Stranger in my Arms (26 page)

M
errick had just crossed the marker indicating he'd left Virginia for the Capitol District when his cell phone rang. He reached into his shirt pocket for the phone. Without looking at the display, he answered it.

“Hello.”

“Merrick, it's Michael.”

His heart lurched. Michael always called him Gray. “What's the matter?”

“I'm at the hospital with Alex. She's in labor.”

“But the baby's not due for another four weeks.”

“It looks as if your daughter doesn't want to wait.”

“I'm on my way.”

He closed the phone and jammed the accelerator, taking red lights like a man possessed. He heard the siren, then the flashing lights behind him. Damn his luck! He was being pulled over. Coming to a screeching halt, he was ready for the officer when he approached his vehicle.

He handed the officer his photo identification from the Central Intelligence Agency. “I just got a call that my wife has gone into premature labor.”

The officer took a glance at the ID, and then his glance lingered on Merrick's face. “Follow me.”

What should've taken fifteen minutes was reduced to five as Merrick was given a police escort to the private hospital where Jolene had delivered Teresa.

He thanked the officer as he raced toward the entrance to the hospital. “Grayslake,” he shouted to the clerk at the reception desk.

“Labor room two.”

Not waiting for the elevator, Merrick bounded up the staircase to the second floor. His heart was pounding, hands shaking uncontrollably when he came face-to-face with Michael.

“How is she?”

Michael patted his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “She's okay. They have her hooked up to monitors. Get yourself together before you go in there. If Alex sees you like this she's going to lose it.”

Merrick patted his hair. “What do I look like?”

“You don't want to know. Go in the men's room and splash some water on your face. I'll wait here until you come out.”

Merrick went into the men's room. He peered into the mirror, seeing the face of a stranger looking back at him. There was a look in his eyes he'd never seen before—fear.

Turning on the faucet, he washed his hands, then wet his face. His motions were mechanical when he dried his face on a paper towel, then combed his hair. Straightening his shoulders, he walked out of the restroom and into labor room two.

Michael stood in a corner watching an attending doctor examine his cousin, reliving the scene when he'd waited for the birth of his child. He knew Alex wanted Tyler to deliver her child, but it was apparent Baby Grayslake had decided to ignore the calendar to make a premature debut.

He smiled when Merrick entered the room. He looked better.

Closing the distance between them, he nodded. “Nice. I'm going home to my girls. Call me later.”

Merrick smiled. “Thanks for everything.”

“No problema, primo.”

A nurse approached Merrick. “Are you the father?”

“Yes, I am,” he said proudly.

“You can put your jacket over in the locker. If you have a cell phone, please turn it off. I'm going to gown and mask you. We like to keep the room as sterile as possible.”

Merrick turned off his cell phone and slipped out of his jacket, not seeing the nurse's stunned look when she saw the holstered automatic handgun tucked into the small of his back. It, too, went into the locker and she breathed a sigh.

 

Alex smothered a moan as a spasm of pain gripped her. She felt as if she were being split in two. The pain had begun mid-morning and had intensified with each passing hour. She'd been experiencing mild contractions since her eighth month, but these were different. By nightfall they were stronger and coming closer together.

The pressure on her bladder had also increased and when she sat on the commode and amniotic fluid flowed unchecked, she knew it was time to go the hospital. And for the first time since Merrick suggested she live with Michael she offered up a prayer of gratitude. If she'd been at the house in Alexandria she would've been alone—alone and frightened.

“Hey, Mama.”

Alex opened her eyes to see a pair in clear gray smiling down at her. “Hi…” she got out before catching her breath when another contraction seized her.

“How are you doing?”

“I am in pain, Merrick Grayslake.”

“Do you want something to take the edge off?”

She shook her damp head. “No drugs.”

The doctor completed his examination. “It's too late to give her anything. Your baby will be here in half an hour or less. I'm going to check on another patient. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Sitting on a chair at the head of the bed, Merrick held his wife's hand. He felt every contraction with her death grip on his fingers. It went on and on, him gently massaging her back.

He wondered who'd attended to Victoria Grayslake when she went into labor. Was there anyone to comfort her when she knew she would give up her life as soon as she delivered her baby? Had she been tortured before or after she gave birth? Had she made the treasonous videotape disclosure before or after she'd become a mother?

After his initial meeting with
the voice
there was no further communication. Merrick had traced the serial numbers on the disposable cell phones and discovered they'd been purchased in Anchorage, Alaska. He continued to carry the phones in the hope that the mysterious caller would offer another clue.

The doctor returned, checked the machines monitoring the baby's heartbeat, then checked to see how far Alex was dilated. He ripped off his gloves and lab coat. “She's ready. Let's move it, Nurse!”

Merrick stood up, completely helpless as the medical professionals sprang into action. Another nurse appeared as the obstetrician scrubbed his arms and hands. Moments before Alex's legs were encased in elastic stockings and placed in a pair of stirrups another doctor appeared, this one a resident.

“Dad, please stand at the end of the bed.”

Moving in slow motion, Merrick moved to where he'd been ordered. A nurse tilted a large mirror to give him an unobstructed view of the birth and delivery. He watched in awe, transfixed as Alex labored to give birth. She pushed when told to push, the effort weakening her reserved strength.

“No puedo,”
she whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, you can. You have to do this, baby. Didn't we make plans to take little Vicky to the museum to look at all the pretty paintings?”

“You hate museums,” she spat out.

Merrick kissed her forehead. “I don't hate them, darling.”

“She's crowning.” The doctor's eyes crinkled above his mask. “What do we have here? Somebody's a redhead.”

Alex smiled through the sharp pains holding her prisoner. “She's a Grayslake.”

The doctor rested a hand on his patient's belly. “One more push, Alexandra, and you'll get to see your beautiful baby.”

She sucked in her breath and pushed. A soft gasp escaped her parched lips when she heard a weak cry. Her baby girl was here!

Peering up at the mirror she saw a tiny red-faced baby with red-gold hair. There was no trace of Cole in her daughter.

Tears filled Alex's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “She's beautiful, Merrick.”

Leaning over, Merrick kissed his wife's damp face. “Thank you, Ali.”

“Check to see if she has all her fingers and toes.”

“She's perfect.”

“Check her, please.”

The nurse tagged, suctioned, weighed, measured and cleaned a wailing Baby Grayslake. She handed the baby to Merrick, who kissed her head before handing her off to her mother. Instinctively, Victoria Grayslake sought out her mother's swollen breasts and began nursing greedily.

The intern took over from the attending doctor, who ripped off his gloves. He motioned to Merrick. “Your daughter is small, which means she'll have to stay in the hospital until she weighs at least five pounds.”

“How much does she weigh?”

“Four pounds ten ounces.”

Merrick smiled, attractive lines fanning out around his eyes. “Judging from her appetite, she'll gain that in a week.” He sobered. “She wasn't due for another month. Will that present a problem?”

“There's no doubt that she's a full-term baby. What she may be is two weeks early, but not much more than that. Maybe your wife lifted something that brought on labor, but I wouldn't worry too much about mother and baby. She can stay until your daughter is medically cleared for discharge.”

Merrick doubted whether Alex would agree to leave the hospital without her baby. He extended his hand. “Thanks, Doctor.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Grayslake. You can see your wife once she's in her room. We have accommodations for new dads if you wish to spend the night.”

“Thank you again.”

Merrick left to find an area where he could use his cell phone to call David and Serena. Then he would call Michael and let him know he planned to spend the night in the hospital with his wife and new baby daughter.

C
handler Duffy drove his fist into the granite countertop, ignoring the shooting pain racing up his arm.
When I kill them, they stay dead,
he fumed inwardly. The tall, elegant man with silver hair, known to his closest associates as the Silver Fox, literally had blood in his eye. When he'd received word that Merrick Grayslake was digging into his finances his blood pressure spiked dangerously. The result was a ruptured blood vessel in his right eye.

The Grayslake name had haunted him for years, and he still hadn't forgotten the face of the woman who'd insulted him, saying she found a wad of gum on the bottom of her shoe more appealing than sleeping with him. It took him a while, but she paid for the snub—with her life.

Reaching for one of five cell phones on a side table, he dialed a number. “It's a go,” he said when hearing a familiar voice. He disconnected the call, put the phone back in its assigned order and walked out of his inner sanctum.

He would rid the world of any trace of Victoria Grayslake, once and for all.

 

Merrick sat on a cushioned love seat with Alex, watching her breast-feed their daughter. She was five days old and she'd gained one of the four ounces she'd lost. Alex's milk had come in and the tiny fingers clutched her breast as if it was a lifeline.

He smiled as Alex spoke Spanish to the baby. His wife had grown up with bilingual parents, while he'd learned the language from Mexican housekeepers. And if it were up to him, his daughter would speak as many languages as she could master.

Merrick leaned closer. “She keeps her eyes open longer.”

Alex met her husband's proud gaze. “She only opens them for you. She must like your voice.”

“That's because she's showing her daddy her beautiful hazel eyes.” Victoria's eyes changed color from a light green to a grayish brown.

“I'm going to need you to go to the house and bring me something to wear. I'm embarrassed when people come see me and I'm in a nightgown and bathrobe.”

Stretching his arm over the back of the love seat, Merrick played with her hair. It was long enough to cover the nape of her neck. “What do you want me to bring?”

“Sweatpants or anything with a drawstring waist. I doubt if I'll be able to fit in anything else.”

“Your stomach looks pretty flat. It's your top that's outrageous.”

Alex winked at him. “You like them, don't you?”

Merrick winked back. “I'm not above fighting a baby for Mama's
leche.
”

Picking up a nursing pad, she swatted at him. “You're nasty.”

“Hell, yeah,” he countered. Moving closer, he kissed her cheek. “I'll be back with your clothes.” Pushing to his feet, he headed for the door to her suite.

“Querido?”

He stopped and turned around. “What is it?”

“When will I be able to go home?”

Merrick knew she was talking about the house in Alexandria. “Soon,” he said, hoping he hadn't lied to her. They were still going over the printout of the international banking transactions.

Alex offered him a tender smile before she lowered her head and stared at the baby in her arms, a little girl whose golden skin was the perfect complement for her golden hair.

 

Merrick punched in a code, deactivating the security system. Alex had outdone herself decorating the historic structure. She'd selected antique pieces and exquisite reproductions that rivaled the interiors of the homes in Williamsburg, Virginia.

The difference was their home wasn't a museum but one where they could live and entertain in elegant comfort. A home he wanted to come to every night to eat with his wife and children, a home filled with love and laughter from the other children he hoped to have with Alex. He climbed the staircase to the second floor, and hadn't gotten halfway when the doorbell rang.

A slight frown furrowed his forehead. He wasn't expecting anyone, because he'd just begun sleeping at the house. With Alex in the hospital he'd decided to give Michael and Jolene a break so they could enjoy their domicile with the presence of guests, even if the guests were family members. The bell chimed again.

Thinking perhaps it was one of his neighbors who saw the light on in the first story, he retraced his steps. Peering through the security eye, he saw the face of a woman with light-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail. Reaching around his back, he unsnapped the strap on his gun's holster. He opened the solid oak door and stared through the tempered glass on the storm door. The woman had pressed a photo ID against the glass. She was CIA. Maybe she'd come up with something on Duffy.

Merrick reached for the latch on the door, but before he could open it the familiar sound of a gunshot echoed in the quietness of the spring night. Dropping to a crouching position, he reached for his gun, holding it in a two-handed grip. The agent lay on the top step, her right arm in an awkward position, her government-issued automatic dangling from her fingers.

It was apparent no one heard the shot because none of the residents came out of their houses. They probably thought it was a car backfiring.

Merrick went completely still when he saw a tall shadowy figure move closer. The man had both hands raised above his head. There was something familiar about the man; he moved under a street lamp and Merrick recognized him. He was Cordero Birmingham, associate Bureau chief for the FBI's Northeast region.

Kicking the door open a fraction, Merrick trained the gun on the special agent. “State your name and your business.”

“Special Agent Cordero Birmingham, FBI associate Bureau chief, Northeast,” he drawled in a distinctive Southwest intonation. He climbed the front steps, kicking the gun away from the motionless hand. Leaning down, he pressed two fingers against the woman's neck. “She's alive.” He straightened. “I'm going to reach into my jacket to get my cell phone to call 911.”

“Don't,” Merrick warned. “I'll make the call.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, he took out the phone and dialed the three digits without taking his gaze off the special agent. The lamps framing the house highlighted silver hair with traces of red, a lean face with a pair of brilliant topaz-blue eyes. The call took less than twenty seconds.

“You didn't state your business.”

“I came here to save your life.”

“You call shooting one of my colleagues saving my life?”

“She's dirty.”

“How do I know
you're
not dirty?”

“You don't. But if I were you I wouldn't be standing here talking to me. Your wife would be making arrangements to bury her husband. And she would raise a child who would never know her father. Just like you never knew your father
or
your mother.”

Merrick's eyes fluttered but the gun never wavered. “What do you know about my mother?”

“I was her partner on one undercover mission, and I swore an oath that I would always protect her.”

Merrick felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. Cordero Birmingham was
the voice.

Lowering the gun, he secured it behind his back. He had questions, lots of questions he wanted the special agent to answer. But they would have to wait, as the sound of approaching sirens shattered the tranquillity of the night.