Gifted To The Dragon: A Paranormal Pregnancy Romance (The Gifted Series Book 2) (5 page)

"You think he's in Chicago?"

Immediately thinking of what the agent had just said, as it might relate to Desmond, I sat up a little straighter in my seat, stunned. "What?"

I knew it was possible Desmond could be in Chicago, though with all the hundreds of different dragon groups scattered around the Midwest, it didn't seem probable, and I had no idea why the agent would be asking me what he just had.

He glanced up at me in the rear view mirror. "Sorry. Was talking to Cynthia. Just wondering if one of our agent friends might still be in Chicago, or if he's already back in D.C."

I hadn't even realized the male agent, whose name I still didn't even know, and Cynthia had been having a conversation. Feeling like an absolute idiot, I apologized and sat back in my seat, thinking that pregnancy was really doing a number on my brain. Or maybe it was Desmond who'd done it.

At the moment, I had other issues to deal with. I was suddenly beginning to feel very carsick, and this, after not having had a touch of any morning sickness at all the entire month.

By the time we rolled into Chicago, my stomach was really rolling. At the same time, I felt cotton-mouthed and dehydrated, as if I hadn't had a glass of water and orange juice that morning.

Between sips of bottled water, trying not to drink too much at once so as not to upset my stomach further, I looked out the window at the city that was to become my new home. It had indeed changed, and I saw a lot of buildings that were obviously brand-new, some of them still under construction, with scaffolding going up higher than I could see.

All this new construction really did give the city a different sort of look, different in the sense that the city wasn't how I remembered it, and different in the sense of giving the city an unusual look.

Side-by-side with gleaming new skyscrapers of glass and metal stood empty lots still strewn with debris from the buildings that used to be there and were now destroyed. Some buildings that were still standing had been there for decades, some even a hundred years, with signs of damage making them look even older beside the pristine new towers.

All in all, it seemed the city had made a remarkable recovery and was still continuing to do so. While I continued surveying it, Cynthia explained that the end goal was to have all the former residents who wanted to be able to return, along with new residents that would make the population swell to its former level.

"Although, first, before the city can return to its former glory, Commander Grant and his Destroyers are going to have to clear the area of Angels and the nasty Angel-dragons fighting for them. It may take years...decades, even...but I'm confident Commander Grant can do it, especially with help from you Gifteds." Frowning, Cynthia paused, studying my face. "Are you all right?"

I suddenly wasn't.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

The male agent immediately pulled the car out of traffic and into a mercifully-open parking spot adjacent to an alley. The moment the car stopped, I flew out, ran into the alley, and got sick into a metal trash can stuffed with newspapers. Queasiness nearly gone, I felt better right away, but this less-than-auspicious start to my time in Chicago should have given me a sign of things to come.

CHAPTER FIVE

              After my little trip to the alley, I rinsed my mouth with water, spit it out on the curb next to the car, and then closed the door, just wanting to go home, wherever my new home was. Cynthia encouraged me to just close my eyes and rest, and I did, trying to block out the sounds of traffic around us, because nearby honking was giving me a headache.

I supposed it could have been worse, though. The city streets were definitely congested, but not nearly to the level they'd typically been before The Takeover, when the city had been packed with over two million residents. Honestly, after a minute or so, I could feel the car moving pretty quickly, almost zipping through the city with just brief pauses I assumed were for stoplights.

Before long, Cynthia quietly said we'd reached our destination. "This is Grant Tower, a new building, where Commander Grant, his top men, and many Gifteds live. It's really a very beautiful building, inside and out."

I'd opened my eyes and was now peering out the window at the building as we pulled up right beside it. All gleaming steel and glass, which gave the building a faintly bluish hue in the bright sunlight, the building really was beautiful. A wide entrance of steel and dark stone was flanked by two massive stone fountains surrounded by daffodils in enormous slate-gray urns. While I continued looking, Cynthia continued talking.

"It's ninety stories...full of apartments, shops, and restaurants. There's even a multi-level parking garage beneath the building where you can park your car once the movers bring it. Oh, and by the way, on top of your generous salary as a Gifted, you'll be living here in the tower for free...no small thing, since apartments like the one you'll be living in would normally probably go for seven or eight grand a month in a large city...maybe even more.

“I've only ever been in one of the apartments while doing a Gifted transport a few months ago, but I know they're all equally luxurious...all marble everywhere, gilded fixtures, sunken bathtubs, and at least three very large bedrooms each. I imagine you and your child will be quite happy and comfortable here. I should also mention there's completely free childcare for all Gifteds. You'll never have to pay a dime."

I wondered what I'd ever be spending my "generous salary" on. Aside from buying clothes and food, I supposed I'd just save a lot of it. Although I knew I'd be dropping more than a few dollars on things I'd need for the baby.

A porter grabbed my suitcase from the trunk, and he and all three of the agents led me into the building lobby. With gray marble flooring, high vaulted ceilings, and gargantuan, shoulder-high brass planters filled with exotic ferns, it was just as beautiful as the exterior of the building. Now I was really getting anxious to see my apartment.

As our group made our way to one of several elevator bays in the lobby, I noticed curious stares from some of the several dozen people entering and exiting the lobby. I figured that as the new Gifted in the building, I might have to get used to curious looks and stares for a little while.

I just wished that at present, I was wearing something a bit dressier than a pair of old, butter-soft jeans, plain blue cotton top, and a fleece jacket I'd had for at least two years. As a gymnastics coach making a living but not exactly raking in the dough, I'd never been able to afford more than a basic wardrobe full of staples, which included a lot of jeans and t-shirts.

My apartment was all the way up on the eighty-fifth floor, and during the long elevator ride up, Cynthia explained that this particular apartment had been chosen for me because it was close to the eighty-third floor apartment of a Gifted named Emma.

"She's a latent Gifted like you, and she's kind of the unofficial 'welcoming committee' for new Gifteds around here. Shows them around, makes introductions, answers questions, all that type of stuff."

The dark-haired female agent, who'd barely spoke the entire morning, now sniffed a bit in response to what Cynthia had said.

"I suppose being an unofficial 'welcoming committee' is the least Ms. Whitaker can do, considering that Washington is still paying her full Gifted salary, despite her 'little problem' with carrying out her duties as a Gifted."

Pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses a bit higher on his nose, the male agent gave the dark-haired female agent kind of a sharp look.

"Don't be rude, Angela. From what I've heard, Ms. Whitaker not 'carrying out her duties as a Gifted' isn't for lack of her trying. Not to mention that I'm certain she has her hands full as a single parent to a one-year-old with health troubles and a physical condition. It's quite kind of her to volunteer to be a 'welcoming committee' guide to new Gifteds on top of all that."

The dark-haired female agent, who was apparently named Angela, just shrugged.

"I've heard she just does it to try to make friends because she's ostracized from the rest of the Gifteds, since she's the only one who can't contribute to the defense effort with her powers...or
lack
of them I should say."

The bespectacled male agent was now openly glaring at Angela. "And what if that's true? Why is it wrong for a person to try to make friends? I think your use of the word
ostracized
is a little off the mark, anyway. I'll admit I've heard there may be
some
sort of a divide between Miss Whitaker and the...the more active Gifteds, but that aside, she seems generally well-liked.
You
seem to be the only one who resents Miss Whitaker, maybe because you wish you were a Gifted yourself."

Angela scoffed, eyes wide, and her male counterpart immediately apologized. "I shouldn't have said that, although I don't think we've been working particularly well together lately. Once we return to DC, I'll be requesting that we don't work together again in the future."

Angela scoffed again. "Fine with me."

The elevator went silent, for a few seconds, anyway, until the elevator stopped and an older woman wearing a maid's uniform got on and said hello. She immediately began chattering to everyone and yet no one in particular, and I was glad, because as long as she kept going, Angela and bespectacled agent couldn't start back up again. Not that bespectacled agent had really seemed to have been "starting" anything. He seemed to just be rightly defending Emma Whitaker of the "welcoming committee," who I was now very curious to meet.

Soon the elevator doors opened on the eighty-fifth floor of the tower, and the three agents, the porter, and I, all got out. The porter led us down a plush-carpeted hallway to a white door bearing a small brass sign engraved with
85-A
. Once he'd opened the door, he held it open and gestured for me to go inside first, which I did. And right away, I felt like I'd just about had the wind knocked out of me.

Just from what I could already see, the apartment was every bit as luxurious as Cynthia had said it would be. The foyer was tiled in pale gray marble, as was the hallway that led into the interior of the apartment. Hanging above the foyer, twinkling in bright sun filtering down the hallway, was a chandelier composed of hundreds of tiny, pear-shaped crystals. Beneath it sat a large oriental rug that gave the area a pop of color with a central design of vivid maroon surrounded by shades of amber and rose pink. My own foyer rug that I'd had at home was one I'd gotten half-off at the local big-box super center.

Cynthia gave me a little smile. "Go ahead and have a look around. We'll bring your suitcase into the living room and wait for you there."

I went ahead and did as she'd directed, trying not to gasp and gape like some rube unaccustomed to the finer things in life, even though that was definitely the case. A quick glance in the vast living room told me that it boasted not one, but two fireplaces, as well as enormous windows offering full view of the city.

The bedrooms were equally spacious, and I immediately knew which one I was going to make mine; the only one of the three to have French doors that led to a little balcony, complete with glass-topped cafe table and chairs.

The master bathroom in this room was about the size of my living room back home, literally, as was a master bathroom in one of the other bedrooms. A third bathroom in the hallway was a little smaller, though still huge. The tiny bathroom of my one-bedroom apartment back home would have probably fit inside it four or five times.

Large and airy, with an eat-in, granite-topped island the size of a dining room table, the kitchen was a dream for anyone who loved to cook and bake, which I did.

Through a doorway on the east side of the kitchen was a formal dining room that contained an additional two fireplaces, as if the two in the living room weren't enough.

When I returned to the living room, Cynthia asked me what I thought. "Think you'll have enough space here for you and the baby?"

I smiled, a little giddy. "Plenty."

She, the other, agents, and the porter soon left, but before they did, Cynthia gave me her business card, telling me to call if I needed anything.

"Though, really, unless it's about something pertaining to the direct deposit of your salary or anything like that, you'll probably just want to go to Commander Grant directly. Or Emma. She'll be coming by sometime early afternoon to bring you lunch and get acquainted."

After unpacking my suitcase, then brushing my teeth and using mouthwash to clean my mouth of lingering ickiness from my visit to the alley, I actually took a nap in my new, extraordinarily comfortable four-poster bed. Despite my excitement about my new place, it had been quite a long morning, not to mention that I'd been feeling chronically beat ever since I'd become pregnant.

In addition to getting a solid eight or nine hours of sleep every night, sometimes even more, I'd been indulging in a few naps here and there, something I'd never been prone to doing, although I figured I was resting for two now. I planned to give my body all the rest it wanted throughout the duration of my pregnancy, because I knew that once the baby was born, being well-rested might become a forgotten luxury.

With no father in the picture, nightly feedings would be all on me. I realized I could now afford to hire a "night nanny" if things got too bad, like if my baby had colic, but I just couldn't see myself doing that during the first few months of bonding.

Not long after I awoke from my long nap, Emma, who was a pretty brunette about my age, showed up at my door. In one hand, she held a large plastic bag printed with the name of a popular Midwestern restaurant and catering company, and her other hand rested on a stroller handle. Inside the stroller, grinning big, revealing two tiny front teeth, sat one of the cutest little boys I'd ever seen in my life.

With huge, rosy cheeks, dimples, and a halo of dark brown curls, he was the picture of a one-year-old angel. Except that this little angel had metal braces that ran from his ankles to his chubby thighs, and these braces didn't look as if they allowed him to bend his legs.

I smiled at Emma and him, and he grinned even bigger, flinging a tiny plastic race car at me, which got me right in the shin, not that it hurt at all.

Laughing, I picked it up. "I think he wants me to play cars with him."

Emma winced, though still smiling. "I'm so sorry about that. I'm Emma Whitaker, and this is my son Jake. He just loves to throw things. Toy cars, food, sippy cups...you name it. If something can be thrown, Jake will throw it."

Smiling, I introduced myself and invited them in, and Emma and I were soon sitting up to the granite-topped island in the kitchen, tucking in to a delicious lunch of salad, lasagna, and breadsticks. For the time being, Jake seemed content to sit in his stroller beside us, drinking milk from his sippy cup and not throwing it.

Emma said that she'd already fed him lunch a little while earlier and that he'd probably fall asleep soon. Right on cue, not even a minute later, his eyes slowly closed and his cup fell from his hand and onto the marble floor.

After picking it up, Emma set it on the table and briefly looked at Jake sleeping with a little smile on her face before picking up her fork again.

"You might be wondering why he has to wear leg braces."

"I've honestly more been wondering how one little boy can be as adorable as a hundred babies put together. I just about had a cuteness overload attack when I answered the door."