Page 163 of Death is Familiar

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It took over five minutes to walk the expanse of the Hessinger estate to the office where Jack was holding court. Rochan was propped up atop the fireplace mantle facing the room on Jack’s phone screen, while Jack stood, his face still a mess of fading purples and blues, gripping the back of a wingback chair.

When Todd mentioned Rochan wanted to speak with us, I hadn’t been expecting a video call. Back in my overalls and ‘Have a nice day, bae’ shirt, both freshly laundered, I felt underdressed while Rochan, wearing her cross-over bow tie looking business as usual, tracked me as I crossed into frame. “Delilah, I’m relieved you are alright.”

Alright was certainly a choice, but Rochan had never been one to open up the FBI to liability or risk by admitting the reality of a situation.

I continued across the floor to stand next to Jack, while Todd rounded to take up residence on my other side. “You asked to speak with me, ma’am?”

Rochan thinned her lips. “There is a matter I must discuss with the three of you. It is rather sensitive, so it’s best addressed before you return to D.C.” Sensitive in Rochan-speak meant severe, so I braced myself for bad news. “Nothing that is said here, will leave this room, am I heard?”

Jack and Todd exchanged a look. The stiff postures of the men on either side of me led me to believe they were just as concerned as I was, yet all three of us nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Rochan sighed before lacing her fingers together over her desk. “There are rumors of impropriety. And given the sensitivity of the situation, I wanted to squash them in the bud before the gossip reaches ears that will require an investigation.” Shit. “Given the severe nature of the claims,” Rochan continued, “there is something we need to address. But first, know this, I’m not inclined to return a soon-to-be mother to prison, nor fire one of my agents unless warranted. Nor am I inclined to pursue a full-blown investigation and cause undue hardship on you, Delilah, in your state, and what you’ve survived, but…”

The word hung in the air as we waited for the other shoe to drop.

“…I did want to address the subject of the father.”

And there it was. I wished I was sitting. Or white knuckling the wingback chair like Jack.

I’d been hoping Rochan’s perceived knowledge of Jack’s infertility would have been enough to keep the targets off our back, or raise the question of parentage. But that hope fizzled out as the agents and I schooled our reactions into impassive masks of calm.

Todd shifted closer to my side, but Jack didn’t so much as blink.

Rochan was sharp. She no doubt noticed the subtle shifts in the room, her gaze flickering over the dynamic at play. “If we have a name, it may keep the hounds at bay. It might not stop an escalation or investigation if pushed… but I wanted you to know what you’ll be walking into, and hopefully give us all a chance to get ahead of it.”

What the hell was I supposed to say after a claim like that? No, Rochan, I have no idea what rumors you are talking about, Jack and I definitely didn’t sleep together—that would be an instant declaration of guilt.

“I can ask Delilah in private if this isn’t common knowledge, but everyone in this room will know one way or another.” Rochan drummed her fingers on her desk. “So. The father. Do we have a name, or shall I do some digging of my own?”

Names flashed across my mind. The people I’d been in contact with. The people I could convince to pretend to take on the role and commit to lying to the FBI. It was a short list. A list only made shorter when I considered inherited traits and appearance.

A one-night stand with a nameless stranger was starting to sound like the best option when Todd raised his hand.

“Yes, Galt?”

I was still stewing over options, while Jack nodded to Todd in acknowledgement he was prepared to translate.

Todd turned to me, looked me straight in the fucking eye, as he signed, “I’m the father.”

My senses must have been playing tricks on me because what the actual, fuck?

Rochan blinked. “I’m sure that’s an incorrect interpretation—Galt?”

“Todd,” I warned, my voice shaking, legs trembling.

“The child is mine,” he reconfirmed before snaking his arm around my shoulders to steady me. I had no idea what he was doing, and neither, it seemed, did Jack, who still continued to translate Todd’s words to Rochan.

“You can’t be serious.” The assistant director’s voice echoed from far away. My attention focused solely on Todd who, to erase all doubt, splayed a warm hand over my belly, my bump.

Heat flickered up towards my throat, blood pounded in my ears as I remained still, the feel of his hand laying claim to the swell of my stomach.

“Hess, were you aware?” Oh, Rochan was livid.

Todd ignored this, his focus on me, like I was his whole world, as he rubbed a tender thumb back and forth, back and forth, in a gesture so comforting I wanted nothing more than to curl into his chest and stay there for the foreseeable future.

“No, ma’am.”