Page 18 of False Evidence

He reached for the door handle and slid from the vehicle, being careful not to dislodge the finally quiet baby.

It was chilly outside, and neither he nor Gemma were wearing a coat, but she was snug against him, so only her backside would be cold. He’d closed and locked the door and was heading to the hotel room when he realized he couldn’t just leave the baby in the room while he returned to the car to get her stuff. At the very least, he’d need the portable baby jail.

He returned to the SUV and used the kick sensor to open the back. The crib was still in the box—and there was no handle. Impossible to carry while carrying Gemma.

He set her down on the pile of supplies, and she squawked.

“This will only take a minute,” he said, hoping it was true. He managed to rip open the box and was thankful to see the crib was inside a nylon bag with a handle. He set it on the ground, then scooped up Gemma again.

He was feeling like a pro when he locked the car, picked up the bag, and was heading for the side door, until he came face-to-face with the RFID sensor. He felt like a juggler as he set down the bag and fished his phone out of his pocket, scanned the lock with his phone, pocketed the phone again, and opened the door—it took three tries for him to do this in the moment before the green light on the door pad turned red, but finally, he had the door open and had picked up the crib and was heading up the stairs to their room.

The process was repeated at the motel room door, but this time, he got the timing right on the first try.

Inside the standard room with a king bed, he let out a sigh of relief as he deposited the baby on the bed.

He looked at her and said, “I need to set up the crib so I can go back to the car and get the rest of your stuff.”

Gemma let out a shriek.

He panicked and put his fingers over her mouth, which, of course, only made her cry louder. He quickly removed his hand and scooped her up. “Shhh. Sorry.”

She stopped screaming, but she definitely wasn’t happy. “You want to come back to the car with me?”

“Hungy.”

Yeah, there was no way she was going to wait patiently in the crib while he unloaded the SUV.

And if the smell was any indication, she needed a diaper change, so he needed the bag Erica had packed too,

Resigned, he headed back to the car with her in his arms.

He took two more trips, grabbing his own bag in addition to baby supplies. The groceries would be fine in the back of the SUV—it was only a few degrees above freezing, after all—and he figured they’d be stuck in the motel for several hours.

He needed to sleep. There was no way they’d leave before the eleven a.m. checkout time. He would book a second night as soon as they were settled. Late afternoon, they’d head to the cabin.

Back in the room with the last of what they needed to get through most of a day, he wanted to collapse on the bed and sleep, but the kid seemed to think he should feed her.

Was she really this hungry at six in the morning?

But then, she was tiny, and all that screaming had to burn a lot of calories.

He looked at her and said, “Diaper or food?”

“Hungy!”

Well, at least she was consistent.

He found the baby spoons in one of the shopping bags and washed one in the bathroom sink. It was too bad this motel didn’t have suites with kitchenettes, but at least it had a fridge, microwave, and coffee maker. He’d survive.

Erica had told him to get a portable, clip-on feeding chair, and he’d gotten absolutely everything on her list, but the chair was in the back of the SUV. No way was he making another trip, so it was sit on the bed or floor for mealtime.

No sooner was he seated in front of her with a spoonful of mashed peas than she’d yanked the spoon from his hand and spilled the contents on the bedspread on the way to her open mouth.

It didn’t get much better from there, mess-wise. But more food ended up in her mouth than on the bedspread, so that was a win.

Finally, she dropped the spoon and said, “Pow.”

He had no clue what that meant. He offered her another bite, and she pushed it away, splattering more green goop. “Pow!”