Tracking Tahlula (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha) (On Call Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  I glance up at the clock. “Almost eight. How are you feeling?”

  “Sore, but better than last night. Have you seen Hanna this morning?”

  “Not yet, I wanted to wait for you, see if we can get you over there as well, but I did ask the night nurse to check. Apparently she’s doing really well. Think you feel up to it?”

  “Yes, of course, but I need to pee first.”

  “Need a hand?”

  She gingerly swings her legs over the side of the bed while raising her eyebrow at me. “I think I remember how.”

  “I mean getting to the bathroom, smartass.”

  “Maybe. What’s that?” She points at the clipboard still in my hand.

  I flip the papers closed. “Just a few forms they want you to fill out.” I drop the bundle back on the nightstand to help Tahlula to the bathroom.

  “Would you check with the nurse to see if we can see Hanna?”

  “I will if you promise not to move.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m no cream puff, Evan,” she huffs.

  Even if I had any doubts before, watching her expel a little human from her body last night would’ve convinced me otherwise.

  I press a quick kiss to her pouty lips. “Be right back.”

  The nurse who was in the room earlier is talking to a woman at the nurses’ station and I wait at a polite distance, overhearing her tell the visitor she’s not able to give out patient information. The woman catches sight of me and promptly pivots, walking off in the opposite direction. Odd. Dismissing the short brunette rounding the corner at the end of the hall, I turn to the nurse.

  “I’d like to take Hanna’s mother to see her, should I be taking her in a wheelchair?” I figure I’d make it difficult for her to say no.

  “Uhh…I guess that would be best, but—”

  “Awesome, thanks so much.” I grin as I turn to go in search of one.

  Tahlula is still in the bathroom when I return with a wheelchair, and I knock on the door.

  “Everything okay in there?”

  “Much better,” she says, opening the door. She smells like soap and toothpaste.

  “I commandeered you some wheels. Give me a sec to clean up.” I dart into the bathroom and am grateful for the bag Ma dropped off last night. A quick brush and wash, and a clean shirt, goes a long way to making me feel halfway human.

  When I come back out of the bedroom, the nurse I spoke to is back in the room talking to Tahlula.

  “What’s up?”

  “She says if we can hang on for five minutes, Dr. Haebe is doing the rounds.”

  I turn to the nurse. “Five minutes?”

  “Promise,” she returns. “I swear.”

  I watch her leave the room when Tahlula asks me to hand her the clipboard. “Might as well get this done while we wait.”

  “Sure.”

  I sit on the edge of her bed and watch as she flips through the pages to land on the application that caught my attention earlier. She writes her own name in her neat, bold script, when her pen stalls over the section for the father’s name. She looks at me.

  “This is weird. I almost wrote your name down.”

  My heart starts pounding in my chest, but I try to keep my voice even. “You did?”

  A self-deprecating smile appears on her lips as she shakes her head. “Yeah. Over the past months I realized, I’ve started fantasizing about you as her father. I mean, if she had a father, I’d like him to be like you. Maybe it’s because I grew up without one and want better for my Little Pea. Every time you put your hand on my belly, I’d imagine…” She shakes her head again.

  I grab the hand holding the pen. “When I saw that form earlier I wished I could put my name there,” I confess. I show her the hospital bracelet. “I was proud when they put this thing on me, and I couldn’t imagine being able to claim that title for real.”

  “Are we crazy?”

  “Probably, but I already love her like she’s my own and I would never—ever—do anything to harm her or you. But this is your decision. I’ll be happy to wait until you’ve given me a chance to make an honest woman of you, when you feel it’s more appropriate to officially make her mine, because in my heart she is already.”

  Her hand reaches out, catching me behind my neck as she pulls me down. I see the tears shimmering in her eyes. “I love you,” she mumbles against my lips, before letting me go and turning back to the clipboard on her lap.

  Without another word, she boldly adds my name to the form.

  My turn to blink away the tears.

  Tahlula

  She’s so tiny.

  Her little hand curls tightly around my finger, and I’m amazed at her strength.

  “She’s already improving.”

  I look up and smile at the older nurse manning the NICU. “She’s strong.”

  “I can tell. Not often we get preemies weighing five pounds with the appetite of a trucker, and a mind of their own. With the medication to help mature her lungs, it won’t be long before you can take her home.”

  “She eats well?”

  “Sure does. We used what you pumped overnight and supplemented the rest. Would you like to see if she’ll nurse?” she asks, looking at the wet spots on my nightgown that started forming the moment Hanna was placed in my arms.

  I briefly consider waiting for Evan to return. He went to pick up my Lexus after Dr. Haebe mentioned I might be able to go home tonight. He’d come to see Hanna first, and I lost it when I saw how tenderly he picked her up and held her. He waited for me to sit down in the recliner before handing her to me. I couldn’t speak; I was so moved.

  Hanna makes up my mind for me when she starts rooting around. “I’d love to,” I answer the nurse.

  Five minutes later, my Little Pea is latched on, after only a few tries.

  “Are you okay?” I nod at the smiling nurse. “Good. I’ll be right back.”

  I close my eyes and savor the slightly alien, but entirely satisfying, feel of my daughter nursing hungrily. I feel new tears escaping my eyelids, but I don’t care. I’m allowed to be overwhelmed.

  I test myself for even a niggle of doubt at jotting down Evan’s name as Hanna’s father, but there is none. Surprising, since I don’t know myself to be the most trusting of people, but there is no doubt in my mind I’m justified in putting my faith in him.

  Perhaps it’s the traumatic circumstances under which we met, and built our relationship, that have me believe we can weather anything coming our way in the future. Growing up, and until recently, I was never able to look at my future with a sense of belonging, but I do now.

  How ironic that two people who’d managed to stay single into their forties so quickly forged such a binding connection. Now only strengthened by the arrival of this little one.

  I look down at my daughter’s already familiar face, contently suckling at my breast.

  Movement catches my eye as a different nurse leans against the doorpost, her arms folded over her chest.

  “How precious,” she shares, but there’s something about the way she says it that has the hair on my neck stand on end.

  I try to place her, but the large glasses and mousy brown hair are not familiar.

  I watch her straighten and walk into the room, grabbing a sheet from the linen cart against the wall. She shakes it out as she moves closer.

  “It’s an abomination,” she spits, her eyes flitting between Hanna and me.

  “I’m not sure—” I start, when she shoves the wheelchair toward me.

  “Get in.”

  “I’m sorry. Where…” my voice trails off when I see her pull a gun from the back of her scrubs, aiming it at my baby. I don’t even think, I one-handedly push myself up and take a seat in the wheelchair.

  It’s not until she throws the sheet over me and tucks it around me—hiding Hanna underneath—that I notice the stark blue eyes full of hate, and a few blonde strands escaping the dark wig covering her hair.

  It’s her. The woman
from the truck. The woman I’ve spoken to on the phone. “Elizabeth?”

  A smile, eerily childlike, spreads over her face. “My name matters little. My purpose is what’s important.”

  “Your purpose?” I ask against better judgment, knowing the answer doesn’t mean much good for me, or my child. Still, I’m determined to keep her talking until someone shows up. Anyone.

  “The superior purity of our race, the divinity of our blood, the sanctity of our beliefs. You and your spawn are a blemish on everything we believe in. A stain on our society. A weakness we can’t afford.”

  This woman is stark raving mad—off her rocker—but that only ramps up my fear into terror.

  “Let me put her down. She’s done nothing…”

  She circles around me—pressing the gun in my back, just above where the seat of the wheelchair ends—and leans down by my ear.

  “The child is soiled.”

  I’m frozen as she slowly wheels me out of the room, the hard steel of her gun between my shoulder blades.

  Evan

  “Where are you? Is Tahlula with you?” Blackfoot barks in my ear the moment I answer my phone.

  “On my way to the hospital, Tahlula had the baby last night, why?”

  “Fucking hell!” Then I hear him snap instructions to someone with him, before he’s back on the line. “We received a tip about a gun purchase in the name of Elizabeth Dale, aka Margaret Hinckle, and have reason to believe she’s coming for Tahlula.”

  The blood runs cold through my veins. “Jesus Christ, I’m just pulling out on Main. I left her in the NICU with the baby and a nurse. Should I call—”

  “We’re ahead of you. We’ll get to her,” Keith cuts me off. “You see if you can get hold of her. I’ll contact hospital security.”

  The moment he ends the call, I’m dialing Tahlula’s phone. When I reach her voicemail after five rings, I remember it sitting on the bedside table in her room when I wheeled her into the hallway.

  In front of me, I see nothing but brake lights as I come up to the intersection with the 160. I slam the heel of my hand against the steering wheel as traffic grinds to a halt.

  “Son of a fucking bitch!”

  I quickly look up the hospital number and call, asking to be transferred to the NICU. It only rings once before I get a message. I try again. Same result. I’m about to dump the car and start running when the light up ahead changes and the cars before me start moving. I ignore the yellow light when I get to the traffic lights and blow through the intersection, the sound of honking behind me as I narrowly miss an RV trying to turn right.

  Tahlula

  I try to make eye contact with people passing us in the hallway, without any luck. They’re either too busy or too blind to see the panic in my eyes.

  I’m terrified for my baby, what if she can’t breathe under there? I can’t let myself think of the risks she runs being this far from the NICU.

  I’m afraid to make a move, not that I have a plan. All I have is the hospital gown I’m wearing and a pair of flip-flops that were in the bag Joan dropped off.

  The elevators are up ahead; from there it’s down one level and out the door to the parking lot. I need to do something soon, before we no longer have the relative safety of people around me. In an act of desperation, I kick off one of my flip-flops as an older gentleman walks up. I breathe in deep when he blocks the wheelchair and picks it up.

  “Could I bother you to put it on?” I plead, feeling the barrel press into my spine. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  The man looks at me confused, especially when I widen my eyes at him, but nothing registers. He slips the flip-flop on my foot and straightens up. “Are you all right?” he asks, grabbing hold of both of the armrests.

  I open my mouth to speak when I hear the woman’s voice behind me.

  “She’s a little confused, aren’t you, dear?” A hand lands on my shoulder, fingers digging in. “She’s not used to being off the psychiatric ward, poor thing.”

  The nice man immediately lets go of the armrests and takes a step back. “Of course,” he mumbles and walks away.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot him,” she hisses in my ear before pushing the wheelchair toward the elevator.

  It opens as we approach and a couple steps off. She quickly turns my chair around and backs me in. The doors are closing when a hand appears, preventing them from shutting all the way. When they open back up I almost cry in relief when I recognize Detective Ramirez. I open my mouth to say something, but the sharp look he shoots at me has me snap my mouth closed. I’m hoping he has a plan.

  When the elevator hits the main floor and the doors slide open, Ramirez steps aside, waving us ahead.

  We’ve barely cleared the elevator doors when I’m yanked from the wheelchair by strong arms, while I hear a struggle behind me.

  “I’ve got you, Lula. I’ve got you both.”

  28

  Evan

  I watch as Tahlula eases her daughter to her breast.

  Our daughter.

  Hanna’s pink, heart-shaped lips closing on her mother’s darker skin. Beautiful.

  For the first time in hours, I feel my heart rate settling into a normal rhythm, as Tahlula smiles at me from the recliner.

  I wasn’t sure I’d make it in time, but when I stormed through the hospital doors a little over three hours ago—panic making breathing difficult—I just caught sight of Tony Ramirez racing up the stairs. I started after him when I heard my name called and saw Keith by the elevator doors with two hospital security officers.

  He told me what the plan was in a few words. The moment the wheelchair would clear the elevator, Tony would distract Margaret Hinckle, so I could pull Tahlula and Hanna toward me and out of firing range, and Keith would rush in to subdue the woman.

  Luckily, I didn’t have a lot of time to think about all the things that could go wrong before the soft ding of the elevator announced its arrival. I did plenty of that in the hours after, leaving me in a cold sweat.

  They found one of the nurses in NICU knocked out in a supply room, but she’s expected to make a full recovery. Apparently she spotted the Margaret wandering into the NICU. The nurse was showing her back to the hallway when she was overpowered.

  Other than shaken by the experience, Tahlula and Hanna received a clean bill of health. They were both checked out by staff immediately.

  “Jesus.” Trunk’s deep voice sounds from the doorway. I’d managed to get hold of him late last night to let him know he had a niece, but he’d been stuck in Moab. He must’ve left first thing this morning. He looks ridiculous wearing the sterile cap and gown. “Who the fuck is ever gonna buy that’s my blood?” he complains, and I bite down a grin at his grumbling. “A dang ginger. What do you think’s gonna happen when I take my niece out for ice cream? I’ll tell you what: I’ll get fucking arrested for kidnapping.”

  Tahlula lets him rant, an amused smile on her face, before she jumps in. “First of all, you’re not taking Hanna anywhere unless you clean up that language, and secondly, you may want to come meet her first.”

  Trunk, who’s still standing in the doorway, looks horrified. “I’ll meet her as soon as you put that thing away.”

  By now I’m laughing in earnest, which earns me a dirty look from the man.

  “What thing? My breast? I’m guessing you’ve seen more than enough of those to know they don’t bite. Newsflash, brother dear; breasts were designed for feeding.”

  He takes a tentative step closer, mumbling under his breath, “You’re my sister, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Tahlula snaps. “And get over yourself.”

  Trunk reaches out hesitantly and strokes Hanna’s hair with his fingers. “Soft.” He promptly pulls his hand back. “But couldn’t you have picked a nice black boy for a sperm donor? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she belonged to him.” He jerks a thumb in my direction.

  “She does now,” his sister fires back. “I nam
ed him on the birth certificate application as her father.”

  Trunk slaps one of his large paws over his eyes and feigns staggering back. “Lawd have mercy. I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

  Tahlula rolls her eyes and moves a now sleeping Hanna to her shoulder.

  “Sit your ass down and hold your niece.”

  He obediently pulls up another stool and sits. Since Tahlula is still sore, I get up to take Hanna from her, and deposit the little bundle in Trunk’s large hands. “What’s with the tube in her nose?”

  “She’s not strong enough yet to get all the nourishment she needs by herself,” I tell him. “So they supplement with breast milk Lula pumps.”

  “Thanks for that visual,” he growls as I sit back down. “Shee-it, she’s small. I could put her in my pocket and walk outta here.” Reminded of what happened earlier, my eyes find Tahlula’s. I can tell her mind went in the same direction. “Did she just smile?” Both of us look back at Trunk, who seems to be staring closely at Hanna’s face.

  “Too early,” his sister educates him. “Between six and eight weeks is normal. It’s probably just gas.”

  “Bull,” he disagrees. “That was a smile. Believe me, I’d know if it was gas.”

  The words have barely left his mouth and a distinctly wet gurgle of a diaper filling erupts from Hanna’s impossibly tiny body.

  “Shee-it.”

  I chuckle at the expression on his face. “That would be an accurate assessment, brother.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” I promise Tahlula.

  Ma showed up a while ago with a home-cooked meal for the new mother. Instead of bringing me some, she’s been trying to get me to run home, grab a shower and a bite, and give the dog some loving while she hangs out with my girls.

  Trunk disappeared shortly after Hanna had a massive blowout on his lap, leaving us to deal with the aftermath, but we did it laughing. The look of sheer panic on the man’s face had gone a long way to elevating the traumatic events of this morning.