Page 69 of The Psychic

Two Months Later …

Jamie lay on the hospital bed, gazing over her crowning belly at Cooper as they prepared to take her into surgery for a C-section.

I made it , she thought with relief. I made it.

All the scary moments during this pregnancy were about to be over. Like that last time when her back had been killing her and she was worried that her bed rest wouldn’t be enough to hold the baby in, or that he or she would be a preemie with a very real chance of not making it.

The thought made her shudder. “You cold?” Cooper asked, concerned.

“More like excited.”

He moved closer and clasped her hand, which she squeezed.

He was back at work with both Verbena and the new detective, Sloan Hart.

They were expanding the police force after years of contractions, and though there had been no serious complaints about Chief Marcus Duncan, it looked like he was moving on and they were looking for someone new.

Cooper’s name had been tossed about, but ever since their son, Christian, had arrived, named by Harley who thought it was appropriate as he was born in a church, Cooper had decided he was happy where he was on the police echelon.

But Verbena had shown interest and Jamie, and especially Harley, and Emma, too, were voting for a woman.

Mary Jo, after scaring them all into thinking she was trying to steal their baby, had returned to her family and apparently planned to have another child, one of her own.

She’d suffered panic when she’d realized she wanted another baby, knowing she couldn’t have the one growing inside her.

True to form, she’d sought out another church with a cultlike constituency, and in active labor had raced back to her supposed safe place, the Heart of Sunshine Church.

Cooper’s appearance and help when she was actually delivering, had luckily seemed to ground her.

Jamie smiled to herself. Cooper was living the dream.

He didn’t complain about the late-night bottle feedings.

Half the time he was battling Harley and Emma for the honor.

Jamie could admit to herself a little feeling of jealousy, as she was unable to do much more than hold Christian for short periods of time.

Which was ridiculous because soon enough they were all going to be up to their elbows in babies.

“Ready?” Jamie’s OB said from behind her surgical mask.

“Ready.”

She was wheeled into the OR, smiling as she thought of the new life they were bringing into the world, a soon-to-be sibling to the little boy who was currently tucked in at home with Emma, Harley and Harley’s boyfriend, Greer.

I hope this one’s a girl , so Cooper can have one of each , she thought, pleasantly drifting from whatever was flowing from the IV.

An hour later she was holding her baby girl and marveling at her soft brown hair and long lashes. She remembered holding Harley the same way all those years ago, when her life was so uncertain. This was a whole lot less stressful.

“What are we going to name her?” asked Cooper, as enthralled as she was, looking down at their child’s clean little brow.

“I was thinking Quinn,” she said.

“Quinn,” he repeated, surprised, as she’d never once mentioned that as a name.

“Susan Quinn, actually,” Jamie said with a straight face.

“Susan Quinn? After someone you know?”

She started outright laughing.

He blinked and then grinned himself. “Suzy Q.”

“I do really like Quinn, though.”

“I’m good with Quinn. But you may have just nicknamed her whether you meant to or not.”

“Suzy Q,” she said, gazing lovingly at their little girl again. “I can live with that.”

Ronnie sat across the table from Sloan, smiling in the soft candlelight from the votive flickering on their table.

They were seated at a small alcove outside of a raucous Valentine’s Day party going on in the main dining room.

The doors were closed but there was lots of music, laughter and cheering.

Ronnie had eaten most of her buttery petrale sole, but had to pass on dessert.

The champagne had left a warm glow to everything.

She watched the waiter pick up their check, but neither of them was making any effort to leave.

“You look … happy,” he said.

“I thought you were going to say ‘amazing.’”

“That, too.”

They’d dressed for dinner. She wore a knee-length white dress with long sleeves and her BFF shard necklace, a seriocomic touch.

Her hair was down and she’d added a slim silver bracelet to her left wrist, one of her mother’s.

She’d finally taken her ring back to Galen the week before, as it had been difficult to find him after he’d been fired from the Bernard K.

Waters Law Firm for the continuing office sex with Bernard’s wife, and had basically disappeared for a time before resurfacing as basically a one-man firm.

Somewhat down on his luck, his eyes had lit up when he saw the ring she was returning. She was just glad to be rid of it.

And it was good to be through the series of funerals and memorial services that had started in late December and bled into January.

Her heart had ached dully throughout Mel’s service, and she’d been glad for Brandy’s support.

Clint had managed to come, though he was still recovering from the blow to the head he’d received from Erik Wetherly.

Clint was suing Wetherly, but it was hard to get reparations when you were the original attacker.

She’d attended Angel’s funeral, too, though she’d sensed that some of his family resented her, maybe even blamed her.

Regardless, she’d paid her respects. Sloan had offered to go with her, but he hadn’t known Angel, so she’d shaken her head and insisted on going by herself.

It turned out she wasn’t alone as P.I. Jesse James Taft was seated in a pew near the back door and she’d slipped in beside him.

They’d sat in companionable silence throughout the ceremony and afterwards he was standing beside her on the church steps when Angel’s cousin, Daria, had approached her.

“It’s not your fault,” she said firmly. “People just want someone to blame.”

It had been nice to hear and Ronnie had thanked her.

She, in turn, thanked Ronnie and the firm for standing by her.

Even though Daria had told Martin Calgheny that everything was taken care of in the lawsuit against her, that hadn’t been the truth.

She’d expected Angel to run interference with the grasping shoestring relatives trying to take away what she’d been bequeathed, but upon his death, she’d confessed to Ronnie that she was still in trouble.

The firm had then stepped in again and Martin was currently making sure Daria would be able to claim the inheritance she was due.

“I’m just so sorry Angel’s gone,” Ronnie had told her, to which she’d swallowed hard and said, “He loved being the hero.”

She’d then left them in a hurry, fighting emotions as she headed down the outdoor steps to her car. Ronnie and Taft had watched her leave, Taft saying, “For the record, I’m the one who hired him to watch after you.”

“For the record, it’s not your fault, either.”

They’d walked to the parking lot together and he’d stopped at her SUV, a faint smile showing off the dimples that softened his rugged, handsome face. “Any visions lately?” he’d queried.

“I could ask the same of you.”

“I haven’t seen Helene much lately. I’ve been working.”

She’d felt a tweak of memory, a watery vision of a young woman. Premonition, a peek into the future? Not of Helene, his deceased sister, but someone younger who was close to him. “You’ve been with a dark-haired woman that you’re in love with.”

He’d been taken aback. “No. You just described someone I work with.” To which she’d replied, “It’s time you took that relationship to the next level. Life is short. Don’t waste it on ‘should we or shouldn’t we’ just because you work together.”

“Jesus, you’re scary,” was his choked response.

“You’re not as hard to read as you think,” she’d answered.

That had been a month ago. And after Angel’s funeral, she’d attended Shana’s memorial service with Sloan.

Yes, Shana had tried to frame her, had been talked into leaving the coffee cup lid with Ronnie’s DNA.

She’d gone along with the plan as a means to earn some cash, but her real reason had been something deeper.

She’d wanted to target Ronnie herself, out of some skewed notion that if she got her out of the way, she would have a clear path to recapturing Sloan’s heart.

Ronnie’s long-ago pledge to marry Sloan must have really triggered Shana, but she’d ended up trusting in the wrong person and losing her life because of it.

“You were telling me about Jonas,” Sloan reminded her now.

She hadn’t forgiven her father for all his lies.

Aunt Kat, too, was still on her shit list, though she’d started speaking civilly to both of them.

The sad part of all of that was Mom was really gone now.

She’d escaped Seagull Pointe and found her way to the ocean, where she’d drowned.

Ronnie believed she’d sent her that last message, though she hadn’t told anyone about it.

That was between her and her mother. She hadn’t attended the small service held at Seagull Pointe, though she thought her father and Aunt Kat had.

She’d gone to the beach instead and said a private goodbye as the cold water lapped at her toes.

“I don’t want to talk about my father. Or the firm.”

“You quit in the middle of a story. Left off with Tormelle having dumped his girlfriend,” Sloan protested, faintly amused.

“And crawling back to his wife. Yes, I know.” She paused, then added, “And it’s not going well for Albert. His wife is making him pay dearly, with shares of the company. But that’s his and Dear Old Dad’s problem, not mine.”

“Sure about that?”

Jonas refused to accept that Ronnie had washed her hands of all things Quick, especially Quick & Tormelle Law Firm.

He kept her up-to-date whether she wanted to be or not, and though she hated to admit it, she’d started listening to his reports.

Between him and Dawn, she knew exactly what was going on at the firm.

Seeing Sloan’s knowing smile, she said, “Hey, I’m not the only one with leftover baggage.”

Sloan had moved from his You+Me rental when he and Ronnie had gone to his place after she’d been checked out at the hospital the night Evan died—the one memorial service she’d missed—to find his ex-wife, Tara, in his bedroom, on the bed with her iPad, making herself at home while she waited for him to appear.

She’d shut the iPad down with a hard smack upon seeing them.

Ronnie found it a wonder she hadn’t cracked the screen.

Tara had access to the room because she was an executive with You+Me and had apparently assumed that it would be fine and dandy with Sloan to just move in.

Not so. Sloan’s ice-cold demeanor had made Ronnie almost feel sorry for Tara as she scuttled away, apologizing all over the place, at the same time shooting Ronnie dark looks.

“That baggage has been shipped away for good,” he stated firmly.

“Does the baggage know that?”

“Yes.”

Ronnie wasn’t so sure about that, but she liked that Sloan had a more permanent abode in River Glen now.

They were actually making plans like a couple.

Not moving in together yet, but definitely thinking about it, solidifying their relationship, letting more people know, spending every moment they could together.

“I doubt Tara would like being called that.”

He scoffed. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Just as they arose from the table, the doors from the raucous party flew open and the guests spilled out of the main room into all parts of the restaurant.

Ronnie’s shoe caught on the tablecloth and she tripped toward Sloan, who grabbed her hand, attempting to steady her, and ended up holding her over one arm as if they were about to dance, or embrace.

“Well, ya gonna kiss the bride, or what!” an inebriated guest declared, to which others from the party who were stumbling behind him heartily agreed. Sloan looked down at Ronnie, who gazed back at him. Swept up in the moment, he kissed her passionately while she was suspended over his arm.

Her mind made a snapshot of the moment. White dress … candlelight … kiss …

I’m going to marry you!

She didn’t say it this time, but she could almost taste the words. Maybe Sloan didn’t see the connection to her long-ago prediction, but she did.

“What?” he asked, when he placed her back on her feet. The crowd was clapping, hooting and hollering.

“Nothing. Let’s go to my place.”

“On it,” he said.

Twenty minutes later Sloan walked behind her up the outside stairs to her apartment. When she stopped short he nearly ran into her. Had to reach out his hands to her shoulders to steady himself.

He looked over her shoulders to see the dog lying on her outside mat. A mid-sized mutt, by the look of it. Brown, gray and white with one blue eye and one brown.

“The dog … the dog!” she said.

Its fur was matted and dirty. It got to its feet, came over to her and put its head in her outstretched hand. “There you are,” she said.

It licked her hand and pushed its head against her. She looked up at Sloan. “Mel’s dog,” she said in wonder.

“Your dog,” he corrected her.

She leaned in to hold its head, completely uncaring about her white dress. They looked at each other. “I don’t know your name, so will Mel do?” she asked him.

For years to come Sloan would swear the dog bobbed his head in agreement.