Page 24 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

Emory has a child, and that child could well be mine.

There's no way to tell unless I obtain his DNA or she confesses it, and while that is very high on my list of priorities, so is finding her father and tracing him back to his source.

Which means knowing everything I can know about her.

My goal today is to follow her, and to plant seeds.

I'm playing a long game in my mind as I slip across the courtyard from the eastern side of campus to wait out of sight.

I have no intention of hiding my presence, but in order to ensure I make contact with her, I must surprise her to start with.

I wait less than ten minutes in the blustery winds as a storm front approaches, hoping the skies don't open up and drench me.

When Emory walks out of the building along the paved path toward the road, I fall into step about ten strides behind her in a group of students chatting about a sculpture assignment.

No one seems to notice I'm there until the students turn off at the bus stop and Emory continues walking.

She's captivating even now, though not wearing the slinky black dress this time.

Her long woolen coat hangs below her waist, masking that addictive figure I know she has, and her hair is tied up under a beanie.

But the way she walks all hunched over and guarded, as if she is fully expecting me to be following her, isn't like the woman I met that night.

That woman was bold and free, ready to take life by the horns. This one seems beaten down by something and afraid—perhaps because I’m back in her life, or something else.

With her father's line of work, I can see how life may have dealt her significant blows and taught her that men like me aren't to be trusted.

Maybe she knew that when she met me at that club, but that night was a way of throwing off the shackles of fear and paranoia.

Maybe she didn't know who I was until she woke up next to me sober.

Traffic is congested. The light at the corner turns red and I stay a few paces back, leaning on the cold metal of a light post as I watch her press the button to cross the street.

She looks up at me and blinks a few times, like it's not registering who I am at first.

But the light flashes, and a voice speaks to pedestrians to continue walking.

The flow of foot traffic continues, pulling her along.

But now every few steps she glances back at me.

Her eyes are narrowed in fright, forehead creased deeply, and I make no effort to hide my presence.

I want her to see me, and I want her to know I’m watching, but right now my goal isn't to make her afraid.

My men want the drugs back.

They want to go after Gusev and Rostov and make them pay.

But to do this the right way we have to play smarter. Most of them think the girl is a distraction, but I know better.

Yes, she came into my purview suddenly, and right at the moment I most needed to focus. But it's untapped potential.

Emory turns the corner around a brick building where I can't see her, and my gut tells me she'll run.

I glance over my shoulder at my driver, now a few blocks back but keeping pace with me and annoying other drivers, and decide I have to pick up the pace if I'm going to stay with her.

My feet move faster as I rush past a few other men out walking, smoking cigars, and as soon as I round the corner I almost slam into her.