"I've been thinking about us as well, and have to admit our conflicting schedules are making me crazy. I decided to cut back a bit," she said.
"About that…I've decided to leave the FBI and go work for The Alliance. Your brother offered me a job, and I grabbed it. It would be nice if we could both be on the same continent at least most of the time." Still a little unsure, he drew in a breath. "This ring can mean whatever you want it to. You'll get no pressure from me."
"I know. That's exactly what I love about you." She gulped, "I think I'm ready to take the next step even if I'm not exactly sure what that means."
"Sounds perfect to me."
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wendy has a Masters in Social Work and worked in the child welfare field for twelve years before she decided to pursue her dream of writing. Her first two books, Fractured and Mama Said were published in 2011 and 2012. Mama Said was a finalist in the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence Contest. She self-published The Christmas Curse in 2012.
Between teaching college classes, trying to get her morbidly obese cat to slim down, and tempering the will of her five-year-old granddaughter, who's determined to become a witch when she turns six so she can fly on her broom to see the Eiffel Tower and put hexes on people—not necessarily in that order—somehow Wendy still manages to fit in writing. She spends the remainder of her days inflicting mayhem on her hero and heroine until they beg for mercy.
To learn more about Wendy Byrne, visit her online at:
http://www.wendybyrne.net/
BOOKS BY WENDY BYRNE
Hard Targets:
Hard to Kill
Hard to Trust
Hard to Stop
Other works:
Mama Said
The Christmas Curse
Fractured
LESSON IN FEAR
(Schooled in Murder series)
by
Tracy D. Comstock
* * * * *
"At least when people congratulate you on expecting, you are pregnant!" Emily Taylor swallowed another spoonful of butter pecan ice cream and glared at her best friend, Gabby Spencer, reclining at the other end of the couch. Even with the air conditioner whining under protest at being cranked so high, the heat was oppressive, pressing in at the windows and doors.
"True," Gabby admitted, "but then comes the inevitable 'Are you having twins?'" She rolled her eyes as she fanned herself with a fashion magazine she'd picked up from the coffee table.
"Which you are!" Emily slam-dunked her spoon in the empty ice cream container, as if she had scored the winning point. Game over.
"I'm sorry, Em. But I assure you, you do not look pregnant. Trust me. I know." Gabby rubbed her swollen belly.
Emily didn't know how Gabby's skin could possibly stretch any more. Her ever-expanding belly button was a source of amazement and horror. Her tiny friend had always been as small and delicate as a china doll, but she was one tough lady, as evidenced by her carrying her and Greg's twin girls almost to term. And in this sweltering heat, too. It wasn't Gabby's fault some old cow had congratulated her on finally having a baby, but who else could she gripe to if not to her best friend since kindergarten?
"We'll exercise together and make sure we're in great shape before the class reunion. Just let me get these two bowling balls out first." Gabby tried to maneuver her off-balance body off of the couch. "And speaking of getting things out, I have to head out. Lamaze class starts in twenty. Thank goodness this is our last one. That instructor is a real pain in the—" Gabby covered her stomach with her hands, as if covering the ears of her unborn girls, "butt," she finished.
Emily rolled her eyes and dragged herself off the couch to follow Gabby to the door, leaving her depleted comfort food container behind.
"Sorry about her. But Greg will be there, right?" Greg, Gabby's husband, was already a super-involved dad, helping Gabby through every stage of her pregnancy. Greg was the ideal husband, the kind Emily would want if she ever decided to bite the bullet.
"Yeah, he'll be there, just late. He had to show some property to a client in Washam Falls," Gabby assured her, referring to a town approximately thirty miles south of their hometown of Ellington, Missouri. Greg was a successful real estate agent. Another plus in the column of his "rightness" as husband material.
Emily was secretly relieved. Just the thought of a roomful of pregnant women made her thankfully empty uterus ache.
"Let me know how it goes," Emily told her as she opened the front door. They both groaned as the wall of heat and humidity slammed into them with the force of a tidal wave. Gabby waddled as quickly as possible to her vehicle to get the air conditioner going, and Emily shut the door to keep the cool air inside, waiting to wave good-bye as Gabby drove proudly off at the wheel of her new minivan. It still cracked Emily up to see her driving the family vehicle, her friend who had driven a diminutive sports car since the moment she turned sixteen. But motherhood had captured Gabby in its enthralling threads of tiny clothes, safety concerns, and alien-like pictures that were supposed to represent her daughters.
Emily's heart swelled, but her stomach also dropped to her knees when she considered that Gabby and Greg had selected her as the twins' godmother. She had never been a baby-person, and although she was glad it was Gabby carrying those bowling balls, she was still excited to meet the tiny people. She doubted she would ever have a child of her own. Heck, what was she thinking? She didn't even have a serious boyfriend! But she had her students, whom she taught at Ellington High, and that was enough for her. For now.
Curling back up on the couch with a bag of chips, she vegged out to Bachelor reruns. She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew, Chris Harrison was announcing that "This was the final rose tonight" and a rock band was performing offstage. No, wait, that wasn't right. There weren't any performances at the rose ceremonies. That was her cell phone. Sitting up to search for the source of the sound, Emily knocked the bag of chips to the floor. As she located the phone and stabbed the talk button, she cringed at her orange-coated fingers.
"Hello?" she mumbled, trying to suck the pasty cheese from her fingers.
"Em? I need you. I—" Static erupted on the line and it sounded as if the person on the other end had dropped the phone.
"Gabby? Gabby! Answer me!" Emily yelled into the phone, but the line went dead.
All thoughts of cheese-coated fingers and roses vanished as pure panic washed through Emily. Was it time? Were the girls coming? Where was Greg? And what had happened to end the call?
Emily raced for the door, crunching chips under the heels of her new Tiffany blue T-strap heels. Glancing down, she decided she'd better shed the heels. They had been a consolation purchase after being congratulated on finally being pregnant, and she had gleefully tried them on for Gabby before wallowing in a sea of ice cream comfort. But the shoes really didn't go with her accompanying outfit of a hot pink sleeveless T-shirt and khaki capris. Dropping the heels by the door, she shoved her feet into a pair of well-worn running shoes. See? She exercised. She had running shoes. Slamming her front door behind her, she ignored the voice reminding her that the shoes were only worn out from running after sales at the Shoe Department. No more insults today, thank you very much. Gabby needed her.
* * *
Emily yanked her keys out of the ignition and made a dash for the hospital doors. Yes, she could run. And she did—straight into Greg who was also headed for the doors.
"What did Gabby tell you? I assumed she was calling from the hospital since the last time I saw her she was headed to Lamaze class," Emily gasped as they continued at a jog down the hospital's main corridor.
"Call me? No. I'm just running late for class. What are you talking about? What are you doing here?" Greg asked, not even panting for breath. He was a runner in the true sense of the word, Emily thought with a pang of jealousy. But then the pang of a cramping stitch in her side distracted her. The Lamaze classes were held in a series of class
rooms on the lower level. Greg stopped abruptly and turned to Emily, who bent at the waist, gasping for breath. "Emily, what's going on?" he asked, gripping her shoulders.
"I don't know. That's the problem. Gabby called and said she needed me, but before I could ask if she was okay or even where she was, the line went dead," Emily told him. She had managed to catch her breath, but panic still constricted her chest, making each breath difficult.
"Why would she call you right before Lamaze class when she knew I was on my way?" Greg asked, hurrying on toward the classroom door.
"I have no idea," Emily said, following him. "I was hoping you might know the answer to that question."
"Let's see if we can find her," Greg said calmly, but Emily could see that his forehead was creased with worry lines. They both knew that the only reason Gabby would have called Emily at such a time was if there was a problem. Emily tried to push the thought to the far recesses of her mind. No sense in inviting trouble, her dad always told her.
As Greg pushed open a door midway down the long hospital corridor, a hugely pregnant woman came hurrying toward them. "Well, Greg's here anyway," the woman panted, pressing a hand to the small of her back and looking back at the class.
"Where's Gabby?" Greg asked, his eyes scanning the room. Emily tried to peer over his shoulder, but he was much too tall for her five-foot-two-inch frame. Okay five-foot, one-and-a-half inches, but who was counting? She nudged him aside so she too could look for her friend. But Gabby was nowhere in sight. A couple of women were seated on mats on the floor, their husbands beside them. Emily noticed that by and large all the women looked miserable, faces puffy and swollen feet stuffed into flats. She felt a small shiver wrack her frame. If this is what pregnancy did to a body, she was in no hurry to try it out for herself.
"That's what we wanted to ask you," the woman was saying to Greg.
Emily turned her attention to their conversation, taking in the sight of the woman who was speaking. Although clearly very advanced in her pregnancy, her face showed no signs of puffiness or tiredness. She had on an adorable coral chevron-print maternity top paired with white capris and turquoise jewelry. Emily snuck a look at her feet and saw that she had on heeled sandals. Wow. She wanted to be this lady when she grew up. For a second, she even wondered if the lady was truly pregnant. It looked more like she'd just shoved a basketball under her shirt. But even as Emily had the thought, her eyes grew wide as she watched the basketball-sized bump appear to undulate. Nope, something alive was definitely in there. Afraid of what she might see if she kept looking, Emily turned to look at Greg. He was frowning and checking his phone to see if he had missed a call or message.
"Gabby hasn't tried to get ahold of me, but she did call Emily." He and the pregnant lady turned to her, and Emily stuck out a hand.
"I'm Emily Taylor," she introduced herself to the pregnant woman. "I'm Gabby's friend."
"Melissa Swanson," the woman replied, shaking Emily's hand. "And our coming Sophie," she added with a smile, indicating her belly.
"Pleased to meet you both. Gabby called me about fifteen minutes or so ago and said she needed help. Were you here when she called me?"
"We haven't seen Gabby yet," one of the ladies on the floor said, frowning. "Neither she nor Louise."
"Louise?" Emily looked questioningly at Greg, who simply replied, "Our Nazi Lamaze instructor."
"Wasn't class supposed to have started by now?" Emily asked, checking her watch and trying to remember if Gabby had told her what time the class started.
"Yes," snapped the woman on the floor. Her husband, not saying a word, helped her to stand. "And frankly, I'd like to know where they are. Aaron," she threw a glance over her shoulder at the man Emily assumed was her husband, "asked around and one of the nurses said she saw Gabby and Louise leaving together. If class was canceled, why didn't we receive a notice? I have other stuff I could be doing," the woman huffed.
More important than learning how to deliver your child? Emily wanted to ask the sour-looking woman, but taking a page from the husband's book, she stayed silent.
"Did the nurse you talked to know anything else, Aaron?" Greg asked the woman's husband.
"No," he answered in an odd, high-pitched voice. Emily tried not to wince at the shrill sound. No wonder the man stayed silent.
"This nurse didn't say which direction they were headed in or anything?" Greg prompted.
"She just pointed toward the employee parking lot," Aaron answered, frowning.
"Did this nurse say if they acted like something was wrong?" Greg continued to try to press the man.
His wife pushed him out the way and addressed Greg herself. "The nurse said the woman with Louise was crying. We were sure it had to be Gabby by the way the nurse described her—petite with long, dark hair and huge brown eyes."
Greg drew in a shaky breath, and Emily patted his arm, showing her support as she asked him, "If there was a problem, why would Gabby be leaving the hospital?"
"That's what we wanted to know," the woman snapped.
Melissa gave the snarky woman a warning look before she said to Greg. "I'm sure what Bethany means to say is that we have all been waiting to hear. Now that you're here, we thought you might be able to tell us what's going on."
Greg's face reflected his bewilderment. "I have no idea what's going on," he said softly.
"Well, it's clear we're not having class, so I'm leaving. Come on, Aaron," Bethany said as she flounced from the room. Aaron shot them an apologetic look and followed his wife out the door. The remaining couples gathered their things and headed out too, most of them stopping to say an encouraging word to Greg. Melissa was the last to leave.
"I'm sure there's a simple explanation," she encouraged Greg. "Please give me a call later to let me know that all is okay." With a last small smile and a nod to Emily, Melissa left. Only Emily and Greg still stood in the silent room, both lost in thought.
Emily gave herself a mental shake. "Everything is just fine, Greg. As Melissa said, there's a simple explanation for why Gabby was heading out to the parking lot with Louise. We just have to figure out what it is." She turned in a slow circle, surveying the room, as if the silent walls might give her some clue as to where Gabby was.
Greg was still punching buttons on his phone, clearly hoping for some message from Gabby. Emily could see his fingers were shaking. In a moment of clarity, she snapped her fingers.
"Greg!" she exclaimed. "We both know what a sympathetic nature Gabby has, and with this pregnancy, even insurance commercials make her cry." Greg nodded, but said nothing, clearly wondering where Emily was headed with this observation. "I'm sure what's happened is that your Lamaze instructor, what's her name?"
"Louise," Greg supplied.
"Right, Louise. I bet she got some call that there was something wrong at home and she had to leave suddenly. Gabby was probably walking her to her car, sympathizing with Louise in her misfortune."
"Yes! Yes, Emily, I'm sure that's what happened. That sounds just like Gabby. They may still be out in the employee parking lot talking right now." And then Greg was racing out the door and down the other end of the hall, leaving Emily to make her much slower way behind him.
By the time Emily came huffing and puffing up beside Greg, he was standing in the middle of an asphalt parking lot, a confused expression on his face as he scanned the rows of parked cars. Emily watched the heat rise in waves and felt the hot surface of the lot burning through the soles of her shoes.
"Do you know what Louise drives?" she wheezed. Man, she really needed to get in shape!
"No," Greg admitted sheepishly. "I thought I would find Gabby out here for sure."
"Okay," Emily told him, finally catching her breath. "We may not know what Louise drives, but we definitely know what Gabby drives. Maybe she's waiting in her vehicle."
Again, a look of relief washed over Greg's face. "Yes! Let's go." Before he could run off and leave her in the dust, Emily grabbed his arm.
"Is there a way to get to the visitors' parking lot that doesn't involve sprinting in all this heat?" Emily figured Greg was more than ready to leave her behind in his quest to find his wife, but he gave a slow nod and led her back through the doors they had come out of moments before and back down the long, antiseptic-smelling hallway. When they emerged into the same lot that Emily had parked in earlier, she shaded her eyes with the flat of her hand and scanned for Gabby's white minivan.
"I was in such a hurry when I got here, I didn't even stop to look for her vehicle," Greg said, jogging up and down the rows nearest the hospital.
"Me either," Emily told him, heading over a few rows to start looking there. "Where does she normally park?"
"Toward the back," Greg called to her. "You know how she is about that new van of hers. She'd rather walk a few more feet, even in this miserable weather, than risk a dent to her new baby." He choked a bit on that last word, and Emily's heart went out to him. Not only was he concerned about Gabby, but he had to also be worrying about their twin girls. Still, Emily kept going back in her mind to the idea that if something had been wrong with the girls, like Gabby was truly concerned she was going into labor, she wouldn't have been leaving the hospital. Right?
She came around the end of a row and her heart dropped to her knees. There sat Gabby's shiny, new minivan, between a rusted old Chevy pickup and a dark grey Lincoln Navigator.
"Greg," Emily shouted, her voice tight with suppressed worry. "It's over here."
He was at her side in seconds. They both raced forward and pulled at the doors and looked in the windows, but Gabby was not in the vehicle. The keys were not in the ignition either.
"Do you think she could have had some car trouble?" Emily asked, checking the tires for any sign of a flat. "Like her Service Engine Soon light came on or something?"
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