Page 144 of Ruthless Claim

I whirl around.

He looks at me with pleading blue eyes, silently begging me to talk to him. I almost crack, but behind him Claire watches us from across the waiting room with Finn’s hand in hers.

My face (and heart) harden.

“Leave me alone,” I order, yanking my arm today. “Call Emma when the results come in. But do not contact me under any circumstances.”

I spin on my heel and leave, unable to see the devastation that’s probably all over his face.

I push through the door and I walk out into the New York air. I gasp and inhale and exhale for a beat, trying to push down my emotions.

My phone buzzes. A text from Emma: I see you. Coming now.

A black Range Rover pulls up and Emma’s driver hops out to open the back passenger door.

Emma sits in the leather seats and she winces when she takes a look at my face as I get in.

“That bad?” she asks, handing me a granola bar and a bottle of water.

"Worse," I murmur, untwisting the cap and taking a sip, ignoring the granola bar. My stomach is too queasy to eat.

The car pulls away from the curb and I watch the clinic disappear behind us, leaving Cillian behind with Claire and Finn.

“Tell me everything,” Emma says.

So I do. I tell her about the awkwardness and the comments from Claire.

By the time I finish my story, Emma’s eyebrows have disappeared into her bangs. She chews on her bottom lip and fiddles with her wedding rings.

“Do you think she’s running a con?” She finally blurts out.

Instead of dismissing that thought, I think about Claire in the waiting room. The satisfied nod when the technician confirmed the test’s accuracy.

“I think something is wrong with this whole story,” I muse, running my hands on the seat next to me, trying to gather my thoughts. “The timing of it—she shows up exactly when Cillian and I were—” I swallow heavily, “—when things were actually real between us. Her story is too practiced. She showed up at the apartment while he was out, not when he was home.”

I look at my hands. “Every move she’s made has been calculated to cause maximum damage to this marriage and she has been doing it with a smile on her face and I cannot prove any of it.”

“We could look into her,” Emma says urgently. “I could have Dante hire someone and find out who she actually is.”

God, is that tempting. What I wouldn’t do to dig up dirt on that little bitch and expose her. But I shake my head. “If Finn is Cillian’s, it doesn’t matter what she is. The biology doesn’t change.” I look out the window and the city going past. “And if he’s not⁠—”

I stop.

Emma waits.

“If he’s not,” I say carefully, “then someone went to a very great deal of trouble to make it look like he is.”

The car is quiet for a moment. I can see the wheels spinning in Emma’s head as she thinks through the implications. “The test will tell us,” she says finally.

“The test will tell us,” I agree.

I press my hand flat on the window glass and watch the city go by and I think about how long three to five business days will actually be.

I think about Finn’s face in that waiting room, looking at Cillian with those serious brown eyes. About Claire’s smile when the technician described the science as very reliable.

Three to five days.

God help me.