Page 12 of Fatal Love
Because at the moment, her brain was short-circuiting, her body a mutinous mass with a mind of its own. Seeing Cal, touching him, would give her balance. Fortitude.
God knew she could use a bit of that right now. She was about to finally become a mother.
Maria hustled to catch up. “Wait, let me help you.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” And she did. The labor was intense, no doubt about that, but a short walk to the kitchen would give her a sense of control. “I might move slowly, but I can do it on my own. Tend to your nose.”
“No way are you walking down the hallway alone.” Maria took her arm. “We’ll go together.”
Their first attempt to get through the bedroom door didn’t work, Beatrice’s belly like a third person between them. Which, for all intents and purposes, it was. So Maria went first, pivoting to keep her hand on Beatrice’s arm, and then help her waddle through.
The hall light was on. Beatrice could see the lamp next to Cal’s chair in the living room where it threw a cozy glow on the old oak floors.
She and Maria had taken three steps down the hall when the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.
CAL DIDN’T KNOWwho the people in the black van were, or what the fuck they wanted, but they meant trouble. All of his instincts were firing like tiny machine guns, the warning bells in his head ringing loud and clear.
Which was why he’d SOS’d McKenzie and sent Hunter outside to try and get some intel.
Save Beatrice. Save the baby.
The words circled his brain. Knowing this was no welcome-to-the-neighborhood party, he’d tried calling 911 thirty seconds ago in order to get an ambulance inbound.
Not for Beatrice. He’d protect her. The ambulance was for him. Whatever went down in the next few minutes, he was pretty damn sure either he or the people coming after him were going to need medical attention.
Might need a few body bags too.
While he and Beatrice had been careful to keep their personal information buried, his enemies were plentiful all over the globe. It could be the Russians, the Chinese, or ISIS.
Maybe they’re here for Beatrice.
Or Hunter.
Shit. The NSA, the CIA, one of the president’s former colleagues—there were too many possibilities to contemplate.
But the bastards had turned on a cell jammer and his call to 911 went nowhere. Now they’d killed the electricity to the house.
“Situation report?” he said softly into his comm unit as he made his way through the dark with his night vision glasses in place. The military-grade comms designed by Emit, the founder of SFI, had an extra, high-tech, transductive EMI shield, keeping the jammer from screwing them up.
“Four men, one woman,” Hunter responded. “Plus the driver. All armed. Woman is approaching the front door. Driver is still in the van with the engine running. The others are stationed at your rear and side exit points.”
Meaning the back door and windows.
So the group about to come after him had them completely surrounded.
“Cal?”
Beatrice’s voice startled him and he whipped around. “B? What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you,” she said, her voice strained. Whether it was from their current situation or from labor, he couldn’t be sure. “Why are the lights out? Did we blow a fuse again?”
He could see she was hunched over, Maria by her side. “Yeah, we must have. It’s not safe out here. You might stumble and fall. Go back to our bedroom and I’ll see if I can fix it, okay?”
She reached for him in the dark and he grabbed her hand, keeping his other hand, complete with his weapon, at his side. He gave her a squeeze and felt her grip tighten. “After you get it fixed, can you come sit with me?”
Vulnerability. It laced her normally strong, direct voice and his heart pinched. She’d been a vulnerable little girl too, but growing up she’d built her own version of Emit’s EMI shield. She used her intellect to cover her emotions.
Once in a while, her vulnerability surfaced, making her not so much helpless or defenseless, but just plain human.
