Gifted - The 5 Book Paranormal Romance Box Set Page 23

  “Most 'immediate' Gifteds developed their powers very shortly after The Takeover, and have long since been reported to us. Basically, what I'm trying to lead up to saying, here, is that we know that you're newly pregnant, and that you plan to keep your child, based upon what you told your doctor.

  “And we agents don't want to intrude upon your personal business any more than we already have; but we want to make it clear that if you'd like to invite your baby's father to come live in Chicago with you, that's perfectly fine. Commander Grant has no problem at all with latent Gifteds bringing the fathers of their unborn babies along with them."

  First Eloise and now Cynthia. It seemed as if everyone wanted info about my baby's father, when I myself couldn't even give it. Not only did I not know if he'd want to live in Chicago to raise his child with me, I didn't even know his last name.

  I knew that sometime soon, I was going to have to think of some stock response I could give when being asked about my child's father, because somehow I just knew it was going to be coming up again and again. But right then, I couldn't think; my face was hot and I just felt generally uncomfortable and wanted to change the subject. So, I said pretty much word-for-word what I'd told Eloise.

  "The father of my baby won't be coming with me to Chicago."

  With a slant of sunlight illuminating her softly-lined face, Cynthia studied me for just a brief moment before dipping her head in a nod. "Oh. All right. We just wanted to let you know that the option was available."

  "Thank you."

  I went back to looking out the window, and the car fell silent. I thought about Desmond and wondered where he was. For about the hundredth time, I wondered why he'd left before I'd woken up that morning, and without even leaving a note. I knew with certainty that he'd enjoyed our lovemaking just as much as I had, so I knew that couldn't have been it. I knew he hadn't just bolted from my apartment because the experience had been unsatisfying for him. There was no way anyone could have faked carnal enjoyment on the level that he'd displayed.

  This left me wondering if he just hadn't liked me as a person, specifically as a woman he might want a relationship with. It was odd, though, because I'd really thought that we'd begun to connect on a level other than just the physical. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I'd felt some sort of a genuine spark, at least on my end of things.

  Of course, all sparks aside, I realized that maybe Desmond was just the type of man who didn't like to get very involved with any particular woman. Maybe he was the type that liked his love life to be nothing but a series of one-night stands. I just hadn't gotten that feeling about him, though. Not that my gut feelings about men had been always dead-on in the past, though. Lord only knew I'd been wrong about a man a time or two before.

  The only other explanation for Desmond's abrupt departure that I could think of was that maybe during the night, he'd been contacted by one of his shifters and alerted to some emergency involving the Angels. After all, it seemed that he and the other dragon shifters had been on some sort of a flyover surveillance mission when they'd all stopped at the bar for drinks.

  But if that were the case, that Desmond had received a text or call about some emergency, it just seemed like at the very least, he could have taken five seconds to scribble me a note before leaving, which he could have done with pen and scrap paper on my nightstand. After all, he'd taken the time to set my alarm clock for me, which was kind of a head-scratching thing in and of itself. The very fact that he'd done it so that I wouldn't be late to join the bird-watching expedition at the care home indicated that he must have been feeling at least some small shred of caring for me.

  Although, then again, I thought, maybe he'd just set my alarm to assuage a sense of guilt for completely bolting because he felt absolutely nothing for me.

  At first, I'd hoped that Desmond would show up back in town with some sort of explanation that would make perfect sense. But then, when this hadn't happened after a few days, my hope had disappeared.

  Since then, I'd vacillated between anger toward him and something like a sense of pity that he'd never even know about his own child. Mostly, I'd just been trying to forget about him. There was no sense in torturing myself with endless what-ifs, not to mention annoying, brief feelings of longing for Desmond, both on a physical level and an emotional one.

  It was only halfway to Chicago that another what-if occurred to me. I was working incredibly hard not to think about the past, only the future. What if Desmond was married, or had a girlfriend. Dumbstruck, I couldn't believe this hadn't crossed my mind before. I was pretty sure it only had because I'd briefly thought that Cynthia was probably thinking that it was possible my baby's father was a married man.

  It didn't even matter, I told myself, staring out the car window at trees heavy with bright green spring leaves. Enough. I knew I had to leave Desmond, and all thoughts about him, in the past, or else I wasn't going to survive my pregnancy with sanity intact. I just had to stop. I had to resist any more Desmond-related thoughts from entering my mind.

  I did just great on that for about a minute, forcing myself to turn my focus to the scenery while I continued looking out the window. But then, the male agent's voice cut through my thoughts about bright spring leaves and weather.

  "You think he's in Chicago?"

  Immediately thinking of what the agent had just said, as it might relate to Desmond, I sat up a little straighter in my seat, stunned. "What?"

  I knew it was possible Desmond could be in Chicago, though with all the hundreds of different dragon groups scattered around the Midwest, it didn't seem probable, and I had no idea why the agent would be asking me what he just had.

  He glanced up at me in the rear view mirror. "Sorry. Was talking to Cynthia. Just wondering if one of our agent friends might still be in Chicago, or if he's already back in D.C."

  I hadn't even realized the male agent, whose name I still didn't even know, and Cynthia had been having a conversation. Feeling like an absolute idiot, I apologized and sat back in my seat, thinking that pregnancy was really doing a number on my brain. Or maybe it was Desmond who'd done it.

  At the moment, I had other issues to deal with. I was suddenly beginning to feel very carsick, and this, after not having had a touch of any morning sickness at all the entire month.

  By the time we rolled into Chicago, my stomach was really rolling. At the same time, I felt cotton-mouthed and dehydrated, as if I hadn't had a glass of water and orange juice that morning.

  Between sips of bottled water, trying not to drink too much at once so as not to upset my stomach further, I looked out the window at the city that was to become my new home. It had indeed changed, and I saw a lot of buildings that were obviously brand-new, some of them still under construction, with scaffolding going up higher than I could see.

  All this new construction really did give the city a different sort of look, different in the sense that the city wasn't how I remembered it, and different in the sense of giving the city an unusual look.

  Side-by-side with gleaming new skyscrapers of glass and metal stood empty lots still strewn with debris from the buildings that used to be there and were now destroyed. Some buildings that were still standing had been there for decades, some even a hundred years, with signs of damage making them look even older beside the pristine new towers.

  All in all, it seemed the city had made a remarkable recovery and was still continuing to do so. While I continued surveying it, Cynthia explained that the end goal was to have all the former residents who wanted to be able to return, along with new residents that would make the population swell to its former level.

  "Although, first, before the city can return to its former glory, Commander Grant and his Destroyers are going to have to clear the area of Angels and the nasty Angel-dragons fighting for them. It may take years...decades, even...but I'm confident Commander Grant can do it, especially with help from you Gifteds." Frowning, Cynthia paused, studying my face. "Are you all right?"
<
br />   I suddenly wasn't.

  "I think I'm going to be sick."

  The male agent immediately pulled the car out of traffic and into a mercifully-open parking spot adjacent to an alley. The moment the car stopped, I flew out, ran into the alley, and got sick into a metal trash can stuffed with newspapers. Queasiness nearly gone, I felt better right away, but this less-than-auspicious start to my time in Chicago should have given me a sign of things to come.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After my little trip to the alley, I rinsed my mouth with water, spit it out on the curb next to the car, and then closed the door, just wanting to go home, wherever my new home was. Cynthia encouraged me to just close my eyes and rest, and I did, trying to block out the sounds of traffic around us, because nearby honking was giving me a headache.

  I supposed it could have been worse, though. The city streets were definitely congested, but not nearly to the level they'd typically been before The Takeover, when the city had been packed with over two million residents. Honestly, after a minute or so, I could feel the car moving pretty quickly, almost zipping through the city with just brief pauses I assumed were for stoplights.

  Before long, Cynthia quietly said we'd reached our destination. "This is Grant Tower, a new building, where Commander Grant, his top men, and many Gifteds live. It's really a very beautiful building, inside and out."

  I'd opened my eyes and was now peering out the window at the building as we pulled up right beside it. All gleaming steel and glass, which gave the building a faintly bluish hue in the bright sunlight, the building really was beautiful. A wide entrance of steel and dark stone was flanked by two massive stone fountains surrounded by daffodils in enormous slate-gray urns. While I continued looking, Cynthia continued talking.

  "It's ninety stories...full of apartments, shops, and restaurants. There's even a multi-level parking garage beneath the building where you can park your car once the movers bring it. Oh, and by the way, on top of your generous salary as a Gifted, you'll be living here in the tower for free...no small thing, since apartments like the one you'll be living in would normally probably go for seven or eight grand a month in a large city...maybe even more.

  “I've only ever been in one of the apartments while doing a Gifted transport a few months ago, but I know they're all equally luxurious...all marble everywhere, gilded fixtures, sunken bathtubs, and at least three very large bedrooms each. I imagine you and your child will be quite happy and comfortable here. I should also mention there's completely free childcare for all Gifteds. You'll never have to pay a dime."

  I wondered what I'd ever be spending my "generous salary" on. Aside from buying clothes and food, I supposed I'd just save a lot of it. Although I knew I'd be dropping more than a few dollars on things I'd need for the baby.

  A porter grabbed my suitcase from the trunk, and he and all three of the agents led me into the building lobby. With gray marble flooring, high vaulted ceilings, and gargantuan, shoulder-high brass planters filled with exotic ferns, it was just as beautiful as the exterior of the building. Now I was really getting anxious to see my apartment.

  As our group made our way to one of several elevator bays in the lobby, I noticed curious stares from some of the several dozen people entering and exiting the lobby. I figured that as the new Gifted in the building, I might have to get used to curious looks and stares for a little while.

  I just wished that at present, I was wearing something a bit dressier than a pair of old, butter-soft jeans, plain blue cotton top, and a fleece jacket I'd had for at least two years. As a gymnastics coach making a living but not exactly raking in the dough, I'd never been able to afford more than a basic wardrobe full of staples, which included a lot of jeans and t-shirts.

  My apartment was all the way up on the eighty-fifth floor, and during the long elevator ride up, Cynthia explained that this particular apartment had been chosen for me because it was close to the eighty-third floor apartment of a Gifted named Emma.

  "She's a latent Gifted like you, and she's kind of the unofficial 'welcoming committee' for new Gifteds around here. Shows them around, makes introductions, answers questions, all that type of stuff."

  The dark-haired female agent, who'd barely spoke the entire morning, now sniffed a bit in response to what Cynthia had said.

  "I suppose being an unofficial 'welcoming committee' is the least Ms. Whitaker can do, considering that Washington is still paying her full Gifted salary, despite her 'little problem' with carrying out her duties as a Gifted."

  Pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses a bit higher on his nose, the male agent gave the dark-haired female agent kind of a sharp look.

  "Don't be rude, Angela. From what I've heard, Ms. Whitaker not 'carrying out her duties as a Gifted' isn't for lack of her trying. Not to mention that I'm certain she has her hands full as a single parent to a one-year-old with health troubles and a physical condition. It's quite kind of her to volunteer to be a 'welcoming committee' guide to new Gifteds on top of all that."

  The dark-haired female agent, who was apparently named Angela, just shrugged.

  "I've heard she just does it to try to make friends because she's ostracized from the rest of the Gifteds, since she's the only one who can't contribute to the defense effort with her powers...or lack of them I should say."

  The bespectacled male agent was now openly glaring at Angela. "And what if that's true? Why is it wrong for a person to try to make friends? I think your use of the word ostracized is a little off the mark, anyway. I'll admit I've heard there may be some sort of a divide between Miss Whitaker and the...the more active Gifteds, but that aside, she seems generally well-liked. You seem to be the only one who resents Miss Whitaker, maybe because you wish you were a Gifted yourself."

  Angela scoffed, eyes wide, and her male counterpart immediately apologized. "I shouldn't have said that, although I don't think we've been working particularly well together lately. Once we return to DC, I'll be requesting that we don't work together again in the future."

  Angela scoffed again. "Fine with me."

  The elevator went silent, for a few seconds, anyway, until the elevator stopped and an older woman wearing a maid's uniform got on and said hello. She immediately began chattering to everyone and yet no one in particular, and I was glad, because as long as she kept going, Angela and bespectacled agent couldn't start back up again. Not that bespectacled agent had really seemed to have been "starting" anything. He seemed to just be rightly defending Emma Whitaker of the "welcoming committee," who I was now very curious to meet.

  Soon the elevator doors opened on the eighty-fifth floor of the tower, and the three agents, the porter, and I, all got out. The porter led us down a plush-carpeted hallway to a white door bearing a small brass sign engraved with 85-A. Once he'd opened the door, he held it open and gestured for me to go inside first, which I did. And right away, I felt like I'd just about had the wind knocked out of me.

  Just from what I could already see, the apartment was every bit as luxurious as Cynthia had said it would be. The foyer was tiled in pale gray marble, as was the hallway that led into the interior of the apartment. Hanging above the foyer, twinkling in bright sun filtering down the hallway, was a chandelier composed of hundreds of tiny, pear-shaped crystals. Beneath it sat a large oriental rug that gave the area a pop of color with a central design of vivid maroon surrounded by shades of amber and rose pink. My own foyer rug that I'd had at home was one I'd gotten half-off at the local big-box super center.

  Cynthia gave me a little smile. "Go ahead and have a look around. We'll bring your suitcase into the living room and wait for you there."

  I went ahead and did as she'd directed, trying not to gasp and gape like some rube unaccustomed to the finer things in life, even though that was definitely the case. A quick glance in the vast living room told me that it boasted not one, but two fireplaces, as well as enormous windows offering full view of the city.

  The bedrooms were equally spacious, and I imme
diately knew which one I was going to make mine; the only one of the three to have French doors that led to a little balcony, complete with glass-topped cafe table and chairs.

  The master bathroom in this room was about the size of my living room back home, literally, as was a master bathroom in one of the other bedrooms. A third bathroom in the hallway was a little smaller, though still huge. The tiny bathroom of my one-bedroom apartment back home would have probably fit inside it four or five times.

  Large and airy, with an eat-in, granite-topped island the size of a dining room table, the kitchen was a dream for anyone who loved to cook and bake, which I did.

  Through a doorway on the east side of the kitchen was a formal dining room that contained an additional two fireplaces, as if the two in the living room weren't enough.

  When I returned to the living room, Cynthia asked me what I thought. "Think you'll have enough space here for you and the baby?"

  I smiled, a little giddy. "Plenty."