SIX

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The paper sheet crinkled when Virginia leaned back against the wall next to the examination table. After four weeks of on-again-off-again nausea, she'd finally given in and made an appointment with her doctor. Throughout the examination, the guy had babbled on and on about some weird flu bug going around. Then there had been the tests, which in her opinion could have used some redesigning. After the somewhat messy task of peeing into the tiniest of cups being followed up by a giant cue tip being shoved to the back of her throat, all she could do now was sit and wait.

Hopefully, he'd be able to give her something for the queasiness.

There was a quick knock. The door opened and Doctor Phillips reappeared, laptop in hand. Something was wrong. He was way too quiet.

He sat down on his stool and rolled it all the way over to her before announcing, "You're pregnant."

The room seemed to shrink around her, a rush of heat throwing off her stability and blurring her vision. Good thing she was sitting down. Giving it some thought, she realized it had been a while since her last period. "No," she whispered.

"I take it this is not good news."

"I used protection"—she paused, thinking about the few times they hadn't—"most of the time."

"I'm afraid if it's not used all the time, it does raise the chances of pregnancy." His finger drifted over the laptop's touchpad as he studied the screen. "It says here it's been five years since you were fitted for your diaphragm. Is that what you were using?"

"Yes . . . mostly."

"You should be replacing it every two."

"Well, it wasn't used much in the first four and a half." She chuckled, surprised by how it sounded on the fringes of insanity.

The doctor didn't seem to notice. Or get the joke. "The latex still deteriorates," he said, peering over the top of his glasses. Her face must have registered the panic she was feeling, causing him to reach out and pat her arm. "There are options out there, you know."

"Thanks, Doctor." She tried not to take the whole roll of paper with her as she butt-shuffled her way off the table. She stood, taking a moment to make sure her legs were steady enough to get her out of there. "I'll be in touch." With that, she walked out.

She knew exactly when it had happened—his birthday—the afternoon she had surprised him in his bedroom, wearing the gift she had bought for him. He had arrived before she had put in her diaphragm. They'd been too caught up in each other to care.

Once in her car, she reached for her cell, going straight to the calendar and . . . yup, it had been right in the middle of her cycle.

What was she going to do?

Wanting to give herself some time for the news to sink in before making any major decisions, she refused to let her imagination go anywhere near picturing a baby for the moment.

"Happy birthday, Mark," she gritted before starting the car and driving away from the medical center.

)l(

Gerry hesitated with his fist in the air, knuckles just inches from the wood, his cap held tight in his other hand. The door was half-open, giving him a direct line of sight across the room to the broad back of the man he had come to see. Mr. Spinelli's dark head was angled down, his hands shifting things around, searching for something in the open filing cabinet in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, Gerry knocked.

"Yes, Lisa?"

"It's not Lisa—"

The man twisted at the waist to give himself a view to the doorway.

Gerry swallowed hard before finishing with, "Sir." He looked over at the desk to the right of him. Clean surface. Computer turned off. Chair pushed in. "I, ah . . . I think she might be gone for the day."

His hand squeezed down harder on the hat. Mr. Spinelli was not someone you interrupted, even after hours. Not unless you had something damned important to say. "Could I have a word with you, sir?"

The drawer was given a hard push. It creaked its way along and closed with a dull thud. "Come in."

Gerry glanced over his shoulder before ducking into the office and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Mr. Spinelli raised a brow. "That serious, is it?"

"You said to come to you if I had a problem."

"There's a problem?"

"I know I'm not supposed to be repeatin' what I hear while drivin' . . ."

"That's a good rule to live by."

Live being the operative word. Gerry wasn't stupid. Growing up in a neighborhood where so-called friends ratted each other out to score another hit, he trusted very few people. But for some reason, he trusted the man in front of him—especially when it came to her. "It's about Lieutenant Robins, sir."

Mr. Spinelli's eyes narrowed, his mouth forming a grim line. Gerry fought the urge to step back as the man moved closer. He stopped only a few feet away and crossed his arms. "Go on."

"I, ah . . ." He twisted the hat with both hands. "I wasn't spyin' or nothin', but I heard Mr. Chilvati talkin' to Mr. Chilvati, the younger, on the phone and her name got mentioned. They seemed to be arguin' . . . about a price."

The face in front of him hardened.

Sensing the man's impatience, Gerry continued, "Then senior Mr. Chilvati got kinda quiet. I think he noticed me check the rearview 'cause next thing I knew, he was closin' the partition. Last bit I heard was him sayin' to leave his other son out of it and that Mr. Chilvati, Jr. was just actin' out of spite, somethin' he didn't con . . ." Bringing his hand up, he knocked his hat against his forehead, trying to remember the word. He thought he had done a good job at memorizing what had been said.

"Condone?"

Gerry pointed a finger in the air. "Yes, sir, that's it." Then he frowned. "But I don't get it. Does Mr. Chilvati have another son?"

Mr. Spinelli inhaled deeply, the big chest expanding even wider as a hand came up to push through his hair. In a quiet voice he answered, "No."

Gerry shrugged. "I guess he was talkin' about you, then."

The man nodded absently before heading over to his desk where the biggest computer screen Gerry had ever seen took up most of the surface.

"Here"—he walked back, his hand outstretched, a business card held between his thumb and finger—"my personal number is on there. Give me a call if you hear anything else."

"I will, sir," he said, taking what was offered and turning to leave.

"Gerry?"

He turned back.

"You took quite a chance coming to me with this."

Gerry stared up at the man who could have him fired in the blink of an eye. Shit, who was he kidding? The man could have him floating face-down in the Pacific in the blink of an eye. The hat was going to need some major repair work, but he ignored the nerves, straightened his spine, and lifted his chin. "I would do anythin' for Lieutenant Robins."

"I see," he said, pulling out his cell. The smile was a surprise. "Thank you."

Gerry had no idea what the relationship was between Mr. Spinelli and the lieutenant. And he didn't want to know—he kept his nose out of other people's business. But as he walked out of the office and headed for the elevator, he overheard the man saying, "Captain Beal please. Tell him it's Mark Spinelli calling about. . ." The deep voice faded with distance.

Gerry pictured Mr. Chilvati's face and a chill ran down his spine. Something bad was about to happen, and he was determined to help the lieutenant any way he could. Coming here had been his first step. Joining the fight would be his next.

END OF CHAPTER SIX

I know, I know, some of you had predicted this. I read the comments ;) So, what do you think? Is this a blessing or a major complication?

And thank goodness for Gerry, am I right? I think he deserves a little star ;)


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