Popping the sample into a slender plastic receptacle, Liam shoved the test kit back in his pocket. Mission accomplished in less than sixty seconds—with Gwyneth none the wiser.
Satisfied, Liam carried Kyle with him to the window, patting his back and murmuring softly to the cranky boy to calm him.
Gwyneth returned with the bottle. The second Kyle spied it, he began kicking and wailing impatiently.
“There.” She handed Liam the bottle. “Would you mind feeding him? I need to take care of a few things.”
He took the warm bottle and tilted Kyle back in his arm. “Fine.”
She brushed her fingers through Liam’s hair. “You’re such a love, darling. Kyle didn’t get much rest, so if you wouldn’t mind putting him down in his playpen after—”
“Go on.” The sooner she left the room, the better. “We’ll manage.”
She disappeared through the kitchen and into the hall as Liam paced back to the couch and sat with Kyle. He watched, fascinated, as the babe grabbed at his bottle, searching for the teat, and put it in his mouth himself.
“Whoa, tiger.” He laughed. “Give me a second and I’ll help.”
Kyle had other ideas as he latched on and greedily suckled, staring up at Liam with big, dark eyes as he concentrated on each pull. The tyke was cute. He’d give the boy that.
As Kyle slurped, Liam heard the clink of the shower pipes. The woman was grooming again? Liam rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t mind a shower and some hot food, considering he’d been up since four a.m. and hadn’t managed either one.
He relaxed into the buttery leather cushion as Kyle’s eyes drooped heavily and his pulls slowed. Shortly, the lad sucked nothing but air from the empty bottle, so Liam gently eased it from his little mouth. Kyle’s face scrunched up, as if he meant to start wailing again. As he parted his lips, it wasn’t a cry that emerged but a sturdy burp. Kyle blinked, looking surprised. Liam chuckled and stood, carrying the boy to the playpen and tucking the fuzzy blue blanket around him. Kyle dropped off in seconds.
Liam wasn’t sure how long the boy would nap, but he hoped to have a good hour to get to the bottom of Gwyneth’s scheme. As soon as he found some more fucking food. God, he was starving.
Grabbing a cup of yogurt and a spoon from the kitchen, Liam ate and glanced around the condo. He spied Gwyneth’s open purse lying on the counter and began to prowl through the black Versace hobo bag. He wasn’t exactly sure what he sought, but he hoped to find a clue about her intentions—notes, correspondence, documents—anything. Other than cosmetics and some breath mints, he found it nearly empty…and surprisingly void of baby things.
Gwyneth had tucked her cell in one of the pockets. Picking it up, he scrolled through the device. No apps that charted child development or programs designed to entertain the wee one.
He launched her Facebook and scrolled down her timeline. Nothing about work, family, or even Kyle. Instead, he saw lots of shopping and trips to the spa. Of course, some people never posted about their personal lives or children for security reasons. Understandable, he supposed. She had a friend request from some young chap in London eager to show off his chest.
Liam frowned, then flipped to her text messages. James, Colin, Andrew, Ryan. The list went on… At the bottom, a message from her sister. Gwyneth had wished her older sibling a nice holiday. He flipped open the message from the bloke at the top of the list to find some sexts and a close-up of him wanking himself. Liam quickly shut the window with a grimace.
After that, he could only imagine how dreadful the pictures on her phone’s camera would be. He hoped to hell she hadn’t taken pictures of herself masturbating and sent them back to the man.
The shower shut off, and he knew he didn’t have much time to spare. But he couldn’t be squeamish now if he wanted any clue about what his ex-wife intended.
Liam quickly scrolled until he found her camera roll. The images were chronological, listed by month and year. The more recent ones even listed days.
He chose the photo she’d last taken—a pair of Prada shoes—and began scrolling back. Food, spas, girlfriends, bars, and men. Lots and lots of bars. Even more men. Selfies of her partying at various London nightclubs, each with a different glass and a different fellow. Last week, the week before, the month before… He frowned. She’d been drinking it up three days after Kyle’s birth? And somewhere called Paramount Bar two days before she’d delivered the child, when she was supposedly very pregnant?
Cursing under his breath, Liam shoved the phone away. So Gwyneth hadn’t been the chaste flower she claimed since he’d seen her last at that bloody benefit. What he hadn’t noticed was a single picture of Kyle—not sleeping or playing or looking cute. What mother didn’t have a picture of her infant? Of course, Gwyneth hadn’t seemed like a model for motherhood. Still, the fact that she lacked even one snapshot of the boy she’d nurtured inside her body and given birth to made Liam’s suspicions whirl.