Lucas is leaning against the car, waiting for us. As his gaze falls on Rosa, I can see his face changing, his impassive expression transforming into something dark and frightening.

“Those fuckers,” he mutters thickly, walking around the car to open the door for us. “Those motherfucking fuckers.” He can’t seem to stop staring at Rosa. “They’re going to fucking die.”

“Yes, they will,” I agree, watching with some surprise as he carefully separates Rosa from my wife and guides the crying girl into the car. His manner is so uncharacteristically caring that I can’t help wondering if there’s something between the two of them. That would be odd, given his fixation on the Russian interpreter, but weirder things have happened.

Shrugging mentally, I turn to Nora, who’s standing by the open car door, her left hand gripping the top of the door frame. She seems lost in her own world, her gaze strangely distant as she lifts her right hand and places it on her belly.

“Nora?” I step toward her, a sudden fear gripping my chest, and at that moment, I see her face go chalk-white.

Chapter 27

Nora

The cramping sensation I began to feel a few seconds ago suddenly intensifies, turns into a sharp pain. It lances across my stomach, stealing my breath just as Julian steps toward me, his face tight with worry. Gasping, I double over, and instantly I feel his strong hands on me, lifting me off my feet.

“Hospital, now!” he barks at Lucas, and before I can blink, I find myself inside the car, cradled on Julian’s lap as we screech out of the alley.

“Nora? Nora, are you all right?” Rosa’s voice is filled with panic, but I can’t reassure her at the moment, not with my insides cramping and twisting. All I can do is take short, gasping breaths, my hands digging convulsively into Julian’s shoulders as he rocks me back and forth, his big body tense underneath me.

“Julian.” I can’t help crying out as a particularly vicious cramp rips through my belly. I can feel a hot, slippery wetness on my thighs, and I know if I look down, I’ll see blood. “Julian, the child . . .”

“I know, baby.” He presses his lips to my forehead, rocking me faster. “Hang on. Please, hang on.”

We fly through the dark streets, the streetlights and traffic lights blurring in front of my eyes. I can hear Rosa talking to me, her soft hands smoothing over my hair, and I’m aware of a vague sense of guilt that she has to deal with this after everything she’s been through.

Mostly, though, what I feel is fear.

A hideous fear that it’s too late, that nothing will ever be all right again.

* * *

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Esguerra.” The young doctor stops next to my bed, her hazel eyes filled with sympathy. “As you might’ve guessed, you miscarried. The good news—if there can be any at a time like this—is that you were still in your first trimester, and the bleeding has already stopped. There might be some spotting and discharge for the next few days, but your body should return to normal fairly quickly. There’s no reason why you wouldn’t be able to try for another child soon . . . if you wish to do so, of course.”

I stare at her, my eyes feeling like they’ve been scraped with sandpaper. I can’t cry anymore. I’ve cried all the tears within me. I’m aware of Julian’s hand holding mine as he sits on the edge of the bed, of the continued dull cramping in my belly, and all I can think is that I lost the baby.

I lost our baby, and it’s all my fault.

“Where’s Rosa?” My throat is so swollen I have to force the words out. “Is she all right?”

“She’s in the room next to you,” the doctor says softly. She’s unusually pretty, with a pale, heart-shaped face framed by wavy chestnut hair. “Would you like to speak to her?”

“Are they done with her examination?” Julian’s voice is as hard as I’ve ever heard it. His face and hands are clean now—he used bottled water to wipe most of the blood off us before we got out of the car–but his gray jacket is stained brown. I wonder what the doctors think of our appearance, whether they realize that not all of the blood on us is mine.

“Yes, they’re done.” The doctor hesitates for a second. “Mr. Esguerra, your friend said she doesn’t want to press charges or speak to the police, but that’s something we strongly recommend in cases like these. At the very least, she should let our sexual assault nurse examiner collect the evidence. Perhaps you can talk to Ms. Martinez, help us convince her—”

“Do any of her injuries require hospitalization?” Julian interrupts, his hand tightening around my fingers. “Or can she go home with us?”

The doctor frowns. “She can go home, but—”

“And my wife?” He gives the young woman a piercing look. “You’re certain there are no injuries beyond the bruises?”

“Yes, as I explained to you earlier, Mr. Esguerra, all the tests came back normal.” The doctor meets his gaze without flinching. “There’s no concussion or any kind of internal injuries, and there’s no need for a D&C—dilation and curettage—procedure when the loss happens so early in the pregnancy. I recommend that Mrs. Esguerra take it easy for the next few days, but after that she can return to her normal activities.”

Julian glances down at me. “Baby?” His tone softens a fraction. “Do you want to stay here until morning just in case, or would you rather go home?”