Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty

"You have to go. We could be seen here."

"I don't care," he says stubbornly, pulling me in again. My mouth smiles against his as he bestows kiss upon kiss to my mouth, reinvigorating the nerves. And when his tongue slips between them—delicate and sweet—I lose myself, moaning louder than I should. He pulls back, sighing.

"Look, I've made arrangements with Norman. He and I are going out for dinner."

Dinner? I frown, confused. "What? You? You're going to dinner with Norman? Alone?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"There are a few reasons. We both have quite a bit to discuss."

"You're making me nervous."

He smiles, softly and changes the subject. "You look beautiful, even with a red nose."

"I look like Rudolf," I mumble, not believing him for a second. His smile transforms into a grin within seconds.

"But a cute Rudolf."

I clasp onto his custom made suit, admiring the softness to the material. "Anything new?"

"My mother's out of rehab. She's doing better."

"That's amazing."

He nods, and I can't think about anything but the intoxicating scent of his body wash and aftershave, because I have vivid memories latched onto the smells.

"Valentina's in mourning because she thinks you and I aren't together anymore. Maria—god, don't even get me started on the phone call I got from her."

I grin, because I love her and her insufferable persistence. "I bet that was great."

"An hour of hearing how much of an idiot I am. You made quite an impression, too good, really."

A person walks by texting on their phone and we both freeze, coming back to the reality that we're cozied in a secluded, but still very visible hallway at my job. He leans in, kissing me deeply. Our eyes reopen slowly, inches away from one another.

"The cabin—Thursday?"

I nod, urging him away with a smile. He takes hold of my hand, and brings it to his mouth before turning the corner, headed back towards the conference room. I remain pressed up against the wall, knowing the possibility of re-gathering myself is pretty moot at this point.

...

Doctor Santos enters the room, smiling softly to me. I sit up straighter on the seat, bag in hand.

"Is it the flu?"

She shakes her head. "No. Thankfully, it's a simple cold. It's just lasting a little longer than normal. I've proscribed some anti-biotics to help fight it off quicker."

She tears off the paper from the prescription pad and hands me the form. I take it, standing up. "Great. I have a big fundraising event in a few days that I have to be ready for."

Not to mention—a date in Cold Springs I am very eager to be in top shape for. It's been weeks since we've been alone and even the thought of Giovanni's bare skin has the power to drive me to senselessness at the moment.

"What do I always tell my patients?" I look at her, stubbornly but she continues. "You'll never get better if you don't take the time to let your body heal."

I chuckle softly to myself.

"Right now, Doctor, I really don't have that luxury."

...

"Just wait a moment here. I'll get your prescriptions." The pharmacist disappears into the back of the shop, moving slower than a snail, refusing to pick up on my desire to get out of here quickly. I reach for a tabloid magazine, flipping through the pages mindlessly.

"That stuff will fry your brain."

I freeze at the sound of his voice. I hear the heavy belt on his uniform, his handcuffs and weapons weighing him down and catch him lean against the counter, directly beside me. Very slowly, I turn my head to him, heart pounding.

Dixon smiles softly. How the hell did he find me?

"I know a few other things that get that job done. You do too," I utter low, and he immediately chuckles.

"Touché." He looks between me and the magazine. "You're sick?"

"It's none of your damn business."

"Well, clearly you are. I mean, you're pale as a ghost. Maybe it's all the time you've been spending cooped up in Norman's fancy apartment."

"If you decide you want to leave me the hell alone, I'd be happy to be outside again," I growl to myself, looking for the pharmacist.

"That would take away the pleasure I experience, knowing you aren't happy. Knowing you're miserable, like I am."

Fuck the meds. I spin around and begin to walk in long, hurried strides towards the front of the store. He's right behind me in seconds, preying upon my fear.

"I've done what you asked. I left him. So, leave me the fuck alone," I breathe through my teeth, pulling my arm from his grasp. The second I make it out of the aisle and to the very crowded cash registers, he falls back a step, but still follows me out.

I run to the car waiting, and my driver steps out, to intervene, knowing who to look out for. I quickly tell him to get back in and drive. As I slam the door, peering out of the tinted window, hearing my phone blare in my bag, Dixon continues to walk, slowly, menacingly towards the car, only smirking to frighten me. He has no intent of fighting his way inside.

He's content knowing he's got me cornered. Knowing he's got me scared. He's content to show me that he knows how to find me, at the drop of a hat. That I'm never safe.

I tear my eyes from him as the driver pulls away from the curb with haste, merging us into the chaotic traffic. I try to recover my breath as I search absentmindedly for my phone with fumbling, useless fingers. I can still see Dixon's crystal clear eyes in my brain, and I know without a doubt they will torture my dreams tonight.

I answer on the last ring.

"Scarlett Bardot."

"Scarlett? Hi, this is Maurine Santos. You just left my office."

My brows seem to be stuck in a furrowed position, so my hand tries to smooth out the tension. "Oh, hi. Did I forget something?"

"No, no. You didn't. Your urine sample results were just placed into my hands... And, um, I think I'm going to have to shock you now."

Shock me? My head shakes in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it turns out your visit came at an ample time." She chuckles at her own humor, while I hang on her words, ice-cold terror drifting through my veins.

"This test reads that you are pregnant, Ms. Bardot."

My world stops.

Oh my god.