The Intelligence Unit Series

Shawn knew better than to think this night would end well. A call home in the middle of an op was bad enough. But that tone in Sinclair's voice was reserved for only one thing. Despite the fact that the man had told Shawn he had no details, he had to know the score, the same as Shawn. The hospital only tracked you down in the middle of the night if someone was dead.

But that didn't make any f*****g sense, he thought, silently navigating the streets toward the city. If it had been someone in the unit, Sinclair would've disclosed that-hell, he'd have been at the hospital himself. If it had been a friend, Hale would've been the one to call. He didn't have any family left, so really, who could be so hurt that they'd needed to drag him down to the hospital at freaking midnight?

Frankie sat beside him, still and silent, and hell if that wasn't another layer of emotion Shawn didn't want to contemplate. One little "need you" from her mouth, and his composure had snapped in half. He'd been within one impulsive second from pulling her into the backseat of the truck and f*****g her senseless. The way she'd slipped past every one of his carefully crafted defenses to land right in the center of his chest was dangerous. He had no business going down this road, with her or anyone. Ever.

Yet there she sat, absolutely unruffled beside him, save a bit of mussed up hair and smudged lipstick, and damn it, her presence let him breathe.

A few minutes later, he pulled into the visitor's parking lot at Remington Memorial. The chill of the night air offset the slam of Shawn's heart as he went through the motions of getting out of the truck and moving toward the emergency department's main doors. Frankie kept perfect, silent time beside him, and when they reached the intake desk, his stoic mask was back in place.

"Detective Shawn Maxwell. I got a call to come in?"

Before the nurse behind the desk could open his mouth, a familiar voice cut through the air. "Oh, thank God. They finally got in touch with you."

His friend, Tess Riley, who also happened to be an attending emergency physician, moved toward them as quickly as her pregnant belly would allow. Her normally tart smile was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a look so serious, Shawn's throat threatened to close. "What's going on? It's not anyone at the unit, is it?"

"No, nothing like that. Why don't we head back where it's quieter so we can talk?" To the nurse at the desk, she said, "Marcus, would you please let Dr. Sheridan and Ms. Esparza know Detective Maxwell is here?"

Although the nurse nodded, Shawn didn't budge. "Jonah's here?" Jonah Sheridan was another friend. A trauma surgeon, and oh, f**k, this was bad.

"Natalie," Tess corrected, referring to Jonah's wife. Wait, Natalie was a pediatric surgeon. What on earth would she be doing here? "And Hope Esparza is a social worker." She met his stare with a soft expression. "Come on. We should talk."

Tess's gaze landed on Frankie, her eyes going wide, and dimly, Shawn realized it looked as if he'd been on a date. "It's good that you're not alone," Tess said, and Frankie shook her head with a nervous laugh.

"Oh, yeah, no. I'm, um...we work together."

She didn't elaborate-advertising that you were working undercover to people you didn't know was just a shit idea-but Shawn and Tess had been friends long enough for her to know the score.

"This is Frankie Russo. We're working a case together."

"Exactly. So, I'm not with him. I mean, clearly, I'm here, but..." Frankie broke off, shutting her eyes for a beat too long to be a blink. "You know what, I should give you some privacy."

Dread soaked Shawn's chest. His poker face must've taken a complete holiday, because Frankie recanted like lightning. "Or, I could stick around for a little while, if you want."

All he could do was nod. Thankfully, Tess jumped in to respond. "That would be good."

She led the way through a set of double doors, then past a bunch of curtained areas and exam rooms before arriving at a small private lounge. Adrenaline pulsed through Shawn's veins, a bad mix with the dread he'd already cooked up, and okay, f**k, he couldn't take another second of this. "Tess, what the hell is going on?"

His friend gestured to the small couch behind him. "Can we sit?"

She gave her rounded belly enough of a rub that Shawn deferred, but only long enough to park his a*s. A soft knock on the door produced a woman Shawn didn't know, but that he assumed was the social worker.

He didn't wait for an introduction. "What's this about?"

"It's about Lori Wade," Tess said.

Shawn searched his memory, scanning through cases-no, not a suspect, not a CI-a flash of a night out a few years ago flickered through his brain. A pretty blonde. A couple shots of tequila. A clear mutual agreement between them for one night and one night only. "Yeah, I know her. I mean, I know who she is," he said more accurately.

Tess's voice was soft but clear. "Lori was brought to the emergency department earlier this evening. She'd been in a car accident. We believe she suffered a brain aneurysm that ruptured, causing a massive stroke while she was behind the wheel. We treated her to the very best of our ability, but her condition was too severe, and she died."

Shawn understood what Tess was saying. He knew all the death notification language. Hell, he'd delivered similar words dozens of times. He was sad that Lori had died-she'd been young, maybe a couple years younger than his thirty-four, and that was tragic. But... "I don't understand. What does Lori's death have to do with me?"

Tess and the social worker exchanged a series of glances that sent Shawn's WTF-ometer through the roof.

It was Ms. Esparza who spoke up. "Detective, my name is Hope Esparza. I'm a social worker for the city. I'm here on behalf of Ms. Wade's daughter, Isla."

"Lori has a daughter?" Shawn shook his head. Probably not something she would've divulged, since he'd literally spent one night with her, what? Like, three and a half years ago? "Lori's daughter is her only living relative," Ms. Esparza said carefully. "And, according to Isla's birth certificate and the documentation I have here, you are Isla's father."

The entire room tilted as Shawn's heart vaulted itself at his sternum. He registered some sound-maybe a gasp?-from beside him, but he couldn't make his mouth work properly. "I'm...what?"

"You are Isla's father," Ms. Esparza repeated, her voice soft but clear. "Lori left a directive with an attorney, who was listed as the emergency contact on all of her medical records, in case something ever happened to her." She held up a file folder. Shawn heard clips of things-in the event of Lori's death, and only in the event of her death, he was to be notified that he had a child, she'd left a letter explaining it all-but none of it made any damn sense.

"I'm...this can't be right." Emotions exploded like cherry bombs in his chest. He couldn't possibly have a kid. He was absolutely not father material. "This is a mistake. Lori and I weren't close." Understatement. Christ, he'd barely known her, and hadn't seen her since that one night they'd spent together.

But they had spent a night together, and oh, God.

Could she really have gotten pregnant?

"We were, ah, careful," Shawn said, and f**k it, might as well just get all the awkward out in one go. "I don't have unprotected s*x, ever. And it was just the one time. There's very little chance this kid is mine."

Tess tilted her head. "No form of birth control is one hundred percent effective, unfortunately."

Still... "Okay, how old is she?"

"Isla just turned three a few weeks ago," Ms. Esparza said. Shawn scrambled to remember exactly when he and Lori had been together, and oh, hell, the timing did add up.

"She could still be someone else's," he argued weakly. "I don't know if...Lori and I weren't exactly exclusive. There could've been another man."

"It's technically possible, of course, but"-Tess pressed her lips together, her voice as soft as he'd ever heard it when she spoke her next words-"Isla looks just like you, Shawn."

"Wait, she's here?" His brain was dangerously close to redlining. "This kid, Isla?" Your kid, his brain echoed, amping his pulse up another notch. "She's at the hospital, right now?"

"She was in the car with Lori," Tess said. Shawn levered out of his chair, his legs entirely independent from his brain, and at his obvious panic, Tess slapped on, "Isla is fine. One hundred percent healthy, sleeping in an exam room. Natalie checked her over from head to toe. Lori was stuck in rush hour traffic when her aneurysm burst. They were barely in a fender bender."

Just like that, the cocktail of confusion, fear, and pure adrenaline Shawn had been trying to keep down spilled in every direction, pushed by some primal force he'd only felt once before. "But, she's okay? She wasn't hurt, right?"

"Not a scratch, I swear," Tess promised.

"Okay, but..." He ran a hand over his head, his fingers gliding over his skull trim before landing on the back of his neck. None of this made any f*****g sense. "I still don't understand."

For the first time since this Tilt-a-Whirl ride had started, Frankie spoke. "You said there's a letter? From Isla's mother to Shawn?"

"Yes." Ms. Esparza reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. Shawn's gut twisted, and he was-f**k-unable to hide the shake of his hands as he opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper.

Dear Shawn,

If you're reading this, then I'm dead, and you must be really surprised. Probably mad, too. I guess I don't blame you. But when I found out I was pregnant with Isla, I didn't want either of us to be a burden to you. You made it really clear what you wanted that night- no relationships, no strings-and I agreed. It was what I wanted, too. So, I thought it would be easier on all of us if you just didn't know, but I also wanted to be absolutely sure that Isla would be taken care of if something happened to me.

I don't have any family, and now, I guess she doesn't, either, except for you. I know you might not believe that Isla is yours, and I'd understand if you want a paternity test. But I swear to you, she's your daughter. Please take care of her. I didn't think I wanted a baby when I found out I was pregnant with her, but she's everything, Shawn.

I've left copies of everything with the attorney. Isla's birth certificate, all of her medical records, everything. She's all I have that matters, and now, I guess, you're all she has. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me one day for not telling you. I only wanted what I thought was best for all of us. I'm sorry.

Lori

Shawn read the letter. Read it again. Ordered every word in his head until they started to sink in.

He had a daughter. A little girl who was going to need him. Not just for a place to live and food and things he could buy, but need him to be there for her emotionally. When she fell and skinned her knees, when she wanted to be tucked in at night, when she was frightened-Christ, she was probably frightened right now, and he absolutely wasn't prepared for this.

He couldn't have a kid. Someone who would need him so thoroughly. He was a cop-he had no business promising he could provide that sort of constancy. For f**k's sake, he couldn't even risk the connections and emotions involved in a third date. Having a kid? With all the bone-deep feelings that would certainly go with being a parent?

No. No way.

He couldn't be trusted to do that.

His emotions got people hurt. He could not, under any circumstances, do that to this child.

A sudden burst of reality/denial/uncut fear exploded in his chest, and no, no, no, no, no. He needed to lock this shit down. Now.

"I, uh," Shawn said, his voice sounding as if it had been run through a shredder. "I don't...I think I need a minute, here." He needed far more than that, but under the circumstances, it would do. He was dangerously close to out-and-out panic, and he couldn't let anyone see him lose control.

A fact that-thank f**k-Frankie grabbed ahold of with both hands. "Dr., ah, Riley?" she asked, reading the script on Tess's doctor's coat. "Ms. Esparza, can we have the room for a sec?"

Shawn was dimly aware that Frankie's tone, while polite, didn't paint the words as a question, and her poise took the tiniest chip out of his panic.

"Of course," Tess said. "I'll be right outside the door if you need anything."

Ms. Esparza nodded in agreement, and both women slipped out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Shawn's lungs constricted in a wave of fresh adrenaline, and damn it, he couldn't breathe.

"I can't do this," he managed, but Frankie shook her head.

"You're in shock. Take a breath."

An ironic laugh flew out of him. "A breath? I have a f*****g kid, Frankie. A child."

"I know, Shawn," Frankie said. How the hell was she so calm?

"So, you know I can't do this, then."

"Yes, you can," she said, her answer swift. "You just need to take a breath."

He tried, and nope. "So, what? I'm just supposed to take this little girl home and be her father? Just like that?" He didn't have the first clue how to do that. Any of it. He didn't even have houseplants, for Chrissake!

Frankie's expression said she knew better than to try to tackle that question right now. "Do you want me to call someone? Hale, maybe? She could-"

"No."Shawn could not, under any goddamn circumstances, let anyone in his unit see him freaking out like this.

"Okay." Frankie held up a hand. "Look, I know this is a lot."

"A lot? It's a kid!"

Frankie's brows lifted, her voice firming up just enough to take the edge off his rising emotions. "If Lori had told you she was pregnant, right in the beginning, what would you have done?"

Shawn blinked. "I wouldn't have married her," he said slowly. "Neither one of us would've wanted that." For as much as he hadn't loved her, Lori hadn't loved him, either. "But I would've stepped up and done whatever I needed to take care of Isla, and made sure they were both okay." Frankie didn't blink. "So, step up now."

"Now it's different," Shawn argued, his pulse surging again. "I'm entirely out of my depth, here. I don't know how to be a parent! A single parent," he added, lifting one hand to tick off all the reasons why this was a bad idea, even though he'd certainly run out of fingers. "I'm a goddamn cop. My job is dangerous. I don't keep regular hours and I'm sure as shit not a role model." He shook his head. The price for f*****g this up-and God knew he would-was too high. "I can't do this."

Just like that, Frankie's spine snapped straight. "You don't get to pick this, Shawn. I know you're in shock, and I get that it's a lot. I do," she added when he opened his mouth to argue, and oh hell, she might not know what this felt like, specifically, but she had been in extremely high-stress situations before. "I get that you're freaking out, and I get that you're scared as hell, but you have to do this.

Frankie slipped into his line of sight, parking herself directly in front of him and taking his face in her hands so he had no choice but to hear her, loud and clear. "There's a little girl in there-your little girl-and you are literally all she has right now. So, take a breath and take it one second at a time if that's what you need to do, but pull on your big boy pants and go be that kid's father. You can do this. You're going to do it. Do you hear me?"

The words sat on the surface of his mind for just a minute before they began sinking in, one by one. Shawn processed them in turn, the pure, unadulterated panic in his chest easing bit by bit until he was able to scrape together enough calm to take a few breaths. "Okay. Okay, yeah." He gave up a nod that felt more like a wobble, but Frankie was right. Isla had no one. She needed someone to take care of her. He needed to step up. Even if it scared the shit out of him.

"I guess I should go and meet her," Shawn said, and Frankie nodded.

"You should." She stood, smoothing a hand over her dress. "I'll tell Sinclair you had a family emergency, and we'll manage the case. Don't worry about work, okay?"

Shock popped through him as she turned toward the door, but of course, she wouldn't stay. She wasn't his partner anymore, wasn't his girlfriend-Christ, they were barely acquaintances now, really, despite what had transpired in the truck. The thought that she would stay with him while he went to go meet his daughter was crazier than the idea of her leaving him to it on his own.

But it didn't stop him from wanting her as an anchor, and hell if that might not be the most dangerous thing he'd felt all night.