Page 38 of Rough Return

“That doesn’t prove anything.” She knew, Grier knew, and Hamilton knew, too.

“No. It doesn’t. But on every shipment over the last two weeks, I went on the runs. Put a tracker in each truck we escorted back. No hits. I don’t know if Sedotal knew about them, but I know Sage knew.” He shook his head. “But they didn’t know I put one in today’s truck. I went to our distributor early today and had him put the tracker in one of the boxes today before Sage and Sedotal got there.”

“Trackers?” His big secret. And a good idea, she had to admit.

His leg kicked out straight as he fumbled in his pocket. He pulled a little piece of electronic equipment and held it up for her. “Yes. One of these.”

Fiona took it. Stared at it as if she had any idea how the damned thing worked. A piece of plastic so tiny she could hold it in her palm and no one would know she had it certainly couldn’t be powerful enough to catch their bastard thief. Of course, it could be something else. Something like a hearing aid maybe or a new-fangled, ultra-small phone charger. She didn’t know enough about technology to fill a pea pod. “Some CIA shit? You a NARC now, too?”

“No. An electronics store and an app on my phone.” He sighed. “Look, Fi. I know I hurt you.” He closed his eyes. “And I know I’ve been a bad husband. But you know me. I’m not a thief, and I gave my word to Max. I promised him I would protect you and this club. I might not be a good man, but I’m true to my word and you know it.” His eyes, darker green with emotion, searched hers.

In spite of everything, she wanted to believe him. But there was too much circumstantial shit against him. Not the least of which was how he’d treated her. Used her. Knocked her up and left her. Although in his defense, he disappeared before he ever knew he knocked her up.

She tossed the little receiver or transponder or tracker or whatever it was back to him. “What do you want me to say, Grier?” She’d thought of the baby, and that was her mistake. She needed to get this over with.

“I want you to say you believe me and that you know I wouldn’t do this. And that you trust me.”

She would have laughed had he not been so serious. “You know what I know about you, Grier? I know that you can fuck like a god. And you can run like a Jamaican Olympian. But I don’t believe you. I don’t know you. And I don’t trust you.” She ignored the wounded puppy look in his eyes.

“I’m innocent and you’re going to let them kill me.”

Another thing she would have to explain to her baby. She swallowed a batch of tears back. “They won’t vote until tomorrow. You can leave tonight. Get a flight back to Belize with Kye. We’ll be fine.” And as if she had no control, or maybe her subconscious wanted him to guess, she laid a hand over her stomach.

“We?” He swallowed hard as a flicker of fear danced in his eyes.

Not how she wanted to tell him. And not a reason she would let him use to stay and die. “The club. Me and the club equals we.” She dropped her hand and ran it along the fabric of the cushion next to her. She found the motion soothing. Plus, it dried her sweaty palm.

“You’re…” He glanced at her stomach again, stared for a second as if trying to see through her skin to what she might be—okay, was absolutely— hiding inside. “Wanting me to go? You’ll lose everything.”

If the club killed him, she lost everything, too. “Maybe. But you’ll still be alive.” And no matter what else happened, that mattered to her.

Grier watched Fiona. Her eyelids fluttered. She cared. “Fi, you can save me, you know. You just have to believe in me.”

“You want me to lie for you?” Disbelief either in him or for what he was asking her to do lowered her voice to a whisper.

It stung, but he deserved it. “Show them the tracker. Sage will verify that much at least.”

“Grier.”

He could have charmed her, used the tone of voice he knew she loved, the one that made her purr. But he wanted her on his side, not counseling him to run again. Not when she was… maybe… probably… pregnant. And he couldn’t really blame her for not telling him. Not when she thought he was the one selling out the club.

God. He’d made so many mistakes. Ruined his chance with Fiona. But he couldn’t run again. Especially if she was pregnant. “Fiona. Do you believe I would’ve lied to Max? That I would betray you all? That I would hurt you like this?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She blinked a few times, quickly, the way she’d done just before she’d cried when she was younger. Oh, God. He didn’t want to see her cry. No way he could take it right now without falling apart in front of her. And he didn’t want that either.

“It matters to me.” He wanted—needed—her to believe in him.

But he’d stay anyway. Even if they wanted to kill him. He wouldn’t make it easy for them, but he wouldn’t be flying to Belize either. Dying was one thing. Running out on his family was another. And like it or not, Fiona and the baby were his family.

She chewed the corner of her lip then soothed the spot with her tongue. “If I tell them I knew about the transmitter trackers”—she waved a hand as if she had the name close enough—“and you turn out to be the guy screwing the club over… I’ll kill you myself if I have to fly to Belize and shoot you on a beach.”

He believed her, and her agreement said she believed him. That was enough for now. About the club anyway.

But he couldn’t leave yet. Not until he knew if she was carrying his baby. He gazed at her. Stared, really. Hard enough she fidgeted—and fuck if he didn’t find that as attractive and elegant as everything else she did.

He only needed to ask the question. She wouldn’t lie. Or maybe she would. Maybe she would find lying to him easier than lying for him.

“I’m pregnant.” She swiped her hands against her sofa—one on the armrest, the other on the cushion next to her. The fabric changed from light to dark and back with each brush of her fingers. “And I know you believe I screwed Tyler, but I didn’t. The baby’s yours.”