Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) (14 page)

He winced. “Guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

Maisey’s son stirred against her.
My son
. The phrase would never get old.

What was old? Being alone. Even when things had been good with Vicente, looking back on it, he’d never been one hundred percent focused on her—not like Nash once had been. Not like he currently was. But his presence was temporary.

As soon as they returned to town, she’d report Vicente to police, and hopefully settle into a satisfying routine in Jacksonville. Maybe she’d one day meet a man who attracted her and challenged her half as much as Nash. Maybe she wouldn’t. Regardless, she had to make peace with that, because she no longer had the luxury of caring about only herself.

With Vicente, she’d made horrendous judgment calls, and that had to stop.

Nash was back. “Fire’s made. I found an old rain-filled cistern so we have plenty of water. Harvey was even kind enough to leave a nice, big crab-boil pot in the back of his truck.”

“That was thoughtful,” she said with a winced smile.

“I know, right?” He winked. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Parched.”

He delivered a bottled water, and helped her drink. “I did some quick studying up on our situation, and you should breastfeed as soon as you’re ready. Plus, you should have delivered your placenta. Since I figure we’re only an hour or two from a hospital, let’s get you and your masterpiece cleaned and ready for travel, then let a doctor cut the cord and figure out what else is going on. Sound like a plan?”

Maisey nodded. Exhaustion made her limbs heavy and sluggish. All she wanted to do was hold her baby and sleep.

While Nash tenderly washed her and the baby with warm water, Maisey drifted in and out of consciousness. The baby fed for the first time, and the sensation swelled a whole new range of emotions. She wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad or somewhere in between. In a perfect world, her son’s birth should have been a time of elation. But with his father trying to kill her, and take him from her, she couldn’t help but feel all the more on edge.

Though the day was sunny and warm, she also couldn’t stop shivering.

With Maisey holding the baby, Nash carried her to the truck. He draped Mildred’s comforter over the pair, and then climbed behind the wheel.

Had he doused the fire? She lacked the strength to ask—or do much of anything. Her thoughts had turned disjointed and when Nash shut the passenger-side truck door, she rested her head against the cool glass.

Maisey
?
Mais
? Was Nash shaking her? She thought so, but couldn’t be sure.

The baby was crying. Maisey needed to get to him, but her arms and legs refused to work.

Mais! Talk to me. What’s wrong?

Behind her closed eyes, the day’s sun morphed to a chaotic swirl of orange and yellow, and then black . . .

NASH DROVE LIKE the proverbial bat out of hell until thirty minutes later reaching a town. He followed blue hospital signs, and then careened the truck beneath the ER canopy.

A guy in scrubs said, “Sir, you can’t park there.”

“My wi—” It had been on the tip of Nash’s tongue to call Maisey his wife, but she wasn’t. To call her his girlfriend felt somehow trite, yet if he were honest with himself, she sure as hell meant more to him than a casual friend. “She had a baby and she’s lost a lot of blood.”

The baby had been fitfully crying, but was now silent. Nash was in terror that something was wrong with him, too.

The orderly had been on the wrong side of the truck to have seen Maisey, but he now surged into action. Seconds later, Maisey and her baby had been moved from the truck to a gurney, then whisked behind glass doors.

Nash parked, then hiked back to the bustling ER lobby, unsure what to do with his hands. Yet again, he found himself in the uncomfortable, untenable position of not being in control, and he hated it.

“Sir,” a woman asked from behind a reception desk. “Was that your wife you brought in?”

No
. But his twisted heart said, “Yes.”

“I’ll need you to fill out insurance information, then I’ll have someone take you to obstetrics to see her.”

He nodded, though his brain couldn’t quite process what she was saying.

Insurance? He clamped his hand to his forehead. He hadn’t even thought about it.

“Sir? If you’ll give me your ID and insurance card, I’ll get your wife—”

“We don’t have insurance.”

She raised her eyebrows, looking at him as if sprouts grew from his ears. “You’re sure?”

He nodded, then handed her a credit card.

What minimal part of his brain still functioning told Nash that even if he had lots of tidy documentation for Maisey, the last place he could use any of it was here. If Vicente had gone to the trouble to solicit help from his neighbors in finding Maisey, it wasn’t a great stretch to assume he probably had a guy in every ER within a couple hundred miles.

After running Nash’s card, the clerk asked an ungodly amount of questions that he answered with lies. She next presented him with a stack of papers to sign, which he did. And then a perky volunteer teen dressed in pink scrubs and a bouncy ponytail jabbered a mile a minute about how excited he must be to have a baby while leading him through a maze of corridors.

Nash tried his damnedest to memorize turns, but after about ten, gave up.

All he could think about was how gutted he’d feel if Maisey didn’t make it.

He’d already lost one woman he’d loved, because he hadn’t been with her. To now lose another? It was unthinkable.

The teen led Nash to a crowded waiting room, handed him a beeper, and told him someone would contact him soon.

Nash stumbled into a dark corner’s chair.

A couple of kids stared. Their mom took one startled glance at him, then barked at her rugrats to stay close.

He caught his reflection in the glass of a framed print, and saw why the woman had been alarmed. He looked like a serial killer. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was covered in blood, his clothes were muddy and torn. His face and bare forearms were scratched and bruised and covered in bites.

His chest tightened to think poor Maisey looked even worse.

Pocketing the beeper, he headed for the nearest restroom to at least wash his hands and face. Finished, he looked a little more presentable, but not by much.

What was taking so long? Why hadn’t someone let him know the status of Maisey and her baby?

He paced the hall for a good ten minutes, then couldn’t tolerate the inaction a moment longer.

A nurse passed with a meds cart.

“Excuse me, ma’am . . .” Nash forced a deep breath and wielded the smile Maisey used to tease would charm the scales off a snake. “My wife and son were taken back a while ago, and I haven’t heard any news. Could you please check for me?”

“What’s the patient’s name?”

“Maisey Adamson.” The lie of her being his wife rolled easier and easier off his tongue. She typed the information into a laptop mounted to her cart. “She’s in surgery. But your son—”

“Surgery?”

“She’ll be fine.” She pressed her hand to his upper arm. “In layman’s terms, looks like she had a procedure for an invasive placenta. As soon as she’s done, your wife’s surgeon will be out to tell you more. In the meantime,” she pointed toward the nursery. “Your son is doing great. Would you like to hold him?”

“Thanks.” Nash had a tough time forcing the lone word through his tight throat.

“Your wife’s been assigned to Room 302. Meet me there and I’ll bring your son to you.”

Tears welling, Nash nodded, then headed that way.

In the minutes before the nurse returned, he paced like a madman.

He needed to call Maisey’s mom. She had to be out of her mind with worry. But so was he. Not only was he freaked out about Maisey’s well-being, but the fact that at any moment, Vicente and his men could show. Save for a couple knives, Nash was unarmed. Sure, Vicente would have to be an idiot to launch a firefight in a hospital maternity ward, but then Nash had also never expected him to enlist helpers like Harvey and Mildred. He wanted his son, and had already proven he’d go to any lengths to make that acquisition a reality.

Nash thought he could handle this mission solo, but he’d been wrong on that fact, too. Time to call in the cavalry. He’d get Harding and Jasper on the horn, and see which guys were available on short notice.

What they’d do then, he wasn’t sure, but preserving his pride was no longer an option. And if he were dead honest with himself, that’s what turned this whole thing bad. Having lost Hope while he’d been overseas, he’d told himself that if only he’d been there, maybe she and their baby might have been saved. But clearly he wasn’t a one-man solution to Maisey’s every problem.

He’d been a damned fool for initially believing he was.

The door opened, and the nurse who had earlier helped, wheeled in a cart that held a clear acrylic tub with Maisey’s son. “Here he is.” She held out a blue hospital gown. “If you don’t mind, since you’re a little . . .” She gestured to Nash’s muddy, bloody shirt. “Please put this on over your clothes, then wash your hands. Once you’re done, have a seat and I’ll hand him to you.”

“Sure.” He took the gown from her, then peered at the baby boy he’d helped bring into the world. “He’s so small.”

“Five pounds, twelve-ounces. I’ve seen bigger, but his lungs are strong, and he has a great appetite. As soon as Mommy’s feeling better, she can start breastfeeding.”

“Good.” After completing his assigned lists of prerequisites for holding the infant, he sat on the upholstered bench seat that ran the length of the room’s large picture window.

“One more thing.” She took a hospital name band from the pocket of her scrub top. “If you could please show me ID, you’ll need to wear this as long as your little one is admitted. It’s a safety precaution.” She smiled. “We haven’t switched a baby yet, but these days, you never can be too careful.”

“True.” He showed her his driver’s license, washed his hands again, settled back onto his former bench seat, then held out his arms to receive precious cargo.

“Here you go. Have you and your wife decided on a name?”

“No.” The pink-cheeked, blanket-wrapped bundle looked nothing like the infant Nash had in a small way helped bring into the world. His throat ached with awe, fear for what nasty surprises Vicente might next pull, and determination to keep this precious being safe—no matter the personal cost.

Staring into the tiny creature’s blue eyes, Nash felt lost, but then found. The infant was a miracle in every sense of the word, and his mother deserved all the credit.

The nurse said, “Press the call button if you two need anything.”

“Thanks. I will.” Nash had been so absorbed in thoughts of this little guy’s future that he’d forgotten she was in the room.

“Hey,” he said to him once she’d gone. “You look a lot more handsome after a proper bath.” Careful to keep his touch feather light, Nash traced his fingertip along the infant’s faint brows. “Your mommy should be coming back to us soon. Are you as excited to see her as I am?”

Of course, the little guy didn’t answer, but Nash’s aching heart did.

His instant connection with her son proved he still cared for Maisey—had always cared for her—which made him feel all the more traitorous to the memory of his wife. In the same breath, he couldn’t wait for Maisey to return. Not just to this room, but to him.
Us
. How had all the emotion he’d once felt for her come rushing back so fast? Where had all of that been? Or had he been fooling himself all those years, to think it had ever been fully gone?

The door creaked open. Elated that Maisey had returned, Nash looked up, only he didn’t find the woman to whom he had so much to say, but a man in a dark suit and mirrored sunglasses.

Vicente
?

Pulse surging, Nash tightened his hold on Maisey’s son.