Page 9 of A Killer's Heart

"You forget they arranged a lucrative marriage between Max and the head family in Argentina who would do whatever it took to protect their daughter’s position and that of her future kids.”

Thinking about that, Boden sighs. "So now the French and Argentinians are after us. How do we deal with that?"

"One thing at a time," I respond, though I’m ready to be done with all of this. A second later, the door flies open and Foster instantly moves to intercept Annabelle who is standing there, clearly out of breath.

"What's wrong, angel?"She waves him off, her gaze searching until it lands on me.

"Smith, it's Poppy. We were on the garden trail and she was in pain. I left her with a guard to come get you.” I’m instantly rushing out of the room and heading for Poppy. I yell her name when I reach where she should be. Is it the baby? She still has four weeks. When I see Boden’s man on the ground, blood pooling from the back of his head, I roar with rage.

“She’s gone,” I tell Boden when he comes up beside me. “I’m going to kill them all,” I vow. No one touches what’s mine and gets away with it.

Chapter 10

Poppy

Iwake up dizzy and sick to my stomach, but I open my eyes to look at my surroundings, wanting to figure out where I am. I assume it’s a warehouse at first, then I feel a rocking motion underneath me as a horn sounds in the distance. Am I on a ship? Please don’t let me have traveled too far from Smith.

A sharp pain in my side causes me to gasp and I attempt to breathe through it, all the while praying I don’t give birth in this dirty place. On wobbly legs, I stand, my hands bracing my weight on the wall for support. Using it to stay upright, I work my way around the room and toward the door where I bang on it. That and my yelling has someone with a French accent on the other side ordering me to back away from the entrance. “I’m giving you food and water.”

I do as he says, and once it’s open, I tell him, "I want to speak to your boss." He doesn’t respond, just pushes the tray inside and once more shuts me inside. My stomach growls at the smell because I’m starving, yet I don’t trust them not to have put anything in it. Then again, if they wanted me dead, they could’ve already done that instead of putting me in here.

Pressing my ear to the door, I strain to listen, thankful when I don’t hear anyone outside it. This may be my one and only chance. And they’ll probably leave me alone for a while since they were just here. Crouching as much as I can in my condition, I remove two bobby pins from my hair and focus on remembering what Smith taught me about picking locks. The lesson was meant to be for fun, not something I’d ever need to use in a real-life situation. Concentrating on my task and trying to ignore the pain, I get to work. It’s not easy, but I finally get it. I want to shout in relief, but I force myself to stay quiet as I slowly open the door and peak out.

There isn’t a guard as I’d expected, so I assume they don’t expect a heavily pregnant woman to cause any trouble. I can hear someone talking, so I head in the opposite direction after slipping out. It takes me a minute to adjust to the movement as I walk, proving my earlier thought I was on the water correct. When I reach the end of the hall, I gently open the door there and am greeted by fresh air and seawater. Stepping through it, I realize I am on warehouse boat.

I shuffle to the rail and look down. I need to get off here, even more so as my contractions are coming closer together. Yelling in French causes me to look over my shoulder. They must’ve checked on me sooner than I’d hoped and now they know I escaped. The dock is getting smaller, telling me it’s now or never. Having no other choice, I make my way down the side and brace for the impact as I hit the water. It’s so cold I can feel it in my bones. I’m normally a good swimmer, but I’m struggling due to the extra weight I’m carrying. Bullets hit the surface as I push myself to continue. As I get closer to the dock, I decide to hide under it, using it for cover. I stay there for maybe an hour, then use the ladder to get out. I don’t want to remain in the freezing water longer than I need to because hypothermia may set in. As I stand on the wood, the pains that had stopped while I was submerged start back up with a vengeance. I need help in more ways than one.

I don't have Smith or Boden’s numbers as we’ve always been within close proximity. I carefully maneuver between the obstacles in my path until I keel over, unable to move until it passes. I need a safe place to hide until Smith finds me.

When I come across a repair shop, I duck inside and take cover in a boat that clearly still needs work done on it. Night has fallen, so I should be okay here. Now I just need my daughter to be patient and let me get out of here before she decides to be born.

Chapter 11

Smith

After hours of searching, I’m trying to rein in my need to burn this whole fucking city to the ground until she’s given back to me. Boden, Foster, and their men have joined me, scouring the entire territory for Poppy. I’m fucking pissed she was taken at all, but the fact it was right under my nose? Words cannot describe my rage and I’ve already ripped my friend a new one on his lack of security. We all got complacent, though. So sure we were safe, that we outsmarted the Donalds. I have to give him credit for that. They were stealthy in their strategy, striking when they had a chance and achieving their goal. Now they all have to die, something I should’ve already done. If I had, this wouldn’t be happening. I’m done hiding. First, I need to find Poppy.

Having already checked private airstrips, I’m now at my last location, the central docks. Of course, they could’ve been here and left, meaning she’s miles away, but I refuse to accept that possibility. Gun in hand, prepared to fire at a moment’s notice, I inspect the lot, using the cover the dark provides to conceal my approach. She’s not in any of the boats or buildings I come across, but there’s one shop left. Kicking the door in when I find it locked, I start all over again, stopping when I hear crying coming from one area. Hoping I’m right, I call her name.

"Smith! I need you." Holstering my weapon, I run toward her voice and climb in with her. There’s enough light for me to see, and the scene that greets me is forever burned into my brain. She’s sitting in puddle of blood, her face pale, and she’s soaked in sweat. As bad as that is, the worst is that she’s barely breathing. “The baby."

Gently scooping her up, I hurry to the SUV as quickly as I can while being careful not to jostle her. Settling her in the passenger seat, I head to the hospital, calling Boden and Foster on the way. I glance at her and discover that she’s passed out. “Wake up, Poppy. Stay with me.” When she doesn’t respond, fear like I’ve never felt before hits me. It seems to take forever to arrive at our destination. I pull in front of the emergency entrance and hop out, not caring that the keys are inside and it’s still running. I retrieve her and hold her against me as I walk inside, yelling for help. “Get a doctor!” Seeing a stretcher, I place her on it as someone hurries toward us. When they see her, they spring into action and wheel her away.

I rush after them only to be stopped by a nurse. “Sir, you can’t go back there.”

"The hell I can't." She ignores my denial and says they’ll keep me updated. Knowing I can’t kill my way through this, I tell myself I need to trust the staff to do their jobs. She points me to the waiting room and I sit in a chair, shoulders slumped. For the first time in my life, I pray. I don’t know how long I’m like that, but when I glance up, I see Boden standing there.

"How is she?" He asks as he takes the chair next to me.

"I don't know." My voice, just like my heart, is raw.

His hand on my shoulder is a comforting weight, yet it’s frightening at the same time. More than anyone, he knows what I’m going through. I can’t think worst case scenario. She and the baby will be okay. Seeing her blood covering me, he lets me know, "Foster and Annabelle are bringing clothes for you." After changing, I resume my position, waiting what feels like a lifetime before the doctor comes out. His face is grim as he confirms that we’re with Poppy.

I don’t hesitate to respond, telling him as I rise to my feet, “Yes, she’s my wife.” She will be, so I see no reason to say otherwise. “How is she? Our daughter?” He explains that the umbilical cord erupted, causing the massive loss of blood as well as a lack of oxygen for the baby. I hear him, but I focus on one thing. “They’re alive?”

"Your daughter is in the NICU where she’s receiving an IV and oxygen. With time, both will make a full recovery." Relief weakens my knees and I plop back down on my seat. “While your wife is getting set up in her room, I can take you to your little girl.” I follow him and am instructed on how to scrub my hands and arms at a sink. Now clean, I’m taken to a bed where she’s swaddled in pink, tubes and wires attached to machines coming poking through.

The nurse gestures to the chair next to the crib. “If you’d like to sit down, I can pass her to you.” I’m a goner the second she’s placed in my arms. Tears flow down my cheeks as I look at my daughter. She’s perfect. I don’t ever remember crying in my lifetime, and just the sight of this perfect things has results in me becoming a blubbering mess. "Have you and your wife thought of a name?" We hadn’t, but it instantly pops into my mind, a way to honor the woman I’ve only dreamed of, the one I believe is my mother. The only good thing I had in my life until Poppy and this sweet baby. Mary is a nice compromise to marigolds. “Mary Poppy Smith.”

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