Page 49 of Scarred By Sin

Her smile faded slowly as the weight of everything she’d been carrying settled back into place. Not all at once, but in stages, the way it always did when a tender moment reminded her of what was waiting on the other side of it. Theo must have sensed the shift, because he joined her, leaning back against the counter. The cottage was quiet around them, the kind of tranquility that belonged to a space where one person had lived alone for a very long time, and the absence of that person made the silence feel different from emptiness.

It was as if something had gone missing…and it had.

“Jacob’s preferred victims are women who believe their lives are perfect,” Theo murmured in reassurance. “Not infants.”

Brook needed some distance, so she walked over to the kitchen table and pulled out one of the mismatched chairs. She lowered herself into it carefully, grateful for the support beneath her. She rested her hands on her stomach with her fingers laced together.

“Jacob will come for me, pregnant or not. I’m his endgame.” She stared at her hands for a moment before continuing. “That’s all that matters to him right now. Not the baby, not Graham, not the team. Me. Everything else is just scenery to him.”

She lowered her voice and placed a protective hand over her stomach. She and Theo had indulged in long conversations before. Maybe subconsciously, it was the reason she’d chosen him to accompany her on the walk across the property.

“What frightens me most isn’t Jacob.”

Theo studied her, but he didn’t push.

“It’s genetics.” Brook was angry that the word came out smaller than she’d intended, as though saying it at full volume would give it power. “What if the baby…”

She couldn’t finish.

“Evil isn’t inherited, Brook.”

“You don’t know that.” She met his gaze, not bothering to hide her vulnerability. “I’ve studied it, Theo. The research on genetic predisposition to antisocial behavior, the twin studies, the adoption studies. The science points to one’s environment playing a significant role, and I believe that. But the science also says there’s a hereditary component that we don’t fully understand, and I can’t pretend that doesn’t terrify me.”

Theo parted his lips, but she didn’t want to be placated. There was nothing he could say to change the facts of those studies.

“Graham has been leaving books around the house. Infant development, childhood attachment, the effects of parental trauma. He’s flagged pages with little yellow tabs.” A faint, humorless smile crossed her lips. “But I don’t think he’s even considered the possibility that our child might take after…”

She couldn’t bring herself to say the word uncle. She couldn’t attach that title to Jacob in the context of the life growing inside her. The word itself became instantly contaminated, as though speaking it aloud would create a connection between Jacob and this child that hadn’t even taken his or her first breath, but the fear of it was enough to keep her up at night.

Theo slowly moved from the counter and lowered himself in front of her chair, resting on one knee so that they were at eye level. His single brown eye held hers with a steadiness that had anchored her through worse moments than this one.

“Family isn’t always about blood.”

“Nature versus nurture.” Brook couldn’t contain a wry laugh. “And I’ve already come to a conclusion, Theo. Jacob was born evil. Black, twisted, and rotten. Whatever it is, whatever combination of wiring produced what he became, it was there from the beginning. And if that’s true, then the same combination of genetics that produced him also produced me. And now…”

She pressed her palm more firmly against her stomach.

“Between Uncle Bit,” Theo said, and the shift in his tone was deliberate, pulling her back from the edge she was approaching, “Uncle Arden, Aunt Sylvie, and Uncle Theo…”

He pressed a hand to his own chest and held it there, his voice carrying a conviction that wasn’t performed. Her own chest tightened to the point of pain.

“This child will only know love and support. That’s not a platitude, Brook. That’s a promise. From every single one of us.”

She hated getting emotional. She loathed the way her pregnancy had stripped away the insulation she’d spent decades building around the parts of herself that were soft enough to bruise. She had faced serial killers, testified before congressional committees, and stared down her own brother without flinching. But her best friend kneeling in a dead groundskeeper’s cottage and promising to be an uncle to her unborn child was apparently where her composure drew the line.

The tears came anyway, rising without permission, blurring the edges of Theo’s face until she blinked them back into submission. She managed to nod, because her voice wasn’t ready to cooperate. When it finally returned, she used it to deflect, because that was her wiring.

“I hate being this hormonal.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I bought some gourmet decaf coffee on my way back yesterday. The lady at the shop swore she couldn’t tell the difference.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Brook said as he reached down and helped her to her feet. She stood there, unable to just let the conversation end. “Theo, I⁠—”

“I know.” Theo had spoken those two words the way he said most things that mattered. Simply, without embellishment, and with the quiet certainty of a man who didn’t need her to finish the sentence to understand what it contained. She’d been blessed with his friendship, and she would make sure her child understood just how fortunate he or she was to have those chosen family members by her side. “We have a mansion to measure and a hidden room to find. Let’s get that decaf coffee for you first, shall we?”

22

Sylvie Deering