Page 81 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
Alex drove as fastas he dared in the pouring rain, praying all Amish buggies were safely off the road.
The car phone system beeped four times. Kimberly had activated an alarm. The audio came through the speakers.
“Agent Danes, what are you doing here?”
“You have information I need.”
“No, I”—Kimberly gasped for breath as her abdomen tightened yet again— “don’t.”
“Oh, have I come at a bad time? Where is your normal bodyguard anyway? This old lady isn’t one. She’s dressed Amish. And the two in front of the house won’t be in for a while.”
“She’s my midwife.”
“Oh, and you are in labor.” The agent’s voice sounded sickly sweet.
Alex hit the button on the dash, calling the office. “Are you getting this? Where are Sam and Dave?”
Alan’s voice came over the line. “They aren’t responding. Their phone locators are putting them outside the house.”
“Have you called the police?”
“Along with everyone else. There are power lines down everywhere. I’ll keep trying.”
Alex listened to the audio.
“Don’t touch me.” Kimberly’s voice was strong.
“I have a man waiting at each of the post offices in Shipshewana. Whatever your first husband sent, we will get it, and you will be a widow twice in less than a year.”
“You lie—” Kimberly doubled over.
“Oh, another contraction in less than two minutes? I think I have a better idea.”
“What?” Kimberly’s voice sounded strangled.
“Let’s wait for nature to take its course. When the baby is here, you won’t be strong enough to stop me, and I’ll trade the baby’s life for the information you won’t give me now.”
Kimberly’s next words sounded like the same profanities going through Alex’s head.
Alan’s voice interrupted the feed. “I show you are five minutes away. The police said they can have a car there in fifteen. If someone is armed, they won’t send in an ambulance until the place is cleared. Uncle Donovan is sending the nearest agents, ETA thirty minutes.”
“Do you have any video?”
“No video. The house is on backup electricity, and Kimberly’s phone is in her room. But the front-room audio is picking up the strongest.”
“Can you open the studio door?”
“Studio door and garage side door are both unlocked.”
Alex turned onto the street behind Art House.
“I’m here.”
* * *
Kimberly leaned over the back of the recliner. Contractions at gunpoint. Too bad she didn’t have a birth photographer. She’d be a social media hit. She winced at the crazy thought.
Mrs. Capps’s pale face reflected pain as bad, if not worse, than Kimberly’s. The bonnet Mrs. Capps always wore lay askew, the midwife’s gray hair spilling around her head on the floor. The lack of blood on the green dress was of little comfort. Mrs. Capps met Kimberly’s eyes and breathed with her, coaching her through the next contraction. As soon as it cleared, Kimberly replied, “Agent Danes, you’ve been asking me for information for months now. You’ve searched my home. I don’t have any!”
