Fatal Courage: Shadow Force International, Book 3 (Shadow Force International Romantic Suspense Series) (40 page)

“So you’re in? On us?”

She kissed him back, letting him know she was very much in. “You’re going to need someone to play doctor with.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “You volunteering?”

Wrapping her good arm around his neck, she nodded. “I probably need a consult right now, don’t you think? Want to feel me up? The bandages are a killjoy, but we can pretend we’re into kinky shit.”

“Jesus, Ruby.” But he was laughing.

“Hey, no kink-shaming. You’re a doctor and I’m a willing patient.”

His belly vibrated against hers, his laughter filling her with happiness, which was better than any pain killer. “You just underwent major surgery. We should probably wait a day or two.”

“Party pooper.”

“Believe me, once you’re able, sweetheart, I’m going to do more than feel you up. I have this fantasy of you dancing for me naked except for one of those jingly lap skirts. Like you did in Marrakech.”

“You can have anything you want, Dr. Sloan.”

He kissed her again, deep and long, and Ruby knew her new partner was going to be the best one she’d ever had.

Epilogue

_____________________

______________________________________________________

One hour later

T
HE
J
ET
C
UT
through the deep night sky, the lights of Chicago far behind them. Beatrice sat in the comfy, leather seat with a fruit smoothie in her cup holder. Strawberry-kiwi. Her new favorite.

“I don’t feel anything,” she told Maria, who had a single finger dug into the bottom of Beatrice’s bare foot.

The midwife, a former Mossad agent whom Beatrice had helped relocate to the US with a new identity, smiled knowingly. “You will.”

Beatrice hated hospitals. She’d spent too much time in them lately. Deciding to take an alternative route for her first pregnancy, she’d hired a midwife.

Maria’s new identity had included an old profession—one as ancient as her Israeli roots. The ex-agent’s great-grandmother had been a midwife and passed it down to the next generations. Maria had grown up with the community of female companionship and mothering, but had turned her back on it, yearning for adventure. The violence and death she’d endured during her time in Mossad damaged her soul enough, she’d had to get out. Mossad had refused to let her go, and Beatrice, her own experience at leaving a government intelligence agency still fresh in her mind, had helped Maria to “die.” Maria’s resurrection was two-fold: a new identity in America, as well as a return to the profession she knew so well.

From the moment she’d found out she was pregnant, Beatrice had investigated, researched, and learned all she could about birthing a child, and against all Western logic, had decided on a home birth. She even had a special bathtub Cal had installed in case she decided to birth the baby in water, as Maria had recommended.

Now as yet another day past her due date loomed, she had second thoughts. Maybe she should check herself into the hospital and let them inject her with oxytocin to start contractions. She might even undergo a C-section.

She shuddered at the thought. Surgery, drugs, the harsh lights of the hospital rooms… It all made her squeamish.

She never got squeamish.

Was it wrong to hope for a gentler welcome for her child in this unforgiving world?

Cal, seated next to her and looking like death warmed over, took her free hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “Patience, B. The baby is healthy. You’re healthy.”

“And you need some sleep. Close your eyes and rest.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight until the baby is born.”

She loved his dedication. His resolve. His utter neuroticism. “I’m several thousand miles above ground, flying through the night sky with you. I’m not going anywhere except home.”

“Hunter!” Cal shouted, and Trace popped a head up over the front seat.

“Yes, sir?”

“Keep an eye on my wife. For real. She moves one iota in that seat,”—Cal pointed at her—“I don’t care if she’s going to the head, you wake me, got it?”

Trace stood and moved to a seat across the aisle from Beatrice. “Got it, sir.”

Trace Hunter. Always the good soldier.

Sighing, Beatrice looked over at him and gave him a
sorry
smile. He winked at her.

At least having Trace next to her gave Cal enough peace of mind to shut his eyes.

Maria released the acupressure on Beatrice’s foot and rose from her spot on the floor. She’d already done a few other places on Beatrice’s back and lower legs. “Should just be a few minutes now.”

A few minutes. Right. After waiting all these months, all these extra days, the baby was going to suddenly kick things into gear because Maria had poked at the underside of her foot?

Beatrice understood algorithms, matrices, logistics, and the psychology of the human mind. She even understood what made the former SEALs around her tick most of the time and could more often than not outguess what they were going to do—or not do.

But there were some things in the world Beatrice didn’t understand. Things that didn’t fit into any matrix or psychological profile. Feelings, desires, how the physical, emotional, and mental aspects of each person were so intertwined, it was nearly impossible to separate them.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jax.

An update from her star operative: Agent McKellen was still doing fine. Her boss had arrived at the hospital to talk to her about her future and Jax was waiting not so patiently in the hall. He was staying with her until she was well enough to fly back to Arlington, then who knew?

Georgetown
, she typed back.
Or Johns Hopkins
.
Your choice. I’ll make the arrangements.

Jax’s response was a thumbs-up emoticon. In her head, though, she could hear him swearing and telling her to back off for one good goddamn minute.

Leaning her head back, she relaxed. It would be good to have a physician on board who already had the field experience necessary to handle himself on missions while taking care of his teammates. Jax had been filling that role unofficially. Once he became a full-fledged doctor, she’d bet he’d have plenty of groups sniffing around, wanting to take him from her.

Let them try. She knew her men, and she knew Jax. He was loyal to a fault. The only thing—
person
—who might hold sway over his decisions would be Agent McKellen.

Beatrice was willing to let Jax go for her. Begrudgingly, and it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t fight for him, but if he was happy, then so be it. Happiness, like all the other emotions Beatrice struggled with, didn’t fit into any algorithm she could understand.

Shifting, she no longer felt like drinking her smoothie. Her belly felt so heavy, so full. Why wouldn’t this baby come?

The twinge below her navel barely registered. A gas bubble, no doubt. Beatrice shifted again, trying to take some of the pressure off her back.

Beside her, Cal issued a soft snore, and she froze, not wanting to wake him. There was just no getting comfortable, and at least he was catching up on missed sleep. He still hadn’t told her how his meeting with the new president had gone. A slender finger of fear slipped under her collarbone.

How was she going to keep up with running the teams? What if Cal started shipping out on top-secret missions for the country? She might not know where he was or when he’d be back. He wouldn’t be there to head his SFI team and she’d have to pick a new leader.

“You okay?” Trace murmured from across the aisle. He’d been meditating, but had picked up on her movements as if he were hardwired into her.

Or maybe he’d simply felt her anxiety. He seemed to read energy as easily as he read facial expressions and body language.

We’re all energy
, he’d told her.
Nothing but energy
.

He’d been helping her understand and tune into people’s energy, more and more. The tool helped her pick up on other’s emotions, and acknowledge her own.

Another twinge, this one deeper in her womb, brought her upright. She took a breath, let it out, keeping her voice low in order not to wake up Cal. “Just a muscle cramp. Nothing to worry about.”

His frown was incremental. First his brow drew together, his eyes narrowing. A crease appeared across his forehead. The corners of his mouth drew down.

“Let’s put your seat back and raise your feet,” he said, pushing himself out of his chair. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”

Holding up both hands in a stop sign, she shook her head, then tilted it toward Cal. “I don’t want to wake him.”

A hand grasped hers, pulled it back. Cal, eyes shut, said, “Put your feet up and let Hunter get you a pillow, B.”

So much for him getting some sleep.

Trace did as instructed, Cal helping him prop up her feet and tuck her in under a blanket. For a long second, Trace studied his work, studied her, as Cal kissed her and instantly fell back asleep.

Maria had her eyes closed and Trace frowned at her. Seconds passed. Then minutes. Finally, convinced Beatrice was all right, Trace resumed his seat and began meditating once more.

Beatrice started counting the twinges. Minutes passed between them, random, no rhythm to them.

Yet, anyway.

They were like cramps, only lighter and quicker. Only on occasion did one really grab her, her belly feeling like it was being pulled down toward the floor.

Was this labor?

Her water hadn’t broken yet. She’d read about Braxton-Hicks contractions.
Maybe that’s it
.

No reason to get everyone stirred up. She could use a few minutes of peace.

Her phone buzzed with a new text from Jax. He must have still been in the hallway waiting for Ruby to finish talking to her boss.

Having that baby yet?

Actually
, she typed back,
I believe it’s a possibility.

A long pause, then,
seriously??? That foot thing works???

She wished he were there. Not that she didn’t respect and feel confident with Maria nearby, but there was something about Jax that gave her an additional boost of assurance.

I’m experiencing an odd sensation in my lower abdomen
.

It’s called a contraction
. This was punctuated with a smiley face emoticon she didn’t understand, and yet…

He was making fun of her.
That
was apparent.

Do your breathing exercise. Imagine a white room.

Definitely goading her. Beatrice wondered if there were a middle finger emoticon.
It’s more like a twinge
.

She saw the bubble that meant he was responding.
The twinges will grow in intensity and become closer together. How long till you land?

She didn’t know. They’d been in the air less than an hour and the flight usually took around two.

Not long
.

More silly emoticons danced across her screen.
Don’t worry, boss, with the first child, labor usually lasts hours, even days.

She knew that from the books she’d read.
Wish you were here
.

Another long pause, so long, she thought he might not answer at all.

And then, three words. Just three words that surprised her.

So do I
.

Oh, yes. Jax was part of their team. Part of their family. He knew where he belonged as much as she did.

Ruby needs you more right now. You did the right thing, staying with her, but hurry home. SFI needs you.

She didn’t really expect him to respond this time. He did, though. A string of emoticons, creating some kind of coded message her brain couldn’t fathom, but her heart understood.

Jax was coming home.

As her belly contracted with renewed urgency, lifting her upper body from the pillow, she pinned her lips together to keep from making any noise.

Trace was beside her in a fraction of a second, his hand landing on Cal’s shoulder, waking him.

Which was a dangerous thing to do since her husband was a light sleeper and suffered from PTSD.

Cal, as expected, came out of his seat like his ass was on fire, grabbing Trace’s hand and nearly breaking his arm.

As cognition dawned, Cal released Trace. “Shit, man. Don’t do that to me.”

Trace grinned and both men glanced down at Beatrice, who was now gripping the armrests and trying to find her breath.

“Thought you might want to be awake for this, sir,” Trace said.

Cal’s face blanched and he fell to his knees in front of her. “Is she coming? Is our baby coming?”

Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead and Beatrice gritted her teeth. Definitely more than a twinge.

“Of course, she’s coming.” Maria appeared, medical kit in hand. “I told you it would work.”

Beatrice was about to say something when her water broke. Liquid gushed down her legs, over the seat, onto the carpeted floor.