Page 132 of Anchor
Tuck didn’t sugarcoat—ever. He shifted the ultrasound wand slightly, then pulled back and began wiping Claire’s abdomen clean. He gave her a look she’d come to know too well—professional, serious, but laced with care.
“It means you’re grounded, darlin’. Bedrest. Effective immediately.”
She blinked at him. “Bedrest as in…?”
“As in strict,” he said. “You're twenty-four weeks. We’ve got a micro-preemie on board, and any bleeding could trigger labor. Any standing, any weight on the cervix can cause bleeding. We can’t risk that.”
Claire felt the tension spike in her chest. “How long?”
“Until she’s out, safe and screaming.” Tuck folded the ultrasound towel. “You’re going to be monitored round-the-clock. No standing unless it’s to use the bathroom. No sex. No lifting. No work unless it’s from a bed with your feet up, and zero stress.”
She exhaled slowly. “And if I start bleeding?”
“You call me or Seth,” he said without hesitation. “If it’s heavy or persistent, we’ll admit you to inpatient care and prep for early delivery. But right now, the best-case scenario is we keep that baby in as long as we can. Thirty-four weeks is our next goalpost.”
Claire looked away, jaw clenched.
Tuck softened. “Hey.” He reached for her hand. “You’ve done everything right. But now it’s time to let us do the heavy lifting. You just focus on keeping still, hydrated, and calm.”
“I don’t do calm,” she muttered.
“You do now,” Tuck said, then added more softly, “You’ve got more than just you to fight for, Claire. And you’re not in this alone.”
But something inside her flashed hot with frustration. “I have work?—”
“You have a baby,” Tuck interrupted gently but firmly, his drawl thicker than usual. “And she’s got one shot to get here safe.”
Reid said nothing, but she felt his eyes on her.
Tuck tapped a few keys on the machine. “No bleeding yet. That’s good. But we can’t chance it. You’re off your feet unless it’s medically supervised movement. I’ll call Lincoln and make it clear your office moves to your bed.”
Claire swallowed.
Tuck looked directly at her. Not as a provider. As family. “She needs you still. Calm. And careful. Got it?”
Claire nodded, quiet, not because she didn’t want to fight but because she knew he was right.
Reid shifted beside her, finally speaking. “We’ll do it together.” And he meant it. Because when he squeezed her hand, he wasn't just promising. He was preparing.
REHAB CENTER – SUITE B – 2300 HOURS
He couldn’t sleep. Too much adrenaline. Too many images. The baby’s shape on the screen. The flicker of fear in Tuck’s voice. The slow-growing hum that something else was coming. He stared out the window of their suite, Denver lights blinking against the mountains.
Claire had fallen asleep curled around a pillow, her hand unconsciously covering her stomach.
A quiet knock came. Reid checked the door camera and opened the door.
Kieran stood there in a black sweater and jeans, barefoot, holding a tablet. “They found something,” he said quietly. “In Prague.”
Reid stepped out into the hall.
FORTY-FOUR
CHASE DENVER – INTEL SUITE – 2310 HOURS
Kieran stood beside Reid, arms crossed, eyes on the large screen. Reid sat in the adaptive chair built with part rehab and part necessity in mind. He still hated the way it made him feel not quite functional. But today, that wasn’t what hit him in the gut. It was the image on the screen. Her.
Dark sunglasses and a scarf wrapped tightly around the lower half of her face. A bandage rode up just beneath the edge, tucked in like a surgical afterthought. She was as much of a traitor as Vos. In the sanctity of their suite, Claire told him what Heather Bowman did.
