Page 131 of Anchor
“Fourteen days with makeup. Twenty-one without.”
Vos gave a faint nod. “And full bone growth?”
Mahler hesitated. “Six weeks. But nerve adaptation is variable. You may drool for a few weeks longer.”
“I’m aware.”
Mahler peeled off his gloves, gave a stiff bow, and exited. The door shut softly.
The room fell quiet until Heather Bowman shifted beside him. She sat straight-backed in the visitor’s chair, her blazer impeccable, legs crossed. From her designer handbag, she pulled a thick roll of euro notes, rubber-banded and heavy.
Vos turned his head slightly and winced. Heather didn’t flinch at his expression. She placed the money on the tray beside his bed.
Scour opened the door. Dr. Lenka Marova, an OB, entered cautiously, eyes flicking between the bandaged Vos and Heather. “I’ve confirmed the clinic schedule,” the doctor said, clearly uneasy. “But I have to say… it’s highly irregular to request mypresence only during active labor. The birth mother isn’t even available for me to examine.”
“She will be,” Vos interrupted, voice low and grated. “Before full-term.”
Dr. Marova shifted. “And you intend to bring her here?”
Heather folded her arms. “She’ll be brought wherever he says.”
The OB raised her brow. “I understand this delivery must be… discreet. There may be complications. For the mother’s and the baby’s lives, I need some more information.”
Vos nodded faintly. “And that’s why I also want your pediatrician in the room, from the infant’s first breath.”
“He’s agreed,” the doctor said. “But again, I must stress, seeing the birth mother at delivery, unprepared, exposed… this is not typical protocol.”
“Neither is this child.” Vos winced again. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the water at his side.
Heather beat him to it, holding the straw. Her other hand covered his, the one resting limply on the sheet. He sipped once, then met the doctor’s eyes. Heather filled in the words. “That money ensures her safety. Nothing can go wrong. Not during labor. Not after. Not ever.”
Dr. Marova nodded once, her expression unsure. Scour escorted her out. Vos leaned back again, exhausted but lucid.
Heather stayed where she was, smoothing his blanket. “You’re sure Claire will carry to term?”
Vos’s eyes fluttered shut. “She’s young. She’s strong. And the moment the child draws breath…” he exhaled, voice dry, “everything changes.”
CHASE DENVER MEDICAL – EXAM ROOM 4A – 0830 HOURS
The sonogram gel wasn’t cold. Tuck always warmed it. He always did this with care, like every inch of this routine deserved reverence. She lay back against the incline of the table, her hand linked with Reid’s.
“Twenty-four weeks,” she whispered.
The baby filled the screen now. Whole limbs. Round cheeks. Fingers that closed and opened in real time like a magician’s flourish.
Claire tried to breathe. She tried to focus on the flicker of movement and on the flutter of that tiny foot. But Tuck wasn’t speaking yet. He angled the wand lower, jaw tightening.
Reid glanced at him, catching the tension. “Talk to us, Tuck.”
Tuck finally exhaled. “It’s there. Confirmed.”
Claire’s stomach sank. She didn’t need it explained this time.
Reid’s grip tightened slightly on her hand. Just silent anchoring.
Tuck leaned over the screen, frowning thoughtfully. “Placenta’s fully covering the cervix now. No shift upward. We’re outta the marginal zone.”
Claire stared at the ceiling. “So what does that mean?”
