Page 41

Aslan

I pulled Quaid into an alcove, where a few plastic chairs were lined up under a window, and sat him down, allowing the news to absorb. We’d been racing all morning, our baby’s imminent arrival hanging over our heads and eclipsing the case.

“I have to call Dad.” He fumbled his phone, dropping it into his lap twice before getting a firm hold of it and finding his contact list.

I touched his arm. “Start with Edwards. Tell him Ruiz and Frawley are taking care of things, and we’re out.”

He nodded, and while he made his phone calls, I made my own. “Hey, Ma.”

“Oh, Aslan. I was just talking to your sister. Why on earth are we having your baby shower at a restaurant? Is there something wrong with your mother’s cooking?”

“No, Ma, it’s—”

“There’s hardly going to be enough space for people to mingle.”

“She’s reserving a party room, and—”

“A party room.” She pff ed. “How cozy is that? Not very, if you ask me. And what’s this about no games?

Baby showers are all about fun and celebration.

You tell Quaid that we’re having the baby shower at my house.

I’ll cook a proper feast. That way, if the little one gets overdone, and it’s likely since there’s going to be so many people there, then—”

“Ma—”

“Don’t you tell me no. People will want to see that baby and take turns holding him or her.

It’s how these things work. Don’t you remember your sister’s baby shower?

Your aunt Delliah made the cake with blue icing because she thought your father said Kylee was a boy.

Good grief. Kylee’s not a boy’s name, and when all the people showed up with blue outfits, well—”

“Ma! Stop talking for five seconds. This isn’t about the shower. I called for another reason.”

“Aslan, don’t be rude. You’re shouting.”

“Because I have to, so you’ll hear me. Bryn’s in labor. We’re at the hospital.”

A pause ensued before she audibly gasped. “Oh. Oh my. Oh, dear me… Hold on. Don’t go anywhere. I gotta tell your father. Ronan! Ronan! Oh, he’s not listening…”

“He tuned you out years ago, Ma,” I mumbled.

She continued to shout so loudly I had to move the phone away from my ear.

“Ronan! Get in here. Aslan’s on the phone. Hurry up. No, it’s not about the baby shower… Yeah, I told him. Good grief, move your ass. It’s an emergency.”

“It’s not an emergency,” I cut in, to no avail. “Don’t tell him that, he’ll think—”

Dad must have arrived. The two bickered and yammered on, oblivious to me waiting on the other end of the line.

“I’m going to put it on speaker,” Mom said. “Hello? Hello? Is it working?”

The sound changed, and their voices came through differently. Dad’s no longer in the background.

“It’s working, Ma.”

“Oh good.”

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said. “An emergency? Is it your appendix?”

“Not an emergency, Dad. Not my appendix, although I have no idea why that was the first thing you thought of.”

“You remember Father Graceland? He had his appendix out last week, so when your mother said—”

“It’s not an emergency. Mom’s…” on crack , I wanted to say but held my tongue. “She’s excited.”

“Excited? Why are you excited?” Dad asked her.

“Tell him,” Mom said, and I knew she was talking to me.

“Tell me what?”

“Bryn’s on her way to the hospital, Dad. Her water broke. She’s in labor. The baby’s coming.”

Mom’s squeal pierced the air. “Did you hear that? The baby’s coming. Isn’t that marvelous, Ronan. We’re going to be grandparents again.”

“Marvellous… I can’t hear a thing now. She keeps yelling in my ear.”

“Because you don’t listen. I had to call you a dozen times before—”

“Good grief,” I murmured under my breath as my parents chattered over top of one another as they so often did.

I eyed my husband. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he choked a sob into the phone, saying, “Dad, it’s time. My baby is coming. ”

I wrapped an arm around him and pulled him against my side, kissing his messy bed head. Still, my parents hadn’t come up for air.

“Mom, Mom! I have to call Amelia. We’re at Sunnybrook.”

“We’ll be there pronto. Ronan, start the car… Let me get my purse… Oh sweet Jesus, is that what you’re wearing?”

The call disconnected to Mom’s continuous rambling and Dad’s eagerness to comply with her every demand.

Amelia was far calmer, but her excitement bled through the phone. I was her big brother, and she was thrilled at finally becoming an aunt. “I’m coming alone. Chris can bring Graham and Kylee after the baby is born. You’re going to need someone to keep Mom and Dad calm.”

“Believe it. Do me a favor. When Mom mentions the shower, stand your ground. Tell her the restaurant is booked, and we aren’t changing anything.”

“She’s not happy.”

“She can get over it, and Amelia, no games.”

“No games. I know. I’m on my way. See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Quaid hung up with his dad when I disconnected with Amelia.

He buried his face in my neck and squeezed me in a tight hug as he silently sobbed.

His body trembled as tears wet my skin. Quaid wasn’t one to openly express emotion, and he hated crying where anyone might see him.

His inability to keep them at bay told me exactly how unstable the ground must feel beneath his feet.

“What is wrong with me?” he asked on a hiccup.

“It’s a big moment. Tears are allowed.”

“Good because I can’t stop them. Give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.”

We stayed like that for the next ten minutes, savoring the lull in our chaotic day, absorbing the news, and preparing for the next step in our lives.

I breathed him in, dried his tears, and simply enjoyed my husband’s weight in my arms. From this day forward, I would share him with our son or daughter.

We would no longer be two but a family of three. My heart knocked with anticipation.

When he pulled back, he wiped his damp cheeks on the bottom hem of my band shirt, revealing his tight abdomen and pale skin. Between his casual dress and mussed hair, he looked adorably befuddled. I took him in but said nothing, knowing how self-conscious my husband could be on a good day.

I cradled his cheek in my palm and stared into his gorgeous blue eyes, so much like the clear summer day outside. “I love you, Quaid. You’re going to be an amazing dad.”

“I love you. Am I dreaming?”

I pinched his thigh hard enough he yelped and swatted me away with a laugh.

“Nope. It’s real. Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Quaid blew out his cheeks and glanced at the paper bag full of test kits and the brown folder he’d set on the chair beside him, containing warrants and the paternity test results sent to us by our unsub.

“I need to put that somewhere safe. I can’t walk around with it, or I’m afraid I’ll leave it somewhere unintentionally. I should have given it to Jordyn and Costa.”

“Let’s put it in the car. We can meet Bryn downstairs.”

Together, we headed to the elevators. Quaid glanced down the hall, where Benedict paced, a phone pressed to his ear, and Bess waited off to the side.

A nurse exited Imogen’s room while another headed inside, wheeling a cart of instruments.

By the look of things, labor was imminent, and the Davises’ baby was arriving early, like it or not .

The elevator arrived, and we took it to the ground level.

At the Equinox, I opened the rear compartment, and we both locked away our holstered weapons since we were officially off duty.

Quaid placed the bag of test kits inside before adding the file.

Instead of stepping away, he opened the folder and stared at the FedEx envelope on the top of the pile.

He turned it over twice, viewing the back and the front again.

He traced the printed label, but after a second, his finger stilled. A frown marred his brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s… not the same. It’s missing something.” Again, he turned it over, then back.

“What do you mean?” I glanced at the cardboard envelope, but it appeared like any other. “There’s no return address, but we knew that already.”

“No…” His fingers wandered to the upper corner and traveled along the edge.

He turned the envelope over, examined the back, and righted it again.

“The label. It’s fake. Az, there’s no tracking number.

When letters are sent via FedEx, they get tracking numbers, right? It should be right here, but it’s not.”

I glanced at where he pointed, but he was right. The label seemed authentic at a quick glance, but on closer inspection, it was clear someone had created a believable replica. But they had forgotten one important detail. The tracking number.

Quaid stared from the envelope to the hospital, his frown deepening, his gaze clouding with thought. Before I could ask him what he was thinking, he slammed the rear compartment of the Equinox and took off toward the building and the door we’d come through.

“Quaid?”

But he didn’t respond, so I raced to catch up.

The man was a long-distance runner with legs that went on for days.

I joined him frequently for morning jogs, but when he got it in his head to go fast, I couldn’t keep up.

He outpaced me every time. That morning, he wore sneakers instead of loafers, and I didn’t stand a chance.

He was on a mission, and I had no clue what that mission was.

“Quaid! Slow the fuck down.”

I caught up with him at the elevators, where he pounded the call button, staring at the numbers above the two cars. The first indicated it was several stories up and climbing. The second car was even higher and not moving.

“Goddammit.” He shot off again, aiming for the stairwell.

“Motherfucker.” I darted after him, bursting through the stairwell door on his tail. In an instant, he was half a flight ahead of me and gaining distance. He took the stairs three at a time, bouncing up them effortlessly.