The thought was rudely interrupted when I felt a pull on my bladder again. I hurried to the toilet. After I finished, I wiped myself. My body trembled at the sight of bright red blood on the toilet paper. Oh my God! What’s wrong with me? Is this even normal? I wiped again: more blood and some cramping. I need to call Dr. Lee.
Chapter Twenty-two
With shaky legs, I managed to slip on a cream silk nightgown and headed for Marcus’ office. I remembered leaving my cell phone on his desk after speaking with him about the money for Lou. I didn’t want to wake Marcus in case I was completely overreacting. This could be normal. I think I read something somewhere…I think. Oh God, please make sure my baby’s okay. I can’t lose my peanut. Protectively I wrapped my arms around my belly, somehow hoping that if I shielded my baby, he’d be okay.
Taking a seat on the plush leather chair, I located my cell phone. Scrolling down, I found Dr. Lee’s telephone number. It was late, a little before midnight. I knew he said that if I left a message stating it was urgent he’d contact me immediately. Dialing his number with the office phone on the desk, I waited for the beep at the end of his greeting. “Hello Dr. Lee, this is Mia Sullivan. I feel this may be an emergency. I’m bleeding, not heavily but a little more than just spotting. Please call to advise me on what I should do. Thank you.” Hanging up the phone, I sat there tapping my foot against the bottom edge of the wooden desk.
Should I wake Marcus and have him take me to the ER, or should I patiently wait for Dr. Lee’s call? It hadn’t even been five minutes yet, and I was dreading the waiting game already. I almost gave in when I remembered the folder! I pulled it out from the drawer and stared at the name before opening it. It was a regular-sized file folder. It was pretty thick with documents. Why would he keep a folder on me? The tab had a label with all caps printed M. SULLIVAN. Maybe it contained work information, but, then again, it wouldn’t be kept in his home office.
When I opened the file, the first document was an eight-by-ten photo. It was a distant image of two men. It looked like they were talking in a park. The next document was the same two men in the park, but it was a closer image. I couldn’t make out the other man, but I instantly identified Marcus. He was wearing his all-black suit, and the collar from his shirt was white. Since it was a profile picture, I couldn’t tell if he was wearing a tie. He was standing slightly hunched over, one hand pointing in another direction and the other pointing at the man. Marcus uses his hands a lot when engaged in conversation. I could tell by his posture that he wasn’t angry; he was telling a story of some sort.
When I turned to the next picture, my heart dropped. I was wrong, oh yes, very wrong. The image of the two was closer, and I made out the second man instantly: his familiar golden brown hair, his fair complexion and handsome profile. His eyes were familiar as the skin on the side of his temples wrinkled when he laughed. The brown leather jacket I bought him for Christmas two years ago was snuggled comfortably against his athletic build. This file was not on me; no, it was on Michael, my brother. Slowly I stood from the chair, grabbing the documents and pressing them against my chest. Walking around the desk in disbelief, I instantly felt faint, dropping to my knees. The documents I held fell before me.
Images of my brother and Marcus, laughing, talking, patting each other on the shoulder were spread all before me. There were documents of meetings at a warehouse, transcripts of conversations between the two, between other mafia groups, regarding drug and gun deal arrangements. Overwhelmed by it all, I was engulfed by tears, allowing drops to fall over the papers lying before me. Marcus not only knew my brother but they were friendly with one another.
My brother couldn’t have been involved with the Sorrento’s mafia family. He was an undercover detective…wait! He was an undercover detective! Did Michael have an assignment to go undercover with the Sorrentos? If that were the case, then he was closely watching Marcus as well. Was Marcus involved with my brother’s death?
“There you are … I was looking all over …” Marcus walked through his office door. I snapped my head up when I heard his voice. He was staring at me curiously. His lips twitched to a slight crooked grin. “What are you doing on the floor, Mia?”
My chest moved rapidly as my heartbeat began to pick up pace. I tilted my head, watching him … no, he couldn’t have been involved with Michael’s death. Shaking my head, I stared at him again. He took a few steps towards me, I flinched, and he froze at my reaction.
His now worried face searched mine, trying to find what could have possibly caused me so much pain. His eyes wandered from me to the documents. He cocked his head at the papers spread on the floor and inched over to them. Bending, he hovered over the pieces and picked one up to eye level. His eyes grew larger as his lips spread apart.
Marcus brought his eyes back to me. My eyes pleaded with his. He didn’t explain anything—just stared in shocked at the information I’d just found. My hands were clenched against my chest. I tried to speak, but my tongue felt dry. He reached for me, but I pulled back. “No,” I managed to spit out through the hoarseness of my tone. He cringed at my refusal. “No,” I said again. “No. No. No. You lied to me, Marcus!” Shaking his head, he shifted to his knees so that we could be at eye level. “Yes, you lied to me! How could you? You knew Michael this entire time? Did you know about me before we met? Did you know who I was that night at the club?”
Blowing out a deep shaky breath, he shook his head. “No, Mia … I didn’t know who you were.” Licking his lips, he looked down at the documents spread underneath him. “I did lie to you when you asked me the day we drove to the airport if I knew Michael … when you said your brother was a detective. I should have caught on, but when you said his name and your last name I put it all together.” He tried to reach for me, and I pulled back again, falling on my behind. “I’m so sorry, baby …”
“You do not get to call me baby! I’m not your baby … I’m nothing to you!” A noise of pain released his lips as his shoulders and head dropped. “Did you kill him?” My demand brought his watery eyes back to mine.
“No!” He shook his head violently, disgusted that I even thought it.
“Were you involved with his murder, Marcus?” I slowly began to rise, standing over him wanting answers.
“Mia, no!” He pleaded, his hands reaching up to grab my waist.