Chapter 2 The Devil Delivers in Darkness

# Chapter 2: The Devil Delivers in Darkness

Three days after my world imploded, I was cleared to go home with Damon. I refused to use the name engraved on her hospital bracelet, but something stopped me from calling her Damien, too. For now, she was just "baby girl" while I wrestled with the impossible situation Declan had thrust me into.

I hadn't seen him since I'd ordered him out of my hospital room. Part of me hoped he'd vanished again, returning to whatever shadow life he'd been living these past five years. The other part—the part I hated—kept searching for his face in every doorway.

"Are you sure you don't want us to call someone to help you at home?" The discharge nurse eyed me with concern as she wheeled me toward the exit. "Your mother, perhaps? Or a friend?"

"I'll be fine," I insisted, cradling my daughter against my chest. "I've arranged for a postpartum doula to come by tomorrow."

What I didn't say was that I couldn't bear to explain to anyone why my dead husband had suddenly reappeared in the delivery room. My mother would have a heart attack. My friends would think I'd lost my mind. And honestly, maybe I had.

As we reached the hospital entrance, an unfamiliar black SUV pulled up to the curb.

"Your ride is here, Dr. Carter," the nurse said cheerfully.

I frowned. "That's not my car. I called a regular cab."

The nurse looked confused. "The transportation desk said your ride home was arranged by..." She trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable.

The driver's door opened, and Declan stepped out.

My heart rate spiked, setting off the portable monitor I was still attached to. The nurse glanced at the readings with alarm.

"Dr. Carter, your blood pressure—"

"Is reacting normally to seeing a ghost," I snapped. To Declan, I said, "What are you doing here?"

He approached slowly, as if I were a cornered animal. "You can't take a regular cab with a newborn, Evelyn. No car seat."

I glared at him. "I have a car seat. It's in my apartment."

"Which is why I brought it." He opened the back door to reveal my infant car seat—the one I'd purchased just two months ago—properly installed in his vehicle.

"How did you get into my apartment?" I demanded.

His silence was infuriating.

"Of course. You probably have keys I don't even know about." I turned to the nurse. "Please call me an actual cab."

"Evelyn," Declan's voice softened. "You've just had major surgery. You have a newborn. Let me take you home safely, and then I'll leave if that's what you want."

The nurse, clearly uncomfortable, interjected. "Dr. Carter, hospital policy requires newborns to leave in properly installed car seats."

I was trapped, and Declan knew it. With as much dignity as I could muster, I allowed him to help me into the back seat beside our daughter.

The drive to my apartment was painfully silent. I stared out the window, refusing to acknowledge him, while periodically checking that the baby was breathing. When we arrived, Declan insisted on carrying my bag while I held the baby.

"I don't need your help," I said as we reached my door.

"I know." He set my bag down gently. "But I'm giving it anyway."

Inside my apartment, everything looked exactly as I'd left it when I'd rushed to the hospital in labor—dishes in the sink, prenatal vitamins on the counter, a half-finished nursery mural on the wall. But something felt different. Like someone had been there, moving through my private space.

"You've been here before," I stated flatly. "Recently."

Declan didn't deny it. "I wanted to make sure everything was ready for the baby."

I should have been outraged at the invasion of privacy. Instead, I was too exhausted to feel anything but numb. I sank onto the couch, still holding our daughter.

"Why now?" I finally asked. "If you've been watching me all this time, why reveal yourself now?"

He sat across from me, maintaining a careful distance. "Because you nearly died on that table, Evelyn. And I couldn't—" His voice broke. "I couldn't just stand by and watch."

"But you could watch me grieve you for five years?" The bitterness in my voice surprised even me.

"It was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Harder than faking your own death? Than making me identify a burnt corpse?"

"You never identified a body," he corrected quietly. "The remains were too damaged. You identified personal effects—my watch, my wedding ring."

"Which you obviously planted." I closed my eyes, remembering the horror of that moment. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? Standing in that cold room, being asked if those charred items belonged to my husband?"

"I can only imagine—"

"No," I cut him off sharply. "You can't imagine. You weren't there for the nightmares, the panic attacks, the grief counseling that did absolutely nothing because how do you move on from losing the love of your life?"

He flinched at that—a small victory.

"And all this time, you were what? Spying on me? Living some secret life while I tried to rebuild mine?"

"Protecting you," he insisted. "The Donovans would have killed you if they knew I was alive. They still might."

"So you're saying I'm in danger right now, because you decided to dramatically unmask yourself in my delivery room?"

He had the decency to look uncomfortable. "I've taken precautions. We're safe for now."

"We?" I laughed humorlessly. "There is no 'we,' Declan. You died. I mourned you. Whatever we were died in that explosion too."

The baby began to fuss, perhaps sensing my distress. As I adjusted her in my arms, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen, reminding me of the surgery I'd just undergone.

Declan noticed my wince immediately. "You need to rest. Let me help you get settled, and then I'll go."

"Fine," I relented, too exhausted to argue. "You can put the baby's bassinet next to my bed and then leave."

He nodded, moving with the quiet efficiency I remembered from our years together. Within minutes, he'd set up the bassinet, brought me water and pain medication, and placed my phone within reach.

"I'll go now," he said, lingering at my bedroom door. "But Evelyn, there's something you should know. The Donovans... they've resurfaced in Boston. That's why I came back."

A chill ran down my spine. "What do you mean, 'resurfaced'?"

"Lawrence Donovan was released from prison three months ago. His first act was to put out feelers about you."

"About me? Why would he care about me after all this time?"

"Because hurting you would be the perfect revenge against me." Declan's eyes darkened. "They must have somehow discovered I was still alive."

I clutched the baby closer. "So you're saying I'm in danger because of you. Again."

"I'm saying I won't let anything happen to either of you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device. "This is a panic button. Press it, and I'll be here in minutes, no matter what time."

"Where exactly will you be?"

"Close enough."

I took the device reluctantly. "This doesn't change anything, Declan. I still don't forgive you."

"I know." His eyes lingered on the baby. "She's beautiful, Evelyn. Just like her mother."

Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me alone with our daughter and a thousand unanswered questions.

That night, a violent thunderstorm rolled through Boston. The power flickered once, twice, and then went out completely. The sudden darkness jolted me awake, and for a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Then the baby's soft whimpers oriented me.

I fumbled for my phone, using its flashlight to check on her. She was awake but calm, staring up at the beam of light with fascination. I smiled despite myself, marveling at how something so small could be so perfectly formed.

A loud crash from the living room shattered the moment. I froze, straining to listen over the pounding rain. It could have been wind knocking something over, or...

Another crash, followed by the distinct sound of glass breaking.

Someone was in my apartment.

My heart hammered as I reached for the panic button Declan had given me. I pressed it and scooped up the baby, backing toward my bathroom—the only room with a lockable door.

Before I could reach it, my bedroom door burst open. A large figure silhouetted against the dim emergency lights from the hallway filled the doorframe.

"Dr. Carter," a gruff voice said. "Lawrence Donovan sends his regards."

Terror paralyzed me as the intruder stepped forward. In the faint light, I could see he was holding a gun.

"Please," I whispered, shielding the baby with my body. "She's innocent."

"So was Marco Donovan," the man replied coldly. "Your husband made sure I saw my cousin's body before he burned it beyond recognition. Now Lawrence wants you to feel the same pain."

"My husband is dead," I said automatically, the lie I'd believed for five years coming easily to my lips.

The man laughed. "We both know that's not true, Doc. And he'll suffer more knowing you died calling for him."

He raised his gun, and I closed my eyes, curling around my daughter. I whispered an apology to her for the life she would never get to live, for bringing her into a world where my past could hurt her.

The shot never came.

Instead, there was a sickening thud followed by a heavy crash. I opened my eyes to see the intruder sprawled on the floor and a familiar figure standing over him.

Declan.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, quickly securing the fallen man's weapon.

I shook my head, still clutching our daughter. "How did you get here so fast?"

"I've been in the building since you came home." He didn't elaborate, turning his attention to restraining the unconscious intruder with zip ties he produced from his pocket.

Once the man was secured, Declan came to me, his eyes scanning for injuries. "I need to get you both somewhere safe. Now."

"I can't just leave—"

"Evelyn." His voice was deadly serious. "This isn't the only one they sent."

As if to punctuate his point, there was another crash from somewhere in the apartment.

"My go-bag is in your hall closet. It has everything we need for the next 48 hours." He was already moving, retrieving a black duffel bag I'd never seen before from my own closet.

"You've been planning for this," I realized.

"I've been preparing for every possibility since the day I 'died.'" He handed me a small bundle from the bag. "Put this on over your nightgown. Can you walk?"

The pain from my surgery was intense, but adrenaline was a powerful override. "Yes."

"Good. We're going out the fire escape. Stay close to me."

As we prepared to leave, the baby began to cry—loud, desperate wails that echoed in the small apartment.

"She's hungry," I said desperately. "I need to feed her."

Declan hesitated, clearly torn between immediate escape and the baby's needs. "How long?"

"Fifteen minutes? I don't know, I'm still figuring this out."

The sound of footsteps in the hallway made the decision for us. "Feed her while I deal with this," Declan said, positioning himself at the door. "But be ready to move the second she's done."

I nodded, settling back on the bed to nurse our daughter while Declan prepared to confront whoever was coming. The domesticity of breastfeeding while my supposedly dead husband defended us from assassins was so absurd I might have laughed if I wasn't terrified.

The baby latched and began to feed just as another crash echoed through the apartment. Declan disappeared into the hallway, and I heard muffled sounds of struggle. I wanted to call out, to know he was okay, but I didn't dare draw attention to our location.

Minutes later, he reappeared, a fresh cut above his eye but otherwise intact. "Two more," he reported grimly. "Both neutralized, but we need to leave now. The police will be here soon—someone must have called them."

I quickly burped the baby and wrapped her in a blanket. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere they'll never look for us." He helped me up, supporting my weight as pain shot through my healing incision. "Can you make it down the fire escape?"

I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure. "I don't have much choice, do I?"

Declan's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Evelyn. I never wanted this for you—for our daughter."

"Her name is Damon," I said quietly. "Not because you chose it, but because... it fits her. She's strong."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Like her mother."

As we climbed carefully down the fire escape, the baby miraculously quiet against my chest, I couldn't help thinking about how quickly my life had changed—again. Three days ago, I was a pregnant widow preparing for single motherhood. Now I was fleeing with my not-dead husband from people who wanted us dead.

And despite everything—the lies, the pain, the betrayal—I found myself trusting Declan to get us to safety. Because no matter what else he had done, he had come when I needed him most.

In the darkness of that stormy night, as sirens wailed in the distance, I held our daughter close and followed the man I'd thought I'd buried into an uncertain future.