Chapter Reveal + Giveaway: Seed by Cassia Leo

Today we have the chapter reveal for SEED by Cassia Leo! Check it out and pre-order your copy today!

SEED by Cassia Leo
Series: Evergreen Series
About SEED
The explosive continuation of the Evergreen Series from New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo.
The seeds of doubt have been planted.
Two to six weeks. That’s how long it takes, on average, to get a divorce in Oregon.
With Jack convinced I betrayed him, I expect to be served divorce papers within hours of moving out. But weeks pass without word from Jack, and the papers never arrive. Though my heart isn’t ready to give up on him, I can’t shake the feeling that we may be better off apart. And Isaac is more than happy to help me move on.
But just as I begin to build some semblance of a life and career, a new and improved Jack arrives on my doorstep. Divorce papers are the furthest thing from his mind as he delivers news that both shatters me and restores my faith in the love we shared. But is it too late for us?
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will resume regular price of $3.99.
Chapter Reveal
JACK
May 10, 2015
“Stay with
me, baby,” I murmured as I stroked Laurel’s hand to keep her from falling
asleep. “You realize our son is going to be born on a very special day.”
Her eyes
rolled back in their sockets as another contraction hit. “What?” she groaned.
I had been
trying to keep her mind distracted from the pain with idle conversation about
the things she most liked to talk about. So far, I’d engaged her in a wide
array of topics: Stoic philosophy, ridiculous names for baked goods,
inappropriate wedding songs, and her favorite topic, names for baby boys.
“His
birthdate is going to be May 10th,
2015. In numbers, that five, ten, fifteen.”
She
managed to groan and chuckle at the same time. “You’re so American. The rest of
the world would say it’s ten, five, fifteen,” she said. She breathed in and out
a few times through pursed lips before she continued. “Drea would make fun of
you if she heard you say that.”
“It’s a
good thing Drea’s not here then.”
As soon as
I said the words, I wanted to take them back. I didn’t want to bring attention
to the fact that, besides Drea, Laurel’s mom also was not here.
As if on
cue, Laurel asked, “Where’s my mom?”
I squeezed
her soft hand, which seemed to be getting colder. “She’s stuck in traffic,
baby. There’s an accident. But she’s trying to get here as soon as she can.”
I didn’t
have to lie for Beth. I had to lie for Laurel. I didn’t want her to worry that
her mother was abandoning her in her time of need. This was probably the most
important day of Laurel’s life, and her mother couldn’t be bothered to come
when called.
Beth
insisted this was a private moment for Laurel and I to share. According to her,
most grandmothers weren’t in the labor and delivery room to see their
grandchildren born. That was the parents’ “job.” She insisted she would get
here as soon as the baby was born.
The fact
that Beth referred to what I was doing at this moment as a “job” only made me
angrier. I wasn’t here with Laurel because it was my job to be here. I was here
because I loved Laurel, and this was where she wanted me to be. If Laurel told
me to leave, I’d leave. She was the one making the decisions today, not me or
Beth or the fucking Dalai Lama.
The
midwife came into Laurel’s room just as the baby’s heart rate monitor began to
beep loudly. The swift, hollow tap of our baby’s heartbeat had slowed to a
slow, muffled thump. The midwife’s black eyebrows shot up as she raced to the
monitor to get a better look at the flashing red numbers.
“What’s
happening?” Laurel asked, but her eyelids were only half-open as her voice
trailed off. “Is the baby… Is the baby okay?”
Maisie,
Laurel’s Filipino midwife, lifted the sheet covering Laurel’s legs and her dark
eyes became as wide as planets.
“What is
it?” I demanded as the doctor rushed in.
“Get
Florence and tell the others to get the OR ready,” the doctor ordered Maisie,
who quickly disappeared into the corridor.
“Dr.
Eastman, what’s wrong?” I demanded.
But as my
words fell like stones at our feet, Laurel’s hand went slack. Suddenly, four
nurses raced into the room and shoved me aside as they locked the side rails on
Laurel’s bed and systematically disconnected her from various machines.
My stomach
went sour as they rushed her out of the labor and delivery room to the
operating room. As I followed closely behind them, I felt as if I were having
an out of body experience. I was watching these medical professionals pushing a
gurney with someone else’s unconscious wife. Maybe I’d fallen
asleep in the chair in Laurel’s hospital room and this was all a nightmare.
But when
we arrived at the double doors to the OR, someone grabbed my arm to stop me
from entering. That was when I knew this was really happening.
Before the
doors swung shut, I caught a glimpse of three more nurses inside the operating
room. They appeared to be hanging bags of blood on IV stands and prepping
instruments.
“She’s
hemorrhaging,” Dr. Eastman finally said, as I watched what was going on through
the windows in the double door.
“What do
you mean? How? Why?” I replied as I watched two nurses wheel Laurel’s bed into
the center of the OR.
“Mr.
Stratton, please look at me.”
I turned
toward the doctor and the grave look in his eyes sent me into a panic. “What’s
going on? Tell me what the fuck is happening to my wife!”
“Do you
remember at a previous sonogram when I said we would have to do more sonograms
every three days instead of every week, to keep an eye on the placenta?”
I nodded
vigorously. “Just cut to the chase and tell me what the hell is happening to my
wife.”
Eastman
sighed. “The placenta was not over the cervix at the start of labor, but it
seems the contractions have moved it down and Laurel’s losing a lot of blood.
We’ll have to deliver the baby via C-section.”
I tried to
follow a nurse into the OR, but Maisie and Dr. Eastman stopped me again. “I
have to be in there!” I shouted.
“We need
to scrub before we can enter the surgical suite,” East said. “Follow me.”
In the
washroom, Eastman introduced me to the anesthesiologist, Dr. Brunei, who was
already washed up as a couple of nurses helped him slip into a fresh pair of
scrubs.
“Doctor, I
need you to be straight with me,” I said as I set down the disposable nail
brush and proceeded to rub the red Hibiclens soap all over my hands and up to
my elbows. “Should I be worried?”
“Hemorrhaging
in labor is not ideal, but it’s not uncommon. It’s a situation we’re always
prepared for, especially with what we saw in the previous sonograms. You’re in
good hands today. We’re going to deliver your baby and replace the blood your
wife lost. I just need to verify that neither you nor your wife have any
religious objections to receiving blood transfusion?”
I shook my
head as I held my arms under the running water. I couldn’t speak. This couldn’t
be happening.
When
Eastman and I were gowned and gloved, we entered the surgical suite in time to
see the nurses using a sheet to lift Laurel’s limp body off the hospital bed
and onto the operating gurney, her arm flopped over the edge of the mattress.
Her skin
was drained of the usual golden-peach glow. Her fingers were blue.
No. I
shook my head, unwilling to accept what I was seeing.
“Mr.
Stratton?”
I turned
my head to the right and found four-foot-eleven Maisie staring up at me.
“You’re
very pale, Mr. Stratton. You should sit,” she said, motioning to a chair on the
other side of the room, closer to Laurel.
I nodded
as I trailed behind her like a lost puppy. “Thank you,” I muttered, but I
didn’t take a seat. I couldn’t rest when both my babies needed me.
Due to the
hemorrhaging, Laurel would be put under general anesthesia instead of the usual
spinal block used for C-sections. Maisie made it clear that this meant I would
be the first person to hold our baby, not Laurel. I knew this would make Laurel
sad, when she woke and I had to tell her what happened. But I wasn’t prepared
for how I would feel about it.
I held
Laurel’s hand through the entire surgery, stroking and kissing the back of her
hand and murmuring words of encouragement as if she were awake. When our son
was pulled from her womb, his blue skin covered in blood, I stopped breathing.
Mere seconds passed before he took his first wailing breath of life, but it
felt like an eternity.
As the
nurses cleaned him up, I kept a firm grasp on Laurel’s hand while I whispered
in her ear, narrating what was happening. I hoped that somewhere in her
subconscious mind, she was listening, and maybe someday she could piece
together this moment.
Maisie
smiled as she approached me with the bundle wrapped in a striped baby blanket.
As I took my son in my arms for the first time, I was overwhelmed by a wave of
emotion so powerful, it should have knocked me out of my chair.
Tears
streamed down my cheeks as I looked down at his puffy, pink face. “This is my
boy,” I said with a chuckle. His tiny body moved in my arms and it my chest
filled with sheer wonder and joy. I shook my head, unable to believe I’d made
something so pure and so real. “This is our son.” I put my finger next to his
tiny hand and my heart nearly burst when he grabbed on. I kissed his fingers
the way I’d kissed Laurel’s hand earlier and his eyelids fluttered. “Laurel,
baby, I wish you could see this.” I looked up at Maisie. “Doesn’t he need to be
breastfed or something?” I asked.
She
smiled. “They will bring her out of anesthesia in a few minutes, once she’s
stitched up. For now, he needs to be held by his papa.”
The words
echoed in my mind. His papa.
My face
screwed up as I was overcome with emotion. The fear and doubt I’d felt about
becoming a father seemed like a distant memory. I’d never been so filled with
absolute joy in all my life.
I was a
father. I was papa.
***
Present day
I had let
my jealousy and rage distract me from what was truly important. I’d driven
Laurel away twice, at a time when my pixie needed me most. I knew Laurel didn’t
owe me a third chance, which was why I was going to earn my way back into her
arms. And there was only two ways to do that.
One way
was to catch the bastard who stole our happiness. The other way might prove
more difficult. It would involve closing my case files and admitting that my
need for justice was tearing my marriage apart. But I couldn’t do that, not
until I gave my quest for justice one final effort. If I couldn’t get justice
for my boy by the time Laurel turned thirty next month, I would pack away my
case files and do whatever I took to get her back.
I handed
my suitcase to the guy wearing the fluorescent safety vest, then I climbed the
steps of the private charter plane at exactly eleven a.m. Immediately, I slid
my cell phone out of the interior pocket of my sport coat and called my
assistant, Jade Insley.
“Good
morning,” she answered cheerily.
“Jade, I
need you to forward all my calls, even the ones to my cell, to your desk phone.
I’m out of town and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Absolutely,”
she replied. “What should I tell the partners?”
“Tell them
I’m visiting family. I’ll check in occasionally for messages.”
I ended
the call and immediately removed the SIM card from my phone, tossing the tiny
chip over the side of the staircase before I stepped inside the plane. I gave
the attendant my drink order — club soda with lime — then I tucked my cell into
my coat. Sliding the burner phone out of the front pocket of my slacks, I took
a seat in the plush leather seat. I turned the phone on and shot off a text.
Me:
Plane taking off. Should land in less than two
hours. We still on for three p.m.?
Sean:
I’ll be there with bells on.
***
I pulled
my rental car into a space in front of a two-story office building clad in
weathered cedar shingles. The dark tinted windows and lack of signage made it
look like a place one would go to get illegal plastic surgery. Other than my
rented Chevy Tahoe, the only other cars in the lot were a beat up Cadillac
Eldorado and a pristine 80s era cherry-red Porsche.
When I
stepped into the lobby, I was not surprised to find a directory missing a third
of its letters. But I was still able to determine that “SEA D GHE TY PI
2 1” meant Sean Dougherty, Private Investigator was in suite 201 or 211.
That narrowed my options down significantly.
I opted
not to take my chances on the wood-paneled elevator and took the stairs up to
the second floor. The smell of body odor and desperation engulfed me as I
walked down the hallway. The first door I saw was 201 and I quickly reached for
the doorknob, eager to escape the smell in the corridor, but the knob didn’t
turn. I rapped on the steel door a few times, certain that no one would hear
me. I was surprised when my knocking was met with a loud grunt from within.
I immediately
lifted the right side of my sport coat, my hand hovering over the gun holstered
on my hip as I waited for the door to open.
“Who is
it?” a gruff voice called from the other side.
“Jack
Stratton. We have an appointment.”
The door
opened slowly and we both smiled when we realized we both have our hands poised
over our sidearms.
I slowly
moved my hand away from my weapon and held it up in front of me. “All good.”
The man
lowered his hand and pushed the door wide open. “Good to meet you, Jack,” he
said, holding out his hand. “I’m Sean.”
We shook,
and I was not at all surprised to find his calloused hand had a killer grip.
“It’s really good to meet you,” I replied as I stepped inside suite 201.
My
shoulders relaxed instantly when I realized Sean’s office was actually quite
clean and modern and smelled like coffee. Not a hint of despair. Sean was a
sturdy man in his early fifties, with thick salt and pepper hair and muscled
limbs clothed in a crisp button-up and slacks. Not at all what I expected from
a gritty private investigator who worked in the ninth circle of office park
hell.
“The
exterior throws people off. Only the people who are serious make it past the
front door,” he said as if he were reading my thoughts. “Have a seat.” He
continued speaking as I took a seat across the glass desk. “Hood River PD
approved my request to see the file this morning, and I was able to go through
most of it before you got here. We’re both obviously most interested in this
memo they received from Boise PD. Have you spoken with Detective Robinson yet?”
I shook my
head. “She couldn’t say much over the phone. I have a meeting scheduled with
her tomorrow. She didn’t seem very optimistic that this would lead anywhere.
She hasn’t had a whole lot of luck with sealed adoption records. But I’m
working on a piece of software to cross-reference birth records and the NCIC
persons files for individuals in Oregon, Washington, and Idaho. I should have
the code finalized and ready to run in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I
wanted to get you on the case to see if we can track down that adoption decree.
I mean, I don’t even have the guy’s name. I’m flying blind.”
NCIC stood
for National Crime Information Center, the database shared between the FBI and
federal, state, local, and tribal criminal justice users to cooperate on
investigations and policies.
Sean
leaned back in his desk chair and cocked an eyebrow. “So what put you onto this
lead anyway? This is a pretty serious accusation.”
I shook my
head as I stared at the manila folder on his desk. “Just a hunch, I guess. I
always felt like there was more to Beth than any of us knew.”
“And Beth
is your wife’s mother, right?”
I nodded.
“Don’t get me wrong, Beth was a great mom and I couldn’t have asked for a
better grandmother for my son. She… She gave her life trying to protect my boy.
I hold no ill will toward her. But there was always something about her that I
couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“I used to
chalk it up to the same mysterious quality Laurel has. A strange, otherworldly
kind of beauty and wit. But with Laurel’s mom, there were other signs that I
didn’t know the real Beth.”
“Like
what?”
“Just
general secretiveness when it came to what caused her divorce from Laurel’s
father and stuff like that. It wasn’t until someone in our Facebook group
passed on the tip to Boise PD about Mike O’Toole that Detective Robinson
decided to do a little digging into Beth’s past.”
“So who’s
Mike O’Toole?”
I waved
off the question. “A dead lead, but it did get Robinson asking questions and
that’s why I’m here. The PI I spoke to in Portland told me that it could take
years to win a battle to unseal adoption records. She said my best bet, if the
suspect is living here in Idaho, would be to try to find someone who could
track him down here. So here I am, hoping like hell you can help me find the
piece of shit that killed my son, because… I’m on the verge of losing
everything.”
Sean is
silent for a long while as he stares at the glass desktop, and when he finally
looks up, his square face is fixed with a tight smile. “Well, you were honest
with me, so I guess it’s my turn for a little show and tell.” He reaches behind
him, opens the top drawer of a two-drawer file cabinet, and pulls out a silver
picture frame. “This is my Rosie,” he says, placing the picture on top of his
desk so I could see the photo of a teenage girl with wavy blonde hair and a
beaming smile. “Rose hated when I called her Rosie,” he said, staring at the
picture with a wistful look in his steel-gray eyes.
“She’s
beautiful,” I said, stopping myself before I could say she reminded me a bit of
Laurel.
“Rose was
seventeen when she went to an ice skating rink with some friends. Same as she’d
done every winter since she was eight years old. But this time, she went
outside to have a smoke. A nasty habit. I kept grounding her to try to get her
to stop, but she just wouldn’t listen. She was too pigheaded.” He finally
looked up and met my gaze. “That was the last we saw of her until her body was
discovered two months later, in a creek forty miles away.”
I clenched
my jaw as I imagined how I would have felt if I’d had seventeen years with
Junior before he was murdered. Or if, God forbid, it had been Laurel who had
been taken away from me. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without Laurel.
“That was
a knockout punch. I was down for the count. No coming back from that, I
thought,” Sean continued. “So I doubled down on how fast I could wreck my life.
I was a financial crimes detective at the time, but I began sleeping in my
office, poring over the case files day and night. I became obsessed.”
I lowered
my gaze as his words shamed me. All the nights I’d spent sleeping on the couch
in my home office instead of in the bedroom with Laurel were mirrored in Sean’s
story. And somehow, I didn’t think his story had a happy ending.
“Did you
find out who did it?”
Sean
smiled as he shook his head. “Nope. I lost my job. Lost my marriage. Lost my
house. That bastard took my daughter from me, but I willingly gave him
everything else. You understand?”
I nodded
in silence. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t think of a single cynical
thing to say. I was only in this office because this was my last resort. I
couldn’t come back to Laurel emptyhanded. I’d given her every material thing
she could ever want. I gave her shelter and security. I gave her my love. But I
hadn’t given her my full attention.
Unfortunately,
I knew myself too well to know that I would not be able to focus on my marriage
and work until I was certain I’d done everything I could for Junior. And, yes,
even for Beth. She may have had her secrets, but I meant it when I said Junior
could not have asked for a better grandmother. She deserved justice as much as
my boy did.
Sean
Dougherty and the software program I was working on, which I had dubbed PNW
Checkmate, were my last hope. If the software helped us find Junior’s killer, I
would expand the software to include all fifty states and territories. For now,
I had to focus on this area, and specifically Boise. If Ava Robinson’s
suspicions were correct that Beth and Junior’s murders were not random, this
was surely the missing piece of the puzzle we needed to help us crack this
case. Laurel and I might finally be able to turn the page on this gruesome
chapter of our lives.
Sean and I
chatted for more than two hours. I filled in any holes in the case file he’d
received from the Hood River Police Department. I laid out my suspicions about
Beth’s past, information I’d gleaned through conversations with Beth and Laurel
over the years. The most interesting tidbit being the time Laurel told me her
mother had left her father for a few months when she was about five years old.
It wasn’t definitive evidence, but it was one brushstroke in a colorful picture
of a woman who lived her life with as much verve as the flowers she so
carefully nurtured.
“Whatever
you do, do not—I repeat, do not attempt to approach any potential
suspects or interviewees on your own. You hear me?” He glared at me with his
thick eyebrows raised, awaiting my agreement.
“You have
my word,” I replied, probably not as definitively as I should have.
“I’m
serious, Jack. Don’t get yourself killed or arrested for this shit. It’s not
worth it. Tell me you understand.”
I nodded.
“I understand,” I said with a bit more vigor.
He eyed me
warily. “I’ll handle all interviews. You’ve got too much at ´stake. Too many
emotions that pose a threat here. And I’m the experienced interrogator. So this
is not a request. This is an order. You hear me?”
I looked
him dead in the eye. “Loud and clear.”
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