Untamed (A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance)(91)

I would remember the times I would catch her staring off into the distance, lost in her intelligent mind, cogs whirring as she considered… well, I never knew what she was considering, but it was as if she was taking care of the universe itself.

But nobody is meant to be alone. Some like it, but they are self-destructive. Dee needs me. And God damn it I’m going to find her. She’s not going to be a struggling single mother without a man. Our child is not going to grow up without a father.

She will not be alone.

I thump the steering wheel again, grip it so hard my hands hurt. Why haven’t I found her yet? It’s only a matter of time before Glass catches up. He may not be on the scent now like I am, but he’ll get here sooner or later.

He wants that baby. He wants to take my fucking baby.

She stole what’s mine! Glass’ words echo in my head.

I didn’t understand at first. Why would Glass call his daughter’s baby his own? But it all pieced together, like a distant shape in the fog slowly growing sharper as it approached me.

I won’t let him hurt her like that. I won’t let him take what’s not his.

That’s him in a nutshell; he takes what he wants, thinks nothing of the consequences. Hurting his own daughter doesn’t seem to matter to him.

How does a man get like that?

What kind of life does a man have to live to get like that?

I grew up with nothing, nothing but older boys trying to beat on my ass and steal my shit. I grew up with nothing but well-meaning social workers who went home at five. Us boys in the home, and the girls in the system, too, we ceased to exist after office hours.

It was a fucking free-for-all, and still I don’t know how a man ends up like Johnny fucking Marino.

The snaking traffic finally starts to speed up, and I drive toward St. Kilda, into the parking lot of the complex where I’m renting a modest studio apartment.

I couldn’t take much cash with me unless I wanted immigration to look at me funny, and I don’t dare withdraw money from my account back home. No doubt Glass has eyes on that and he’ll trace it. That ruled out setting up other accounts under my name, too.

But it’s not like I need to live luxuriously. I prefer not to, anyway.

I climb the steps two at a time, open my door, and go straight to the corkboard I have mounted on the wall.

There’s a map of Melbourne and surrounding suburbs, towns, and cities. I take a thumbtack and push into the map. Another school scouted, and another time there were no signs of Dee.

She would be a teaching assistant perhaps, or work in a less official capacity, but the timing of that message board post asking about openings in kindergartens, paired with the flight records for a Caroline Sax… it was always her dream to teach and work with kids. This is the only thing I have to go on.

I open the half-sized fridge and pull out a beer, cradle it in my hands on the balcony, watching life carry out on the street below.

That’s seventeen schools I’ve looked into, searched their staff listings, sat outside of watching the faces of teachers.

It doesn’t escape me, the risk I’m taking, staking out schools everyday… all it takes is one well-meaning person to notice me and call the cops, and they’ll take me in, put me under investigation.

But what else can I do?

I feel a swell of anger, kick the railing. The metal rings, shakes, thrums. Why the fuck did she have to just up and run?

Why couldn’t she wait? I would have been at her side. I would have dropped anything… everything then and there to go with her.

She’s carrying my fucking baby and I don’t know where she is. I can’t protect her… I can’t protect our child. I can’t help her, make it easier for her.

My family. The only family I’ve ever had, or will ever have. Of that I’m sure.

She’s got nobody to turn to, nobody who can guide her, no maternal figure in her life to teach her what to expect. And how quickly will she have made friends she can trust here? Who can she rely on here? The comforts of online chat rooms populated by other expectant mothers looking for guidance are always cold and distant, squeezed through fiber optics.

It’s nothing real.

I’ve sat in those chat rooms, too, even messaged a couple of Carolines… no dice.

But Dee’s always been a paranoid person. She learned that from her father. My bet is she doesn’t go online if she can help it. My bet is that if she’s hiding, she’s doing a damn good job of it, has thought of everything. Everything. Dee is too fucking smart to get caught, God damn it!

The thought of what Glass is doing to his own daughter makes my hands shake. Sometimes, I wonder how stupid I’d have to have fucking been to climb into that limousine with him.