Chapter 12 Chapter 12
~TWELVE~
I stared at the headline in disbelief, reading it over and over as if the words might change.
"This can't be happening," I whispered. "You were with me all night. You didn't kill anyone."
"I know that, and you know that," Declan said, his voice eerily calm. "But someone is working very hard to make it look like I did."
Rick burst through the apartment door without knocking, his face flushed and his tie askew. "Have you seen the news? Every major outlet is running the story. Declan, your phone has been ringing nonstop. The board is panicking, investors are calling, the police want you to come in for questioning—"
"Slow down," Declan held up his hand. "One thing at a time."
"There is no time!" Rick practically shouted. "This is a disaster. We just survived one board meeting, and now this? They'll force you out for sure this time."
My phone started ringing. It was an unknown number. Then another call. And another.
"Don't answer any of those," Declan said. "Rick, call my lawyer. Tell him to meet us at the police station in an hour. Anita, pack a small bag."
"Why?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"Because after I give my statement to the police, we're leaving town for a few days until this blows over," he said.
"Running away makes you look guilty," Rick argued.
"Staying here makes Anita a target," Declan countered. "Someone killed Patricia Turner and framed me for it. Whoever it is won't stop there."
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Harris, there are reporters in the lobby asking for a statement," the security guard's voice came through.
"Don't let anyone up," Declan instructed. "And call the police if they don't leave the property.”
He turned to me, his expression softening slightly. "I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
I nodded, even though I was terrified.
"Good. Pack comfortable clothes for a few days. Nothing fancy. We need to blend in wherever we go."
As I went to the bedroom to pack, I could hear Declan and Rick arguing in low voices about the best course of action.
My hands shook as I threw clothes into a bag. How had everything spiraled so out of control so quickly?
Just yesterday, I was a woman with a new job trying to figure out her unexpected pregnancy. Now I was somehow involved in a murder investigation, my face was probably going to be plastered all over the news, and the father of my children was being accused of killing someone.
I sat down on the bed, trying to calm my racing heart. I needed to think clearly, for my babies if nothing else.
My phone rang again. This time it was Sarah from work.
Against my better judgment, I answered.
"Anita? Oh my God, is it true? Did Mr. Harris really—"
"No," I cut her off. "None of it is true. He didn't kill anyone."
"But the news is saying—"
"The news is wrong," I said firmly. "Sarah, I can't talk right now, but please, don't believe everything you hear."
"Are you okay? Where are you?"
"I'm safe. I have to go."
I hung up before she could ask more questions.
When I came back to the living room with my packed bag, Declan was on his phone while Rick paced frantically.
"—don't care what the board thinks, just handle it," Declan was saying. "I'll be at the station within the hour. Yes, my lawyer will be there. Fine."
He hung up and looked at me. "Ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," I said.
"Good. Rick, you're staying here to do damage control. Keep the board calm, handle the press inquiries, and find out who leaked this story to the media."
"Where are you going after the police station?" Rick asked.
"The less you know, the better," Declan said. "I'll call you when I can."
Rick didn't look happy, but he nodded.
As Declan and I headed down to the car through the private garage exit, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched.
The drive to the police station was tense. News vans were already parked outside, reporters with cameras waiting for Declan to arrive.
"Just keep your head down and don't say anything," Declan instructed as we pulled up.
His lawyer, a sharp-looking woman named Amanda Pierce, was waiting by the entrance.
"Mr. Harris, Miss Blake," she greeted us. "We need to talk before you go in there."
We stepped into a quiet corner while cameras flashed in the distance.
"The police have evidence that places your car near the warehouse around the time of Patricia Turner's death," Amanda said bluntly.
"That's impossible," Declan said. "I was at the office until eight, then went straight to Anita's apartment. I didn't go anywhere near that warehouse."
"Do you have proof of that?" Amanda asked.
"Security footage from my office building and Anita's apartment building," Declan said.
"We'll need to get that immediately," Amanda said, making a note. "What about your car? Where was it all evening?"
"In the parking garage at Norex. I took it when I left work."
Amanda's expression grew more concerned. "They're saying your car was seen on traffic cameras near the warehouse at 9:47 PM."
"That's impossible," I spoke up. "Declan was with me at 9:47. We were ordering dinner."
"Can anyone verify that?" Amanda asked.
"The delivery driver," I said. "He arrived at 10:15, so Declan must have placed the order around 9:45 or 9:50."
"Get me the receipt and the delivery service information," Amanda said. "We'll need to track down that driver."
A police officer approached us. "Mr. Harris? We're ready for you."
Declan turned to me. "Wait here with Amanda. I'll be out as soon as I can."
"No," I said, grabbing his hand. "I'm coming with you. I'm your alibi."
"Miss Blake, that's not advisable—" Amanda started.
"I don't care," I interrupted. "I'm not letting him face this alone."
Declan looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. Together."
We followed the officer into the station and were led to an interrogation room. The cold, sterile space made my skin crawl.
Two detectives entered—a middle-aged man with graying hair and a younger woman with sharp eyes.
"Mr. Harris, I'm Detective Morrison, and this is Detective Chen," the man said. "Thank you for coming in voluntarily."
"I have nothing to hide," Declan said calmly.
"Then you won't mind answering some questions," Detective Chen said, her eyes moving to me. "And you are?"
"Anita Blake. I'm Mr. Harris's employee and—" I hesitated.
"His girlfriend," Declan finished. "And the mother of his children."
Both detectives exchanged glances.
"Interesting," Detective Morrison said. "Patricia Turner claimed that her son Jake was the father of Miss Blake's pregnancy, not you."
"Patricia Turner was wrong," I said firmly. "I can prove it with a paternity test."
"We'll get to that," Detective Chen said. "First, Mr. Harris, where were you last night between 9 PM and midnight?"
"I was at Miss Blake's apartment. We were together the entire evening."
"Can anyone verify that?"
"The delivery driver who brought our food around 10:15," I said. "And the security guard at my building saw Declan arrive around 8:30."
Detective Morrison pulled out a tablet and showed Declan an image. "This is your car, isn't it? License plate matches."
Declan looked at the photo. It was indeed his car, captured on a traffic camera near the warehouse at 9:47 PM.
"That's my car," he admitted. "But I wasn't driving it."
"Then who was?" Detective Chen asked skeptically.
"I don't know," Declan said. "But someone clearly took it from the Norex parking garage."
"Or you're lying about your whereabouts," Detective Morrison suggested.
"He's not lying," I said. "I was with him. All night."
"Convenient," Detective Chen said. "The girlfriend provides an alibi."
"It's the truth," I insisted.
"Miss Blake, were you aware that Patricia Turner contacted you yesterday demanding a meeting?" Detective Morrison asked.
"Yes," I said. "She sent threatening messages."
"Messages you didn't report to the police," Detective Chen pointed out.
"I was going to, but—"
"But Mr. Harris decided to handle it himself?" Detective Morrison finished. "By killing her?"
"No!" I said. "We were planning to meet with her today with proper security. We never got the chance because she was killed."
"Very convenient timing," Detective Chen said.
Amanda leaned forward. "Detectives, unless you have actual evidence linking my client to this murder beyond a traffic camera photo that could easily be explained, I think we're done here."
"We have more than that," Detective Morrison said. "We have the murder weapon. A tire iron from Mr. Harris's car. His fingerprints are all over it."
My heart sank.
"Of course my fingerprints are on it," Declan said. "It's my car. I've used that tire iron before."
"To change a tire or to kill someone?" Detective Chen asked.
"That's enough," Amanda stood up. "Unless you're charging my client, this interview is over."
The detectives looked at each other, then Detective Morrison spoke. "Mr. Harris, don't leave town. We'll be in touch."
As we left the interrogation room, I felt like I couldn't breathe.
"They think you did it," I whispered to Declan.
"I know," he said grimly.
"But you didn't. Someone is framing you."
"The question is who," Amanda said. "And why."
We exited the police station through a back door to avoid the reporters, but a few had figured out where we'd be.
"Mr. Harris! Did you kill Patricia Turner?"
"Are you the father of Anita Blake's baby or is it Jake Turner?"
"Is it true you're being removed as CEO?"
Declan kept his arm around me, shielding me from the cameras as we rushed to the car.
Once inside, I finally broke down.
"This is all my fault," I sobbed. "If I hadn't gotten drunk that night, if I hadn't slept with you, none of this would be happening."
"Don't say that," Declan said, pulling me close. "None of this is your fault. Someone is doing this to us, and we're going to find out who."
My phone buzzed. Another unknown number.
This time it was a text with a video attachment.
I pressed play with shaking hands.
The video showed Jake, alive and unharmed, sitting in what looked like a cheap motel room.
"Anita," he said, looking directly at the camera. "I know you think I'm a monster, but I didn't kill my mother. Someone is setting both me and Declan up. And I think I know who."
The video cut to show Jake holding up a photograph. Even on the small screen, I could make out what it showed—Victoria Laurence and Richard Harris, Declan's uncle, sitting together at a restaurant, looking very friendly.
"They've been working together," Jake continued. "Victoria wants Declan, and Richard wants his company. They planned all of this. The pregnancy announcement, the board meeting, my mother's murder—all of it. And they won't stop until they destroy both of you."
The video ended.
I looked up at Declan, who had gone very pale.
"Richard and Victoria," he said slowly. "It makes sense. He wants the company, she wants me. Together, they could—"
His phone rang. It was Rick.
Declan put it on speaker.
"Declan, you need to see this. I'm sending you a link right now."
A text came through with a news link. Declan clicked it.
The headline made my blood run cold: "BREAKING: Declan Harris's Secret Revealed—Forced Pregnancy to Meet Inheritance Requirements?"
The article claimed that Declan had deliberately gotten me pregnant to meet his father's will requirements, and when Patricia Turner threatened to expose the truth, he had killed her.
It was all lies, but it was written convincingly, with "anonymous sources" and "leaked documents."
"Who wrote this?" Declan demanded.
"It's published by Laurence Media Group," Rick said. "Victoria's family company."
Declan's jaw clenched. "She's making her move."
"There's more," Rick said grimly. "The board is calling another emergency meeting. Tonight. And this time, Declan, I don't think you can survive it."
"I'll be there," Declan said.
"No, you won't," Rick said. "They specifically said you're not invited. They're voting on your removal without you present."
"They can't do that—"
"They can if they claim you're a danger to the company's reputation," Rick said. "I'm sorry, Declan. I'll fight this, but you need to prepare for the worst."
After Rick hung up, Declan and I sat in silence.
Everything was falling apart.
"We need to find Jake," I finally said. "If he really knows what Richard and Victoria are planning, he's our only chance."
"Agreed," Declan said, starting the car. "But first, we need to disappear. If the board votes me out tonight, Richard will have access to all company resources. Including security footage, financial records, everything. We won't be safe."
"Where will we go?"
"I have a place," he said. "Somewhere Richard doesn't know about."
As we drove out of the city, I watched the skyline disappear in the rearview mirror.
Somewhere behind us, Victoria and Richard were destroying Declan's life piece by piece.
Somewhere out there, Jake was hiding with information that could save us.
And somewhere inside me, two tiny lives were growing, completely unaware of the chaos surrounding them.
My phone buzzed one more time.
It was a text from Victoria: You should have stayed away when I warned you. Now you'll lose everything. And when I'm done, Declan will come crawling back to me, and you'll be left with nothing but those bastard children.
I showed Declan the message.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
"She's not going to win," he said quietly. "I promise you, Anita, she's not going to win."
But as we drove through the night toward an uncertain destination, I couldn't help but wonder if we'd already lost.
Because even if we could prove our innocence in Patricia Turner's murder, even if we could expose Richard and Victoria's scheme, the damage was done.
Declan's reputation was destroyed. His company was slipping away. And our relationship was being twisted into something ugly and manipulative.
How could we possibly come back from this?
We drove for hours until Declan finally pulled off the highway onto a small rural road.
Eventually, we arrived at a small cabin nestled in the woods—isolated, quiet, hidden.
"My father built this place," Declan said as we got out. "He used to come here to think. After he died, I kept it but never told anyone about it. Not even Rick."
Inside, the cabin was simple but comfortable. One bedroom, a small kitchen, a living area with a fireplace.
"We'll be safe here while we figure out our next move," Declan said.
I sank onto the couch, exhausted physically and emotionally.
Declan sat beside me and pulled me close.
"I meant what I said earlier," he murmured into my hair. "We're going to get through this. Together."
"How can you be so sure?" I asked.
"Because I'm not going to let them win," he said fiercely. "I'm not going to let them take everything I care about."
I looked up at him. "And what do you care about?"
"You," he said simply. "And our babies. That's what matters. Not the company, not my reputation, not any of it. Just you three."
Tears filled my eyes. "Declan—"
He kissed me gently. "We're going to prove our innocence. We're going to expose Richard and Victoria. And then we're going to build a life together, away from all this chaos."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that love and truth would be enough.
But then my phone rang.
It was a number I didn't recognize, but I answered anyway.
"Miss Blake?" An unfamiliar male voice came through.
"Yes?"
"This is Dr. Peterson's office calling. We need you to come in immediately. There's a problem with your pregnancy."
My heart stopped. "What kind of problem?"
"We can't discuss it over the phone. But you need to come to the hospital right away. It's urgent."
"I'm out of town—"
"Miss Blake, I'm going to be very clear," the voice said. "If you don't come in within the next three hours, you could lose both babies."
The call ended.
I looked at Declan, my face white with fear.
"We have to go back," I whispered. "Something's wrong with the babies."
And just like that, our safe haven became a trap.
Because we both knew—this could be another setup.
But if it wasn't, if there really was something wrong with our babies, we couldn't risk ignoring it.
Declan looked torn, his protective instincts warring with his caution.
"It could be Victoria or Richard trying to lure us out," he said.
"Or it could be real," I said, my hands on my stomach. "Declan, I can't risk our babies' lives."
He closed his eyes, clearly struggling with the decision.
Finally, he opened them and nodded.
"Okay. We go back. But we do it smart. We call Amanda, we bring security, and we don't go anywhere alone."
As we rushed back to the car and started the long drive back to the city, I prayed that we were making the right choice.
But deep down, I had a terrible feeling that we were driving straight into exactly what our enemies wanted.
And this time, we might not make it out.