The Love Trap by Nicole French

9

Present

Isat in the waiting room, drinking cucumber water delivered from the tired-looking receptionist and rechecking my messages for any news about court. The hearing had been delayed by multiple motions, or so said the flurry of texts Skylar had sent while I slept. But I hadn’t heard anything new in over an hour.

Eric, notably, had not called again, though he was undoubtedly allowed at least another phone call or two since we spoke on the edge of the field. He was still angry, then. I couldn’t blame him.

It was a quarter to six in New York right now. Nearly two hours after the court was set to reconvene again. Fifteen minutes after they would have likely dismissed for the day. Either the trial was happening or it wasn’t.

ME: YO! What is happening? You are done now, right?

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

SKYLAR: Srry, yes. Judge ordered recess. Reconvening tomorrow at eight. Ill call after talk 2 Eric + attny.

I frowned. Skylar wasn’t usually one for truncated texting. She was in a hurry. The question was why? There were only a few reasons why the judge would want to reconvene later. Number one: the trial itself was under investigation.

It wasn’t exactly what we had hoped for, but it was something.

Another text from her interrupted my pondering.

SKYLAR: want me 2 tell him anything?

I stared at the text for several minutes, unsure of what to say. So, she knew he was upset, then. She knew he didn’t want to talk to me.

Tears sprang—worsened, I was sure, by the torrents of hormones flowing through my body. I set a palm over my belly, which at this point, maybe looked like I had eaten too much pizza. But it was different. I was different. Eric was missing it, and it was my fault.

Just when I had sucked in enough deep breaths to stem the tears and started to type a few updates on John Carson—we had sent the list of companies and our thoughts to Detective Cho last night and he was investigating the sites today—my name was called.

“Mrs. de Vries?”

“Hi. Yes, I’m here. Yeoboseyo!” I ignored the nurse’s cringe at my terrible Korean as I stood.

“Hello,” she said in excellent English. “Follow me, please.”

I followed her to an ultrasound room in the back of the office. Like the front room, it was plush. Very plush. Likely a lot plusher than most eight-weeks-pregnant ladies would be getting anywhere else. I hadn’t been through this process myself, but between Suejean and talking with my best friend through her own pregnancies, I knew that most OB/GYNs left this work to an ultrasound tech.

Bridget, I realized. Give the executive assistant to the DVS chairman a task, and she definitely gets it done tenfold. Suejean had passed the name to her, and the plucky woman had ensured that her boss’s wife would receive five-star service to soothe my harried mind—and probably the irate chairman behind bars. I definitely owed her a giant flower arrangement when I got back to New York. And probably a raise on Eric’s behalf.

“Dr. Han will be with you soon,” said the nurse. “Please change into this.” She handed me a hospital gown and instructed that I should wait up on the table after I was finished.

I changed quickly, shivering like a frozen fish on the exam table while I waited. In my purse, my phone buzzed with a call, and I scramble to get it. Eric, I prayed, suddenly desperate to hear his voice, even if he was angry with me.

But it wasn’t him.

“Detective Cho?” I answered. He was a distant cousin, but he hadn’t instructed me to use anything other than his title at this point.

“Hello, Mrs. de Vries.”

Apparently the formalities extended both ways.

“It’s pretty early for a check-in, Detective,” I said. “Have you been to all the sites already?”

There was an awkward clearing of his throat. “I have updates on some progress. Your security—they are with you?”

I frowned. That was a weird question. “Ah, well, I’m at a doctor’s appointment right now, but Tony and the guys are in the waiting room.”

“Good, good.” Cho spoke hurriedly, almost distracted. “Mrs. de Vries, we found John Carson’s rental car. It was at the second address you provided. I think you are correct about Mr. Carson’s business interests here in Hwaseong.”

“So…did you find him?” My heart leaped. Could it really be this easy? Was it possible that my mother and I could be on a plane back to New York today?

“We watched the building until he came out,” Cho replied. “And then we followed his car. But he…unfortunately, he lost us. There is a call to other police to look for him right now. I will keep you updated. But you should remain with your security and stay at the hotel after your appointment.”

“And my—” I was almost afraid to ask as my heart sank. “My mother? Was she there?”

“I’m so sorry,” Cho said. “But your mother was not with him.”

My heart sank. The resignation in his voice was clear. I had a feeling that Cho was going to be searching rice paddies for her body before he looked for a live woman.

No, I insisted to myself. Not yet.

“Okay,” I said. “Well, thank you for updating me. I really appreciate it. And…Detective…”

“Yes?”

“Um…be careful.” It felt so strange, almost like I was mothering a man who, despite a distant family connection, was little more than an acquaintance. Ha, I thought. These instincts were in me somewhere.

But he was taking on a lot on my behalf. I was grateful.

“I will call later, Mrs. de Vries,” he said, then promptly hung up.

“Mrs. de Vries?”

I set the phone in my bag and hopped back on the table as the doctor poked her head through the curtains. She offered a kind smile.

“Hi, Dr. Han,” I said, pulling the paper sheet over my legs. “Thank—thank you for taking me on with such short notice.”

The doctor nodded. Like the rest of her staff, she looked tired—she was seeing me well outside of normal operating hours, likely because of a large bribe from Bridget’s office.

“I told my OB/GYN that I would keep up with my schedule,” I said, a bit lamely, not mentioning that at this point, my OB/GYN was my cousin. “She said an ultrasound at week eight of my pregnancy was standard. I just want to assure my husband I’m staying with the plan even while traveling.” I didn’t mention that the irate father would probably interrogate me like crazy about it when I got home.

Dr. Han gave me a calm, indecipherable look. “Yes, that is standard. I will print a copy of the pictures and provide a digital copy for you to bring back to the United States when we are finished.” She pulled out a bottle of gel and raised the wand. “Can you bare your stomach, please?”

I managed not to flinch when she squeezed the cold gel just under my navel. She spread it around with the wand, and almost immediately, a hushed, rhythmic sound filled the tiny room. On the monitor next to us, a screen full of static appeared, in which I could make out a large black space, intermittently spread with static-filled shapes.

“You see this?” Dr. Han said, pointing at the black space. “This is your uterus.” She moved the wand some more. “And there…is your baby. You see the movement?”

I did see a tiny flicker. Something shifting in time with the thrumming sound.

“That is the heartbeat,” Dr. Han said. “You can hear it? That is your baby.”

I said nothing, just stared at the screen in awe. It was hard to make out the shape—it was really no bigger than a nut—but the movement was clear, as was its rhythm. There he—she? It?—was. This tiny little thing. The product of Eric and me. Together.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, unable to keep another round of tears from welling up. I swiped at them hurriedly, but Dr. Han didn’t seem bothered. “It’s…wow.”

The doctor took a few more pictures, checking for initial abnormalities and things like that (so she said). But the baby was small, and she said there wasn’t much to do until my twenty-week scan.

“Everything looks good,” she said. “Very healthy. You will need to have a blood test, usually between ten and thirteen weeks. Will you need an appointment here, or will you—”

“I’ll be home,” I said with more assurance than I felt. “I…I’ll be home.” I had to be.

The doctor nodded again, then pressed a few buttons and printed out a strip of shiny photos from the ultrasound. She handed them to me. “For you and your husband.” She handed me a cloth as well to clean up my stomach, then hopped off her stool. “I will go retrieve the digital copy and return.”

I nodded, too entranced with the photos to speak.

“Hey,” I whispered, staring at the blurry black-and-white photos. “Hey there, tiny cellular cluster. One day you will be an actual person. And I am going to be ridiculously happy to meet you.”

I got dressed, staring at the pictures on the table the whole time. Just when I finished and had picked them up again, my phone buzzed in my bag. I jumped, almost dropping the ultrasound pictures before I managed to check the new text message.

SKYLAR: Major news!! The judge turned the case over to the Brooklyn DA’s office because of the conflicts with the Manhattan DA. Brooklyn is declining to prosecute.

I read the words four more times before I fully comprehended what was happening.

The initial corrupt judge. Apparently there had been more questions with the DA handling the case, hence the multiple motions today. And now a switch, which meant…

My phone rang. I answered it immediately.

“Sky?”

“It’s done, Jane,” my friend said. “Over before it even began.”

The pictures in my hand seemed to glow.

“Where is he?” I sobbed. “Sky, I have to talk to him.”

“Oh, Janey,” she said. “I—I honestly don’t know. They literally just dismissed, and just left the gallery. They might be processing his release right now.”

My heart squeezed. Did he know? Would he be able to check his messages soon? I desperately wanted to be there, to be on the other side of those doors when he was released.

“Sky,” I said. “Call me back when he’s with you, okay? I need to do something right now.”

We hung up, and then I turned to the ultrasound screen and snapped a photo of the shot the doctor had taken. I sent the picture to Eric with the caption. We miss you.

Then I called his phone, which, of course, went straight to voicemail after two weeks in a box.

“Eric,” I hiccupped. “I know you won’t get this for a while, but…oh, Eric, I’m at the doctor’s office. And I saw her. It. Whatever she is, but her, I heard her heartbeat! She’s just…oh my God, Eric, she’s only a little peanut, but she was real, you know? And I…God, I’m so sorry you’re not here, but I swear, as soon as I find my mom, I’m coming home. We are coming home to you. I’m staying safe, I promise, and I’m so glad that you’re safe now too. Get some new security since I stole yours, okay? Promise me that you’ll keep yourself safe until we’re together.”

I paused, took a deep breath, and then continued with the words we often found so hard to say to each other. Words I had always struggled to accept clearly when he had said them, but which I desperately wanted to hear. As I stared at the picture of my daughter or son, I knew I didn’t want to continue in that tradition. I wanted to be the kind of person who was open with my heart. For her. For him. For my family.

“Eric,” I whispered. “I-I love you. I love you so damn much, and I promise you that once I come back, I am never leaving you again. I’ll stop calling you Petri dish. I won’t force you to eat kimchi on everything. And I won’t run. I just want us to be a family, because that is what we are. I promise you. I just need to get all of that family back, okay?”

I paused again, realizing the idiocy of talking to a machine like it was going to talk back.

“I love you,” I said once more, then took a breath and repeated it one last time for good luck. “I love you. Like the water I drink. Like the air I breathe. Corny, I know, but I’ll come home to you soon and let you write the poetry. I promise.”

Then, reluctantly, I hung up. The words weren’t enough, but they were all I could offer. I’d come up with more one day. I’d try it every day for the rest of my life if it would help him know what he really meant to me.

“Touching. Very touching.”

I screamed at the sound of a deep, sonorous voice. From behind the thick door stepped a tall, familiar form.

John Carson, looking like the grim reaper himself in pure black and a black trench coat with the collar turned up on both sides, separated the curtains and entered the room, followed by two stocky Asian gentlemen and another tall white man with a hooked nose.

“Daughter,” he greeted me. His voice was calm as he took in the room and the pictures on the table.

I scrambled immediately into the far corner. “What—what the hell are you doing in here?” I looked beyond him. “How did you get past my security?”

“I hear you and that pathetic excuse for an investigator were looking for me.” Carson turned the monitor so he could have a better look at the picture, examining it with distant interest, like he was evaluating a map or a blueprint. He turned back. “He found me, of course. But he shouldn’t have.”

And that, I realized, was as close to an admission of Lawrence Kim’s murder as I was going to get. I looked longingly at my purse, wishing I could grab my phone.

“Get out,” I said with as much bravado as I could muster. “The doctor is going to be back any second too. And my security will wonder where I am.”

“Your security team was no match for a former KGB operative and the rest of my team, I’m afraid,” Carson replied, leaning toward the screen. “And your doctor, well, she is quite indisposed as well. Now, I’m not a medical professional, but I confess, I don’t see anything here. Do you have a cyst or something? Some kind of medical emergency?”

“I’m pregnant, you idiot,” I retorted, realizing only too late that I probably should have kept that to myself.

His face blackened completely. Of course. It was only a few months ago that Eric and I had explicitly been warned about the dangers of procreating. The man was a eugenicist monster, so dead-set against the mingling of his own gene pool with his sworn enemy’s that he had absolutely forbidden our marriage. I hadn’t really believed that song and dance…until now.

“Daughter,” he said again as he seethed at the ultrasound machine. “So you and your ‘paramour’ have done your very best to flout my orders.”

“Your orders don’t mean shit,” I snapped. Fuck. Why hadn’t I allowed Tony to come back here with me? What in the hell had these goons done to him?

His dark, deceptively hazel eyes—so unnervingly like mine—narrowed. “Is that right? And how is the de Vries spawn taking it while he rots in jail?”

“You didn’t really think that was going to last, did you?” I cut back. “Those were trumped-up charges, and you know it. It’s over. He’s getting out now that they moved the trial away from your bribed prosecutor and corrupt judge.”

Carson smiled then, and the sight of it turned me to ice. He was the human incarnation of the Grinch about to steal Christmas. The clear, perverse pleasure he took in orchestrating Eric’s stay at Rikers Island was bone-chilling.

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But it accomplished its purpose, did it not?”

I frowned. “How do you figure?”

“Well,” he said. “You are here. Your worthless renegade of a husband”—he practically spat the word—“is not.”

Realization sank in my heart like an anchor. Of course. This had been his plan all along. Separate us. Just like Eric said.

But in order to do what?

Before I could ask, Carson held up a hand, and with the flick of his fingers, gestured his henchmen inside the crowded space.

“Your mother is alive,” he informed me, like he was telling me the state of the weather. “But if you care about her life at all, you’ll come with me. Quietly and obediently, if that’s even possible for you. Now.”