Chapter Eight

"You stayby my side the entire time."

I don't like leaving the condo. Not when we're still unsure if there's an actual threat. But Wren's had dizzy spells for two days, and outside of emergencies, her doctor doesn't work on weekends. I don't know shit about babies, but I'm pretty sure our kid isn't going to avoid being born because I'm worried about our safety.

Wren finishes buttoning her dress and smooths her hands over her belly. "The doctor's going to want to examine me. Like…really examine me."

"I'm staying in the room. I'm not leaving you alone."

"And what if she wants to induce me? There'll be stuff happening. Medical stuff. Stuff you might not want to see."

I stare her down. "Fifty-four bones, little bird. I set every one of them. And half of Dax's. I can handle medical stuff." She doesn't understand how worried I am. How strange it is that she, Ripper, and Zephyr can't find any trace of this guy.

"Fine. You try telling the doctor you won't leave and see how well that goes over." She shakes her head, but there's love reflected in her gaze. "Can we go now?"

I check my phone, relieved when I see the latest text message. "Yep. West is downstairs waiting for us."

"Oh, my God. Really?"

"Really." I hike her go bag onto my shoulder and rest my other hand at the small of her back. She stays close all the way to the parking garage, where West leans against his vintage powder blue F150 pickup. The former SEAL looks like he doesn't have a care in the world—to anyone who doesn't know him. But his eyes are always moving, scanning the garage all the way out the barred windows to the street. And from the slight bulge under his jacket, he's packing.

"You in labor yet?" he asks.

"No. But I think I'm close," Wren says. "Let's hope close enough."

"Want me to follow or ride with you?"

I finger my key fob. "Take your own wheels. Who knows what's going to happen once we get there. We could be there a while. If so, we'll figure out a plan."

At the word "plan," Wren snorts. "You are not going to set up a security rotation around my hospital room."

I cut my gaze to hers. "Watch me."

* * *

It'stwenty minutes before they show us to a room, have Wren change into a gown, and pee in a cup. Then a haggard-looking nurse straps a monitoring harness to her belly, enters half a dozen numbers into the computer, and leaves us with a quick, "The doctor will be in soon." West is stationed in the hall. I stand at the window, staring down at the parking lot below.

No one followed us—at least no one we could see. The nurse assured us it would be only her and Wren's doctor in the room. And I'm armed.

Wren wasn't happy when she realized I had a pistol strapped to my ankle, but I'm not taking chances.

"Ry, for fork's sake, sit down."

"Fork's sake? That's a new one." I move to her side and take her hand. "I have to find a way to stop swearing. Maybe Royce can design some sort of electric-shock wearable for me."

Wren shakes her head. "Nope. You'd be dead in less than four hours. We're just going to have to teach Harlow that those words are for home only."

The idea of teaching our kid anything is scarier than going back to Hell. "I'll teach her how to fight and protect herself. But if I try to teach her not to swear in public, I'm afraid every other word out of my mouth will be ‘fuck.'"

She laughs, and her free hand flies to her belly. "She's kicking again. Hard. We're going to have to swaddle her or she'll bounce right out of the crib."

"Fuck. Something else I don't know how to do." I scrape my fingers over my bald head, feeling the scars from too many boots, knives, and fists. "How the hell are we supposed to do this?"

"Ry." Wren sits up a little straighter on the exam table. "I'm scared too. But our parents did it. So did their parents. And their parents. Back thousands of years. We're going to make mistakes. We're going to be exhausted and we're probably going to fight a little more because of how tired we are, but we can do this. We have family. So much family. And the internet."

I'm about to tell her none of this makes me feel any better when there's a brisk knock at the door, and the doctor pokes her head in. "Ready for me?" she asks.

"Yes. Please, please tell me this baby is ready to be born," Wren says.

"Let's find out." Dr. Wright sinks down onto a stool and snaps on a pair of gloves. "A little pressure now." After a minute with her hand between Wren's legs, she hums. "You're only a little over two centimeters. Any contractions?"

"No." The disappointment in Wren's voice hits hard. "But I've been dizzy the past couple of days and I just feel…off."

"Well, this late in pregnancy, most women feel a little out of sorts. But I'm not going to discount a mama's intuition." She strips off her gloves and tosses them in the trash. "You can get dressed. It'll be a few minutes before your blood sugar numbers come back, though. Your last test was normal, but sometimes these things go wonky toward the end."

"Wonky? What's that supposed to mean?" I ask. "Is there something wrong or not?"

Her brown eyes narrow and she stares up at me like she's just realized I'm here. "I have no way of knowing until I get her test results back. But it's probably nothing. Your wife is carrying a tiny human, and sometimes, the body gets overwhelmed the last few days or weeks. If there is something wrong, we'll find it. But we're a bit backed up today, so it might be fifteen or twenty minutes. Try to relax, okay?"

She's out the door before either of us can answer.

"Relax," I mutter. "I'd like to see her relax if she were in this situation."

"She has two kids. She's been in this exact situation before. Plus, she's the best ob/gyn in the city." Wren takes my hand and strokes her thumb back and forth across my wrist.

The urge to stalk after the doc and threaten her until she admits Wren to the hospital is so strong, I almost pull away.

"Help me up, big guy. And get my dress? These gowns are itchy and it's freezing in here."

I do as she asks, but only seconds after she finishes doing up the buttons, she sways on her feet.

"Whoa."

"What's wrong?" I wrap my arm around her waist. Her eyes are glassy and she's too pale.

"Dizzy again. And hungry. There was a vending machine by the reception desk. Can you get me a bag of dill pickle chips, a package of Oreos, and a ginger ale?"

"I'm not leaving you. I'll call West."

"Freakin' fishsticks, Ry. We're in a busy medical center. Surrounded by doctors and nurses and security guards. Nothing's going to happen to me here. I have my panic button." She pulls her phone with its stick-on panic button out of her dress pocket and waves it at me. "I'm not leaving this room until the nurse comes in. You'll be able to see the door the whole time. You and West."

I can't refuse. Mostly because she's right. There's no threat here we won't see coming from a hundred feet away. Sliding my fingers into her curls, I slant my lips over hers. My tongue begs for entrance, and she yields to me with a little moan. She tastes of mint and home, and my fears melt away while we're connected. But too soon, I have to pull away or I'll take her on the narrow exam bed. And if I do, that's when the nurse will barge right in.

"Pickle chips, Oreos, and ginger ale. I'll be back in five minutes. Maybe less. Sit down and don't get up for any reason."

"Fine," she huffs. "But once we're home again, we're having a serious talk about all this Neanderthal horsepucky. It's getting a little ridiculous."

"We'll see about that, Mrs. Neanderthal."

* * *

In the hall,I stop at West's side. "The doctor doesn't think there's anything to worry about, but they're running some tests. Wren's hungry. I said I'd find the vending machine."

I don't make it two steps before West catches my arm. "Ry? It's that way." He points in the opposite direction.

"Fuck. I'm a goddamn mess. She's my everything, man. I can't lose her."

"You won't." He walks me all the way to the vending machine but keeps one eye on the door to the examination room. "She's going to be fine, Ry. Besides, we're right across the street from the hospital."

I punch A13 on the machine's keypad and wave my phone over the credit card scanner. The machine beeps, and a package of pickle chips tumbles into the tray. Before I close my fingers around the salty snack, an alarm starts to blare, and a strobe light flashes over the nurse's station.

West and I move in a heartbeat, but as we turn, heavy fire doors slam shut, cutting us off from the exam rooms. And Wren.

"Fuck!" I throw myself against the doors to no avail. Sampson lends his weight too, but they're locked tight.

"Call her," he shouts and sprints back to the nurse's station. "Get these doors open!"

Wren answers on the first ring. "Ry? Is there actually a fire?"

"We don't know. But unless you smell smoke, do not leave that room. The fire doors are locked and we can't get to you."

"They'd only do that if there were an actual fire, right?" The fear in her voice slays me, and I'd punch a hole in the wall to get to her if I thought it'd work.

"I don't smell anything, sweetheart. It's got to be a malfunction. But stay put. West and I will be there in five minutes. Maybe less. If we have to crawl through the ventilation ducts, we will."

"I won't go anywhere," she says. "I promise."

"I love you, little bird." I don't want to hang up, but I need both hands to get into the air duct if Sampson can't figure out why the doors won't open on their own. The alarm and flashing lights trigger a headache, but I squeeze my eyes shut and will it away. Or at least into submission where it can't distract me.

"Sit rep," I snap at West.

"The doors aren't supposed to lock. But they're on a closed system. There's nothing the staff can do from here," he says. "Grab one of those chairs so you can give me a boost."

"I'll go."

West stares up at me like I'm off my rocker. "You're three hundred and twenty pounds. Your shoulders are twice as wide as mine, idiot. Do you really think you're going to fit?"

He's right. There's no fucking way.

"Fine. But the minute you get to Wren, you call me. And stay with her until I get these doors open."

"Like I'd do anything else," he says. We drag two chairs close to the doors and climb up on them.

"Sir? What are you doing?" one of the nurses asks. "You can't?—"

"My wife is on the other side of those doors. She's nine months pregnant and dizzy. If you think we're going to sit here and wait for some tech with his thumb up his ass to open those doors, you're mistaken."

She must hear the lethality in my tone because she throws her hands up and backs away. I punch one of the lightweight tiles hard enough it cracks in two, then drop the pieces to the floor.

Lacing my fingers together, I form a cup with my hands and brace them on my thigh. "Ready when you are."

"If I find a dead rat up there," West says, "you're paying for all new vaccinations."

"If you find a dead rat up there, there's no fucking way Wren's having the baby in this hospital."

West eyes the crawlspace, then my hands. "On three. One, two…"

* * *