money to a list of charities. The bank employees carry out these requests with all the interest they might show filling out a crossword puzzle. I keep expecting to be jumped by a SWAT team any minute, but I walk out of the bank with a slightly clearer conscience a free man named David.

Everything after that is a blur, a warped mixture of apprehension and impatience. I tap my good foot in the airport as if I could will the plane to pull into the gate faster, hobble down the jetway with my cane with a purpose and settle into my coach seat and try to sleep, but end up giving up after an hour with my eyes closed. By the time I land in Baltimore, I'm exhausted. I feel like I've spent the last twelve hours lying in a cold bath.

From there, a Holiday Inn. I lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

I spend another month doing the same, just to be sure. Each hotel I book is a few miles closer to… I was going to say home but I don't know if it's home yet. I don't know where Diana has gone. Every day I pick another charity, send them some money.

After a quick stop in Philadelphia, I drive to the museum.

The gates are open. I'm taking a risk, here. I shouldn't allow myself to be seen anywhere near this place.

I ring the doorbell twice before Carol answers.

Somehow she does not seem at all surprised to see me.

"Whatever you've been doing, I hope it was important."

"I-"

"Shut up, I don't want to hear your voice. My daughter-"

"Mom? Who-"

Diana descends the stairs, and that shredded hollow feeling in my chest goes away all at once. I'd grown so used to hurting all the time I'd forgotten what it was like not too. She just stares at me as she steps to the bottom of the stairs. I stare back. I left here three months ago.

When I left she wasn't pregnant. She instinctively touches her stomach. She's not huge yet but that belly bump can't be anything else. I squeeze my hands into fists, try to say something but all at once my throat is packed with sand and I can't push any words through it. Her mother sighs deeply and steps out of the way, and I brush past her, into the house. I walk to Diana.

"You son of a bitch," she snaps, and slaps me. Hard. So hard I stumble and almost go down.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry," she cries out, grabbing my arm. "Your leg, I forgot-"

"I'm fine, I-"

"Good," she cuts me off before she hauls off and slaps me again with the other hand, and then once more for good measure. I catch the next one, grasping her wrist.

"I had to-"

"I know," she chokes out.

"You're-"

"Yeah."

"Is it mine-"

She slaps me.

I rub my cheek. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just… I… with you… I'm going to be a…"

"Right," she says, wryly. "Yeah, they're yours. Dad."

I… I feel funny. I feel like I did when I was bleeding out. I have to lean on something. I hear a grunt from Diana's mother when I lean on some old table, pull my hand off and lean on the wall. She's giving me a death stare.

I swallow, hard. "They?"

"Yeah. Congratulations. We're having twins."

"What about… are you still going to college?"

"Next year. I'm talking a year off. Because you got me pregnant."