His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(89)
Author: Shayla Black

“Sure.” Logan handed her the little ball.

Bailey took the toy in hand. It felt spongy and soft, and she could see why babies would gravitate toward it. She shook it, but it remained silent.

“Bounce it.” He tipped his chin in the direction of the table that had held the gifts last night.

She did, and it immediately played the tune again. The words Viktor had taught her jumbled in her head once more. But really, did some little kids’ song her biological father had taught her years ago matter? Everything inside her wanted to say yes, but it sounded mental.

“I don’t need this after all.” Bailey extended the ball back to Logan. “I’m not going to take your daughters’ toys.”

“If it’s jogging your memory, maybe you need this. Believe me, I’ve heard that sucker so much over the last few months, if it’s gone for a long while, that won’t be a loss.”

She hesitated. “Your babies won’t miss it?”

“Probably, but Tara and I also won’t miss them each crying when the other has it. Really.” Logan pushed the ball back in her direction. “Take it. If it will help at all, it’s really a small sacrifice.”

Every one of these people had been nothing but kind, protective, welcoming . . . Bailey wondered if she’d ever see them again. Damn it, she was going to cry.

Joaquin hustled her out the door and to a gray SUV before she did. The sun showed hints of cresting over the horizon soon, but everything around her felt still. She couldn’t help but wonder if McKeevy was somewhere lurking in the dark, just waiting for his chance at her. Dominion had felt safe, as had its people. Now they were gone.

Inside the vehicle smelled of leather and Joaquin. He threw the backpack in the backseat, then climbed beside her and eased out of the lot, sans headlights. At this time of morning, almost no cars congested the streets. He waited until he’d cruised a few lonely blocks before flipping on the lights, punching the gas, and heading away from the club.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” He looked tense, worried. “I have to think of some place safe, but with McKeevy and LOSS onto you, I think we have to start playing offense and try to access anything you can remember about the day your family died. Maybe that will help us. If he kept a copy of that research—”

“I don’t know. If he did, I don’t remember. I was barely five.”

“But your memories are coming back. There’s a chance we can extract more from your dreams. Anything you can remember might save you. Talk to me about that ball.”

“The music is sparking something. I don’t know what exactly. It’s . . . fuzzy. Why didn’t you want to tell Logan?”

“It’s better for him if he doesn’t know anything LOSS might want.”

Bailey supposed that was true. She didn’t want the people who had tried to help her at any additional risk. In fact, she prayed that, with her gone, Callie would have a perfect wedding.

With a sigh, Bailey squeezed the ball Logan had given her. She was almost loath to hear the song again, like it might open a Pandora’s box of crap she didn’t want to deal with. But the chime played in her head, taunting and compelling her. Besides, if information was power, she couldn’t procrastinate in learning.

She tossed the ball against the dashboard, catching it as the rubbery orb bounced right back. It sang to her as she took it in her palm.

Hickory near the . . . something. The can’t-remember hides on the something-or-other? The rest of the song just faded from her consciousness as she tried to recover the first two lines. Maybe if she could sing that much, the other lines would follow?

“Anything?”

“Not enough. It starts with hickory, just like in Logan’s version. Then it veers off. Let me try again.”

She bounced the ball against the dash one more time and let the melody play. “Hickory near the dock. The mouse hides on the . . . something. From the painted fence, jump three times.”

“Then what?”

“That’s all I remember.”

Her inability to recall the song frustrated her. Not that she’d expected to bounce the ball a couple of times and the song would magically fill her brainpan. But the black spots in her dream, the fate of her family, really upset her—being unable to remember upset her. Why couldn’t she just close her eyes and get it?

“Take a deep breath and relax.”

Bailey did as Joaquin asked, but the more than vague edge of annoyance prevented her from actually unwinding. “Nothing.”

“Hang on,” he insisted. “Hand me the ball.”