Page 117 of Juniper Hill (The Edens 2)

“No one.”

“Someone,” I corrected. “Because someone is trying to blackmail my family for money to keep my son’s paternity a secret. Who?”

“Shit,” he hissed.

“Who is it, Oliver?”

“I don’t know.”

My fury spiked. “Don’t you dare lie to me. This involves my son. I promised you I’d be quiet, I walked away, but you will tell me. Or my next phone call will be to your wife.”

“Do that and I will take your child.”

“You will never touch my son. I will use every dollar of my millions to ruin your life.” Whatever it took to keep Drake safe. If that meant doing my father’s bidding, so be it. “Who?”

The other end of the line went silent. So quiet I wasn’t sure if he was still there. But then he breathed and I knew he’d chosen self-preservation over his secrets. “No one knew about us.”

“Then why did the FBI stop by my house before I left the city? Someone has to know, Oliver. Who?”

There was a rustling noise in the background, then the closing of a door. “When did the FBI approach you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We weren’t exactly on speaking terms. And I told them nothing.”

“What, exactly, did the FBI agent say?” There was an edge to his voice. Fear. Good. I was fucking terrified. He could be scared too.

“Nothing. The agent asked if I knew you. I told her I didn’t.” A half-truth. By that point, Oliver had been dead to me. “I didn’t realize you were being investigated.”

“I’m not.”

Liar. “If the FBI knows, then someone else does.”

“Maybe a friend of yours. Someone who’d know you had money and thought they could con you out of some.”

“No. I told you before I left, I didn’t tell anyone we were together.” Because he’d asked me not to. And I was a goddamn idiot.

“It certainly wasn’t me,” he said.

My free hand balled into a fist. “Other than your wife, who would care that I had your child?”

“It is not my wife.”

“Then who? Please?” I hated begging this man, but for Drake, I’d drop to my knees if that meant getting him home safe.

“It might be this woman I was seeing. We weren’t together long. Six months. My time with her began shortly after my time with you. She was . . . demanding.”

“You mean she knew you were married.”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“How would this woman know about me?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Unless she had me followed. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

He’d come to my townhouse twice after our breakup. Once, the night he’d asked me to forget his name. The night he’d offered me money. The night I’d told him about the baby. Then, just days later, he’d come to sign his parental rights away.

If she’d been following him, maybe she’d kept following me too. Out of jealousy? Spite? Curiosity? When I’d had Drake, she must have guessed that Oliver was the father.

“A name. Give me her name.”