by Misty Evans
Fatal Love
A Shadow Force International Worlds Novella
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Misty Evans
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Fatal Love, A Shadow Force International Novella
Copyright © 2017 Misty Evans
ISBN: 978-0-9979895-3-3
Cover Art by Sweet & Spicy Designs
Formatting by Author E.M.S.
Editing by Angel Cleary, Patricia Essex, Elizabeth Neal
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Please Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
FATAL LOVE
FREE Short Story
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Thank You for Reading
Books by Misty Evans
About the Author
To Mark, always and forever.
Sometimes the littlest things take up the most room in your heart.
~ Winnie the Pooh
Acknowledgements
Beatrice and Cal have come a long way since they first appeared in Deadly Force, SCVC Taskforce Series, Book 3. This novella is dedicated to all of you who kept asking for more about the two of them. Now they’re helping run Shadow Force International and they’ll have many more adventures with the men and women of SFI. I’m especially happy since Beatrice is one of my all-time favorite characters to write!
A special thank you goes to Elizabeth Neal for giving me Sabrina’s code name, 21 Pilots, and to Linda Quick, who suggested Sabrina have red hair and only wear one color of clothing to add to her quirkiness. Thank you, ladies!
Chapter One
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“UGGGHH…” PAIN RIPPED through Beatrice’s belly as Cal drove them through downtown DC in the middle of a warm summer night. Gripping the armrest and doing her damnedest not to groan, she wondered if she were giving birth to a human baby or a two-hundred-pound giraffe.
“We’ll be there in no time,” her husband, Cal, tried to reassure her. His brow was furrowed, his face tight with a combination of fear and determination, all highlighted by the glow from the dashboard.
So much for reassurance.
Her lips pressed together to keep in the primal scream pushing against them. Her back spasmed, robbing her of breath. As she mentally counted off the seconds, she bobbed her head in an effort to acknowledge his statement and try to relieve his concern.
Breathe, she told herself. Remember what Maria taught you.
Maria, her midwife, and Trace, her bodyguard, followed behind as Cal sped through the night toward their home.
Her water had broken on the plane while on their way back from Chicago; another mission for Rock Star Security—that had become a Shadow Force International operation—wrapped up and put to bed. The baby was overdue, but Beatrice had been in good health with no signs of impending labor when she’d flown to Chicago to help out one of her favorite employees and a CIA operative who’d been in deep trouble.
They were all okay, and now it was time to get her baby out into the world.
“I can’t believe that voodoo shit Maria did to you worked,” Cal said. The baby would probably still not be on its way if Maria hadn’t used some type of reflexology on Beatrice’s feet and gotten things going.
The worst of the contraction passed and Beatrice drew a shallow breath, then another, deeper one. “It’s not…voodoo,” she huffed. “It’s proven medicine.”
Cal grunted. “Should’ve had her wait until you were home to give you that prescription.”
Probably. “I didn’t really believe it would work.”
“So you admit it isn’t based on science.”
Not any science her genius mind had studied, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t legit. “Acupressure techniques have been a part of traditional Eastern medicine for centuries.”
He made a light scoffing noise and switched lanes. “I’d feel better if you’d let me take you to GWU.”
George Washington University hospital was only minutes away. Their home on the outskirts of Silver Spring, Maryland, was closer to thirty.
“I’m having this baby at home,” Beatrice insisted. “I hate hospitals.”
Cal knew that, but she felt the need to say it anyway. All the men in her life—and there were a lot because of the Rock Stars and SFI operatives—knew she was always right about her decisions, and yet none of them trusted her judgment with this.
“It’s just not like you, B,” her husband, a former SEAL said. “You’re so…”
Analytical. Calculating. Logical. She waited for him to say one of the obvious choices. Her brain ran on facts and proven strategies, not emotions and the “whoo whoo” stuff Cal had designated the alternative medicine Maria used.
“Empirical?” Beatrice filled in the blank for him. “Yes, I’m usually left-brained. However, I assure you, there is compelling evidence suggesting home births are better for the baby and the mother. There is nothing illogical nor theoretical about what I’m doing.”
Cal shook his head. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Hunter.”
Trace Hunter was a super soldier, part of a scientific testing program to generate unstoppable fighters. He was the only one who’d survived the program and now worked for SFI.
But for all of his superior skills, the thing that everyone fixated on was his love of yoga, meditation, and natural living. “You assigned him to me.”
Traffic was light in the very early morning hours, for which she was thankful. As they broke free of the main DC area heading north, she could see more stars.
A beautiful night to give birth.
Jaxon Sloan had warned her that it could be hours, days even, since this was her first baby. One of the former SEALs who worked for SFI, he was also going to be their first official staff doctor as soon as he finished his training. She’d teased him about delivering her baby, but part of her had been serious. Beatrice didn’t trust many people
with her own life; entrusting someone with her child’s life required serious work on her part.
“What did the president want?” Beatrice said, deciding to focus on work instead of the possibility she would be holding an infant in a few hours. While she’d been in Chicago, he’d been in secret talks with the prez. “You never told me on the plane ride home.”
Cal kept his attention on the road. “Nothing to worry about right now.”
She was worried. After her stint with NSA and Command & Control, her trust issues extended to anyone in the government, the president not excluded. “I don’t want you running some top-secret group for him. Or doing anything else for him for that matter.”
“B, it’s alright. I’m not running any top-secret anything for him.”
As was her nature, she felt unsatisfied with his answer. “If it’s not top-secret, why won’t you tell me why he called you to the Oval?”
Cal blew out a long-suffering sigh. “The last thing you need to worry about is work.”
“I’m worried about my husband.”
He reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s really not a big deal.”
She didn’t squeeze back. Her stomach was turning somersaults and it wasn’t because of the contractions. “You’re hedging. Which means you’re lying to me.”
The change in his expression was a familiar one. One that said he was giving in. Which rarely happened, even when he knew she was right about something. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to start doling out instructions. Hunter and I will handle the specifics of the assignment and I already know who I’m assigning to the detail.”
“Bodyguard detail?” The president had the Secret Service for protection, as did his family. “For whom?”
“Warshank has a grown stepdaughter who lives in North Bethesda. Runs a bakery and cafe and lives in some 1800s colonial that she’s fixing up.”
“Mia Layne. I know who she is.” The former president, Linc Norman, had been exposed by Trace as a murderer and impeached. Ironically, only a few weeks before that, Cal had stopped a gunman from killing Norman. The assassin had been working for the Vice President, and she’d been imprisoned for the assassination attempt. A new VP had not been assigned to fill her office, so when Norman was impeached, next in the lineup of presidential succession had been Speaker of the House, Hal Warshank. “Why does Miss Layne need a bodyguard?”
“She’s been under attack—it started with her credit cards being hacked, then came identity theft. A week ago, someone tried to burn down her bakery.”
The grown stepdaughter of the interim president didn’t qualify for Secret Service protection.
Mia did, however, make the perfect client for Rock Star Security.
Another contraction began building low in Beatrice’s belly, but her mind was focused on the potential client. “She needs Rory to stop the cyber-attacks and Nickleback—Jon Wolfe—for her main security specialist. He was awesome in Chicago, helping to stop that sniper. But before you assign them to her case, you need to—”
Cal released her hand and threw both of his in the air. “B! I told you, Hunter and I have it handled.”
The contraction went from a mild squeezing sensation to full on linebacker tackle. As Beatrice sucked in air and squeezed her eyes shut, she felt Cal’s hand on hers again. Instinctively, she gripped it, a lifeline through the pain.
Once the worst passed and she opened her eyes, Cal shot her a serious, narrowed-eyed glance. “That was only five minutes since the last one.”
So the contractions were coming closer together. Fine with her. The sooner she got the baby out of her womb and into the world, the sooner Cal could stop worrying and she could get back to work. “Sloan is suddenly anxious to get here,” she muttered, laying her head back against the headrest.
“Yes, she is,” Cal agreed even though he was, in a sense, disagreeing. “Does Sloan work if it’s a girl?”
She had decided to name the baby after Jax, who’s last name was Sloan. He’d wheedled his way into her heart and Beatrice considered him family. “We’re having a boy.”
“What about a middle name? We never really talked about that.”
Cal was trying to distract her. Which was good. They never had enough time together to relax and talk. Both of them were high-energy people, and while they loved their respective jobs with SFI, they also loved being alone together. Once the baby was here, what little time they’d carved out for each other before would certainly go by the wayside. “I was thinking Hunter. Sloan Hunter Reese.”
“Hunter?” Cal screwed up his nose in mock disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Like Jax, he’s been there for me. For you.”
“Naming our kid after two of the Rock Stars will make the other guys jealous. They’ll think you’re playing favorites.”
True, but… “We can’t name our son after all of them.” Their ranks had grown considerably. “He’d end up with two dozen names.”
They rode for a moment in silence. Then Beatrice had an idea. “How about Zebulon. Sloan Zebulon Reese.”
Zeb was a friend who was becoming more and more of a staple around the SFI headquarters.
Cal passed a semi truck and screwed up his face. “Zeb’s kinda old fashioned, don’t you think?”
“It gives a nice solidness to the name.”
“That man’s ego is already so big, when you name our kid after him, we’ll never hear the end of it. Why don’t you make him a godfather or something? We might get some free babysitting out of him that way.”
Beatrice had the feeling finding babysitters wouldn’t be a problem. Between the Rock Stars and their girlfriends, everyone was already signing up for babysitting duty.
“Sloan, our daughter, doesn’t want Zebulon for a middle name, anyway,” Cal teased. “You better come up with something more feminine.”
She playfully smacked him on the arm. “If it is a girl, you’re in trouble. She will wrap you around her finger and you’ll be toast. You’ll give her anything she wants.”
He leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on her nose. “I think I’d like that.”
Beatrice smiled at him, but he’d already turned back to the road. Her heart felt all tingly and warm. Probably because the contractions had raised her heart rate and blood pressure, but maybe because of something more.
“You’re going to be a good dad,” she said to him. “No matter what sex our child is.”
“You’re going to be an awesome mom too.” A grin crossed his features as he sped around a car in their way. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m going to like being a dad.”
Beatrice knew the feeling. Her logical mind told her that, given her past, she was destined to be a bad mother. She’d had a rough childhood; her mother had suffered from mental problems and committed suicide when Beatrice was a teen. Her father had never been in the picture. She didn’t even know who he was. Odds of overcoming her past conditioning and sense of betrayal were low; Beatrice knew statistics doomed her to repeat the mistakes her parents had made.
But she didn’t feel that way. Her heart, silly muscle that it was, seemed to know different. She wanted this baby—and maybe a few siblings for him—and she was smart and determined enough to create whatever future she wanted for her family.
“I’m looking forward to having children,” she admitted, rubbing her giant stomach. “Our little family is about to be complete.”
GETTING HIS PREGNANT, in-labor wife into the house was harder than Cal anticipated.
Mostly because she was stubborn and didn’t want help.
“Just give me…a second,” Beatrice said, half bent over, and half crouched because she couldn’t actually bend from the waist as she gripped the side mirror of his Land Cruiser. Her cheeks puffed in and out with her breath.
Cal held onto her, one hand on her elbow, the other wrapped around the back of her nonexistent waist. “Hunter and I can carry you inside.”
�
�Over…my dead…body,” she huffed.
Hunter and Maria drew up at the curb, Hunter throwing his Tundra truck into park and bailing out before the midwife even had her seatbelt unbuckled. “How’s she doing?” he said, chugging up to them in the driveway.
“Fine,” Beatrice ground out, although it was pretty obvious she wasn’t from her bent posture, locked jaw, and the way her knuckles were as white as the new landscaping rock around the tree in their front yard, glistening under the partial moon.
“Let me help you.” Hunter peeled her fingers off the mirror.
With one man on each side holding her steady, Beatrice took a baby step forward. Stopped. Took another small step.
If they continued at this pace, she might have the kid right here in the driveway.
“Let us carry you,” Cal insisted again.
The contraction must have passed. Either that, or his words angered her enough she forgot she was in pain. Her back straightened and she glared at him. “I can walk.”
“Of course you can,” Trace said, shooting Cal a wink behind her back. “But you need to conserve your energy for pushing.”
She took a deep breath, seeming to center herself. Her gaze landed on their front door. “I’m okay now. I just needed to wait for that last contraction to pass.”
Maria finally caught up with them. “Walking is good for her. Gravity will help bring the baby down faster.”
Faster? Cal helped Beatrice take another step, this one a bit bigger than the last two. “I’d prefer my baby girl doesn’t come until we’re inside.”