Page 11 of Torn in Half

Again, Ian knew they didn’t have to worry about the dead man, so once Nick told him it was safe to enter, he stepped over the body without a second thought. The eight men quickly cleared the rooms as they made their way down the hall. When they got to the last closed door, Ian peeked through its small window, and he felt a measure of relief, as small as it was. His mother was in the middle of the surgery. Aside from the unconscious patient, there were three other women in the room and two men, one of whom appeared to be their main threat, given the fact he had a gun in his hand. When the guard’s head turned toward the door, Ian ducked back out of sight. Using the hand signals they all knew, he passed on the intel to his teams, then assigned details.

Following the silent order, Foster and Mancini dropped down, low-crawled under the window, and popped up on the other side. Placing his hand on the door handle, Foster turned it ever so slightly, then nodded at Ian. Thank God, it was unlocked.

Through their earpieces, they heard the snipers and other team members clearing the rest of the property. The thick concrete walls of the building muted the gunfire—at least in there. Outside was a different story. They had to hurry this up because the cops would be on their way soon.

Using three fingers, Ian counted down. When his hand became a fist, Foster pushed down on the handle and shoved the door open in a smooth movement. Before the guard could react, Ian put a bullet in his chest, to the left of the sternum. Behind him, Devon fired a shot, and the other man dressed in scrubs hit the floor. He’d been at the head of the patient and tried to draw a gun from under a piece of equipment. Yeah, that didn’t work out for him.

All four women had let out short screams. Wide-eyed, two of them raised their hands in the air, and spoke in rapid Cebuano behind their surgical masks. While it wasn’t one of the few languages Ian spoke, he knew enough to tell them not to move and keep their hands where he could see them. With his weapon pointed at both of them, Ian stepped to the side. “Egghead, search them.”

Ian recognized his mother immediately, even behind the mask, scrubs, and cap, so the other woman who was practically clinging to her had to be the missing nurse, Jocelyn.

“Thank God, you got here.” Quickly regaining her composure, Marie dropped the instrument she’d been holding onto a surgical tray, then gestured to her patient. “I’m sure someone is looking for him.”

She pushed a monitor out of the way and bent down to check the pulse of the man Devon had shot in the head. Seeing there was nothing she could do for him, she hurried over to the guard and did the same. But for him, she reached up and grabbed a scissor off the tray and began cutting open his shirt. Foster watched her for a moment, then leaned toward Ian. “Is she seriously trying to save him?”

Ian sighed. “As serious as her Hippocratic oath.”

After checking for a pulse and respiration, and examining the man’s bare chest and pupils, she pulled down her mask and announced, “He’s dead.”

“A bullet to the heart will do that, Ma. Now, if you’re done trying to save the bastards who kidnapped you, can we get the hell out of here?”

“In a minute. Jocelyn, grab our clothes while I counteract the sedation on our patient and take out his IV.” She searched another tray set up at the head of the gurney and selected two syringes. “Don’t look at me like that, Nick. You did your job, now I’m doing mine. If you want to restrain him, might as well do it before he wakes up.”

The youngest Sawyer shook his head, then glanced at Devon and Ian, neither of whom had expected any less from their mother, despite the fact she’d been abducted and forced to perform surgery on an assassin. As Dev simply pulled a zip-tie out of a pocket of his BDUs, Ian rolled his eyes then activated the microphone attached to his earpiece. “Sit-rep.”

Jake was in command outside. “All tangos down for the count. Three female civilians secured. Clock’s ticking.”

“Copy that. Two female civilians in here too. Let them go.” The grease paint the operatives had on their faces would protect their identities, although he expected the women would hightail it out of there and deny ever being present. “We’ll be out of here in one. Jackass and Sweetheart, let your friends know you have a delivery for them.”

Carter and Jordyn would make sure Xiao was turned over to the MSS for killing the Chinese ambassador. The female Deimos spy responded, “No problem, Boss-man.”

On the gurney, the assassin was awake enough for them to drag his ass out of there, without having to carry him, but he still didn’t comprehend his predicament. Devon and Nick got him up and between the two of them.

Ian eyed his mother as she took her clothes from Jocelyn. “Let’s get going. Dad’s a mess waiting for you.”

She chuckled. “Now you know where all of you get your calm demeanors from—me. Take me home, boys.”

Angie’s eyelids blinked a few times as she became fully awake. Her bedroom was dark, but enough moonlight peeked around the corners of the blinds for her to see. Glancing at the clock, she noted the time. 2:01 a.m. She’d only been asleep about three hours. While most of her girlfriends and family had gone home, Harper and Mara were sleeping in her guest room. Meanwhile, Jenn was crashing upstairs in Kristen’s apartment, even though hers was only a twenty-second walk to the other side of the building. Ian’s goddaughter had wanted to be close when the call came in about Marie.

The last thing they’d heard, when Ian and Devon had called to check in, was that they knew where Marie was being held, and they were going to stage a daylight raid. Angie knew they preferred to do those at nighttime for the additional coverage and that their enemy would be slacking or asleep, so there had to be a valid reason why they were going in during the middle of the day. Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn’t good. She still didn’t know why Marie and her friend had been abducted in the first place, other than it wasn’t for ransom, and that, of course, sent her mind in a tailspin wondering what the reason was.

Pressure was building on her bladder, so she squirmed toward the edge of the bed. Usually Ian was there to help her up—he was such a light sleeper, and she woke him all the time, despite her attempts not to. His sleep had been as disrupted as hers during the last few weeks.

Once her legs were hanging over the side, she slowly rolled up into a sitting position and felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. She’d been having them off and on again since shortly after Ian had left, and Kristen and their shared obstetrician had assured her they were nothing to worry about. Braxton Hicks contractions were irregular and far less intense than true contractions—Kristen had spoken from experience. She and Devon had run to the hospital twice before JD had been born, only to get sent home. Angie’s poor brother-in-law had been more stressed out over that than his wife had been. Ian swore he wasn’t going to act like a lunatic when Angie finally went into labor, but right now she wished he would—it would mean he was here with her, running around like a chicken without its head.

Waddling to the bathroom, she emptied her bladder, then flushed and washed her hands. As she turned toward the doorway, a piercing pain struck her lower back then radiated to the front as the contraction started.

She grasped the door jamb and bent over as much as she could, which wasn’t a lot. “Holy shit!”

It was much harder than any of the other contractions she’d had. She moaned until the pain began to recede again. It hadn’t been as strong or as long as she’d expected, but that had definitely not been a false labor contraction. Nope, Little Bit was preparing to come into the world without Ian present. To hell with the curse jar—she’d fill it with money later. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! No, Little Bit, not now. Sweetie, you can’t come out until Daddy gets home. Please . . . oh please.”

Once the pain receded, she stood up again and shuffled over to the bed. Grabbing her cell phone, she sat down and quickly found the app to help her time the contractions. Maybe it was false labor—she’d read that the intensity could fluctuate. “Please, please, please, God. Not yet.”

Sitting upright against the headboard, while using the wedge pillow Ian had gotten her for support, she stretched her swollen legs out on the bed. One hand rubbed her distended belly, while the other cupped the bottom of it. The baby didn’t feel lower than normal, which meant he or she hadn’t dropped into the birth canal yet. Was that a good or bad sign? Angie couldn’t remember, and she didn’t want to wake Kristen or Harper to ask.

As the seconds on her timer ticked by, the phone rang in her hand, startling her, and she checked the screen.

Incoming call: Ian

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