Vik had said Freya was protective of her baby, had accused Jamie of being a danger to it. That was slightly concerning, but it had to be the hormones. Eventually, Freya would see that motherhood was a giant drag, and she’d be better off handing the whining, drooling, pooping creature over to its father. Jamie would be a better mother to it. She had no life except for the store, which, let’s face it, was hardly taxing. Without the baby, Freya could soar to greater heights, even greater fame.

Her fans would want to see the baby, of course. It couldn’t disappear from her life completely—as much as we might want it to. But weekend visitation would allow us to take enough photos of the child to make Freya look like a loving mother, while preserving her brand as a sexy, independent woman. She’d get cool sponsors like makeup companies, fashion designers, and vodka distilleries, not just boring baby food and diaper brands. She’d get invited to resorts and on cruises, and I’d go with her. We would travel the world together, our relationship deepening through our shared experiences.

I had been right to wait a couple of weeks to send the e-mail. It would have implicated me if I’d been dismissed with tears in my eyes and, moments later, Jamie and Brian had turned up demanding answers. I hadn’t expected the confrontation to put Freya into labor, but the baby would be fine. It was only a couple of weeks early, if it had been conceived the night of the swap. Which it had been. Because Max was sterile. And Freya was lying.

The tiniest niggle of concern tickled the base of my brain as I pulled into the hospital parking lot. If the baby had somehow been conceived later, as Freya and Max claimed, it might not survive. I wanted to get rid of the thing, but not that way. I wasn’t a monster. I may have fantasized about Freya miscarrying, but this would be too gruesome. But I pushed my concerns aside as I turned off the ignition and hurried across the darkened parking lot toward the building. Freya needed me, now. Whatever happened.

Jamie and Brian were loitering outside the main doors, looking fretful. As soon as she spotted me, Jamie rushed up to me. “Low. Freya’s in labor.”

“I know.”

“Did she call you?”

“Yes,” I lied. Freya was no longer speaking to Jamie, so she’d never find out that it wasn’t true.

“Thank God. It’s been hours. She needs someone in the room with her, someone who knows about labor. Can you be there for her?”

“Of course.” I didn’t relish seeing the object of my devotion screaming, puking, and pooping (yeah, I knew about labor), but I enjoyed usurping Jamie’s position.

Brian had joined us now. “Low, we need some information.”

“Like what?”