“I knew he had this planned,” I said.
“So you’re saying since he can’t give her a child, he wants to take mine—the one he never wanted—so the two of them can play house?” Liv asked, horrified. “He’s not even doing this because he changed his mind? It’s all for money?”
“Yes. As I said, she is spoiled. I don’t know if he told her about his infertility and suggested Sammy, or how it happened, but there is no doubt he planned it.”
I looked at Hal. “Can we stop him?”
“This is all theory,” Hal mused. “It’s still a long shot for him, but he is determined to fight. I can’t do a lot with it since you obtained so much of this illegally. I need something concrete to shut him down and make the judge see the reasons behind this sudden interest.”
He turned to Liv. “You haven’t come up with anyone else you confided in?”
“No.”
“No taped arguments or texts?”
She shook her head. “I hate texting—I always have. I don’t think I ever texted him anything personal. I never taped any of our phone conversations. I never thought I would ever need it.” Tears filled her eyes. “It’s his word against mine.”
Hal looked grim. “Don’t give up, Liv. We’ve got a good judge. He already put aside the visitation and refuses to rush this. We have a week before our next appointment.” He ran a hand over his face. “Long shot here, but did you ever have an argument in public about you being pregnant someone that might have overheard? A colleague or friend?”
“No. He was so ashamed of my ‘situation,’ he refused to see me except in private. And he was cold and distant. He lost it badly once…” Her voice drifted away, and her eyes grew wide.
I took her hand. “What is it, Liv?”
“I forgot.” She stuttered. “I forgot—an-an email.” She covered her mouth. “How could I forget that?”
“Tell me,” I urged, ignoring everyone else but her.
“He was drunk one night and wrote me an email.”
Hal leaned forward. “What did it say?”
“It was vile. He kept referring to Sammy as an it. He told me to kill it. Get rid of it. He wanted nothing to do with the bastard child I had tried to trap him with.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “He told me what a sorry excuse for a woman I was—he listed all my faults and said knowing it was a girl, she would be as weak and useless as I was. He wanted no part of her life or mine, and I was never to contact him again.” She shuddered. “I changed my email the next day and had my lawyer send him the papers. I never heard from him again.”
She wiped the tears off her cheeks. “I forgot about the email. It was so awful, I pushed it from my mind.”
“Do you have a copy?” Hal asked eagerly.
“No. I deleted it.” She slumped back in her chair.
“What device did you get it on, Liv?” Reid asked, his voice anxious.
“My cell phone. My emails went there. I couldn’t afford a laptop while I was at school, so I used theirs, and I had a cell phone.”
“Do you have the cell phone?”
Liv’s brow furrowed. “I think so. I tend to keep that sort of stuff. I think the cell phone is in a box in my apartment. But I don’t have the same provider anymore, and I deleted the email.”
Reid leaned forward, eager. “Did you delete the provider from your phone?”
She thought about it then shook her head. “No. But when I changed providers, I got a new phone. I threw the other one in a box. I don’t think I touched it.”
“Can you trace the email, Reid?” I asked. “Even if the phone is dead?”
Reid’s eyes were bright. “Yeah, if it was on the phone, I can find it.” He paused. “Do you remember what his email was at the time?”
“Um, it was a Hotmail account. He refused to pay for email.” She looked upset again. “I can’t remember what my email was, Reid.”
Reid grinned. “It’s fine, Liv. I don’t need it. I need you to find me the cell phone.”
“Okay.”
I glanced at Hal. “If she finds them, and you can recover it, what happens?”
Hal leaned back in his chair. “I nail that bastard to the wall with his own words. Then I take back my words. This will be open-and-shut—by the asshole himself.”
I stood, holding out my hand. “Come on, Liv. We need to find that phone.”
Van
“Think, baby,” I encouraged her.
Liv ran a hand through her hair, the strands tangled from her constant worrying. “I can’t remember,” she cried, tears pooling in her eyes. She had been crying constantly for over an hour, her panic clouding her memory.
I tugged her onto my lap in the middle of the chaos surrounding us. We’d gone through every drawer and shelf in her closet, the kitchen, even the bathroom. No cell phone.
“Okay,” I soothed, stroking her hair. “You threw it in a box.”
“Yes.”
“Did you live here then?”
“N-no.” She hiccupped. “We moved here when Sammy was two.”
My heart sank. Had she thrown it out when she moved?
“But I saw it after we moved. I added another phone to the box. I thought I should chuck them both, but I put the box on the shelf and forgot.”
“Okay, good. Good job remembering that, Livvy.” I pressed a kiss to her head. “Have you seen it since then?”
She sighed, and I let her think, rubbing her back in long passes.
“Sammy,” she breathed.
“My parents and Elly have her. She’s fine.”
She pushed away. “No! Sammy…she loved to play with my phone when she was little. She loved to push the numbers. I gave her a phone to play with.” Her eyes grew round with the memory. “I gave her the phone!”
I stood, pulling her with me. In Sammy’s room, we split up, going through shelves and drawers. I had no idea how much stuff a little girl could have. I discovered lace, ribbons, hair things, doll clothes, little bits and pieces everywhere I looked, but no cell phone. In desperation, I shoved my hand under her old bookcase, encountering something soft. I pulled it out, staring at the little cat purse. It was thick and I opened it, pulling out the small cell phone.
“Liv?” I held it up. “Is this it?”
Her hands covered her mouth, but she nodded. I tried to open the case, frowning as it stuck.
Liv swallowed. “She dropped it,” she said, her voice raspy. “In the tub. I remember now. She dropped it, and I threw it in some rice to dry it out. She must have dug it out and brought it in here. I gave her the other one to play with instead, but she lost it.” She met my eyes. “It’s probably unusable now. All this is for nothing.” Her shoulders drooped.
“Hey,” I called.
She lifted her head.
“Don’t forget who we’re talking about here. It’s Reid. If anyone can get something out of this phone, it’s him. Don’t give up hope yet.” I stood, digging my cell phone out of my pocket and dialing Reid’s number.