Page 93 of Cold as Hell

He nods. “You and Will can get Yolanda back to town. It’s a straight shot over the ice.” He points. “Stick close to shore, and the ice will be thick enough.”

He really means that Anders will take Yolandaand meto town. I don’t argue. I’m in no shape to keep going, and each new contraction screams that I need to get back to Haven’s Rock.

“How’re you doing?” he asks.

I make a face. “Tired. Ishouldget back to town, and I can help Will by keeping watch and clearing the way. You guys can… Wait, Jacob doesn’t have a gun.”

“He can take mine,” Anders calls over, obviously listening in.

I shake my head. “I’ll give him mine. Your big-ass forty-five isn’t for beginners.”

“Hey, I know guns,” Jacob says.

“Rifles and shotguns, not handguns,” I say. “You’ll take mine. I’m tired enough that I’m not sure I’d shoot straight anyway.”

Dalton peers at me, gaze piercing. “We don’t need to head straight out. Why don’t we walk you two back to town—”

“I’m fine, and conditions are perfect right now. Once Yolanda’s warmed up a little, we’ll head out. Like you said, it’s a straight shot to town.”

Yolanda is still unconscious, but Anders deems her warmed up enough to travel, especially since her continued lack of consciousness means we really need to get her shelter and proper medical attention. I manage to disguise my contractions long enough to see Dalton and Jacob off. I could be impressed with my acting ability, but really, it’s just that everyone’s so distracted that it’s easy for me to turn away and hide my grimaces.

I’m in labor. There’s no more kidding myself. When I’d had Dr. Kapoor on the line earlier this week, I’d asked about future contractions. She said that if they weren’t “progressing”—getting longer in duration and shorter in frequency—it would just be the baby repositioning. But they’ve gone from once every fifteen minutes to once every eight, and from fifteen seconds long to forty. Yes, I’m timing, as surreptitiously as I can.

My biggest concern is that Dalton might miss the birth of his child. It’d be an impossible choice for Dalton—to protect our town, he must catch a killer, but he also wants to see his baby born and he doesn’t want, in later years, for our child to feel as if he chose his job over their birth. So I’m removing that choice, and I can only pray he’ll understand.

I’m almost certainly worrying about nothing anyway. Active labor—where you need to get to a hospital—doesn’t start until contractions are less than five minutes apart and last more than forty-five seconds.

I still have time.

Plenty of time, right?

I’m overreacting because I’m tramping across a frozen lake, escorting an unconscious woman in medical distress—afriendwho nearly died. My body is just freaking out because this is the point where I should be packing a hospital bag while Dalton paces andasks me how I feel and I snap at him that I’m in labor, damn it, how do you think I feel?

Haven’s Rock is only a kilometer away. Once I’m there, I’ll have my sister and all her medical equipment and a top-notch obstetrician on speed dial—I have the sat phone we took with us to Dawson.

April will tend to Yolanda while periodically checking my dilation and telling me there’s plenty of time, and then Dalton will come home with Jerome, hear where I am, and run to the clinic just in time to see his child enter the world.

On the bright side, while Dalton was fully prepared to be my birthing coach, is it wrong of me to admit this might be easier if he really does sail in at the last possible moment, once mother and baby seem certain to survive the delivery?

I’m leading Anders across the ice as I fantasize about this perfect birth, where all this will be a story for our baby book.

Well, when I went into labor, I was actually hunting a serial killer and I’ll admit, I started to panic about having you out there on the ice, but everything went fine.

When it comes to “where were you when you went into labor” stories, I’ll win every time.

Then ice cracks underfoot and I’m catapulted from my thoughts as I leap backward… and nearly fall on my ass.

“Case?” Anders says behind me.

I bend—as well as I can—to peer at the ice. There’s a deep crack, but it’s well below the surface, no need for concern.

I tell Anders but also suggest we veer a little farther out. We’re close to the shore here, in a sunny section that’s going to melt before the rest. And while I may be carrying a baby, Anders is carrying a full-grown woman. Best not to test the ice.

Once I’ve picked a new direction, we continue on. Ahead, I can just make out the smoke rising over—

Another crack.

“I don’t like that,” Anders mutters.

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