Читать книгу From Passion To Pregnancy - Tina Beckett, Tina Beckett - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

SIX WEEKS.

That time frame rattled around in her head over and over as she sat in the cab of the truck beside Sebastian.

Stress. A change of jobs.

Working with a man she’d slept with.

Slept. With.

Those two words linked arms with the other two words and began to dance a little jig in her stomach. Right beside the butterflies that had never left.

Six weeks.

She couldn’t be. They’d used protection. All three times.

Oh, God.

“Have you ever visited a favela?”

The question slid past her before turning in a smooth circle and coming back at her. “I’m sorry?”

He glanced at her with a frown. “I asked if you’d ever been to a favela.”

“Yes.” She blinked back the growing fear. “I think all cities have some kind of slum. There was one a few miles from our house. It was fairly safe—run by a group of women who decided to fight back against the image that all favelas are dangerous, drug-infested places. They had to give the okay for anyone new to move in.”

“This one is not like that. It has had—and still does have—a drug presence. You’ll need to be on the lookout for any unusual activity.”

She was. Only that unusual activity wasn’t happening outside the windows of the mobile unit. It was happening deep inside her body. And there was a sense of panic that said the unthinkable could very well be reality.

But it couldn’t. It was—while not impossible, it was highly unlikely.

Except hadn’t she read recently about a spate of condom tamperings across the country? A fad where kids dared each other to go into stores unnoticed and stab pinholes in packages? It had caused an uptick in unwanted pregnancies. And STDs.

Deus. STDs. An even stronger spurt of alarm went through her.

Surely she was safe. The condoms had been provided by the motel. There were quality control checks. There had to be.

At a motel?

Those establishments were gorgeous on the outside with their high walls, beautiful signs and manicured landscapes. But the elegant facade hid what really went on behind the entry gate. Sex. Lots of it. Mostly between people who weren’t married—or who were, but not to each other.

It’s okay. You’re overreacting. It’s an easy thing to check.