Emma said, “The lights are off in Grace’s room and the blinds are drawn. Call Hank Stinson. Tell him we may have a hostage situation. At the very least, he needs to get here to find that son of a bitch now that he’s finally surfaced.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m on it.” Troy’s voice softened as he connected with the sheriff’s department and explained why he was calling.
Emma checked Jessica’s pulse and listened to her heart. “I wonder how he found you.”
Drenched in cold sweat, Jessica shook her head, not knowing. “I don’t know if I can do this, Emma.”
Emma went to work, putting on gloves and examining her internally while Tracey worked around her, lowering the end of the bed to give Emma greater access. “You’re going to do great. Push with the next contraction, hon.”
She pushed with all her might and whimpered. “I’m scared.” I can’t do this!
In a soft, comforting voice from the other side of the curtain, Troy said, “You can do this, honey. You don’t worry about anything but bringing that baby into this world. We’re protecting you both.”
She let out a deep breath and lay back against the bed as the contraction eased. But another one came fast on its heels and Emma nodded at her and she started pushing.
* * * *
A sharp knock at the door startled Charity, Justine, and Grace’s attention away from Grace’s smartphone. She’d been showing them pictures of dresses from her web searches for Charity’s binding ceremony.
Before Charity could rise to answer it, Hank swung it open and came inside. The way his hand rested on his sidearm and the quick glance he took around the room raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Seeming satisfied, he relaxed his stance, spoke into his radio, and took off his cowboy hat.
With raised eyebrows, Grace said, “Uh…hi?”
Hank let out a breath and said, “Sorry to surprise you like that, ladies. We thought we might’ve had a situation earlier.”
After he explained that his office had been contacted and that it involved Jessica Bright, who had arrived in labor a few minutes before, the three of them wanted to go check on her.
“Not yet, girls. The nurse told me she just gave birth a few minutes ago.”
“Oh,” Grace said, “She needs time. Was it a boy or a girl?”
Hank grinned. “A girl. Don’t ask me for her statistics,” he said with a hands up gesture. “All I know is that she’s healthy and Jessica is doing fine.”
Charity gestured at the door and his weapon. “What was that all about?”
“Jessica thought she saw Trevor Dornan inside this wing—right outside your door. She’s unsure now, so they’re pulling the security footage to review what happened. I just wanted to make sure you ladies were okay.”
Charity and Grace exchanged a look. He wanted to make sure we weren’t being held hostage. Grace nodded and then smiled at the sheriff. “Thank you, Hank.”
His radio chirped and he replied into it and then said, “They have the surveillance footage ready. I’ll see you ladies later. Hope you’re feeling better, Grace. Veronica told me she’ll be coming by to see you soon.”
After he left, the three of them looked at each other and Grace said, “I can’t wait to get home.”
“No shit,” Charity and Justine both said at the same time. Charity gave her daughter a shocked look.
“What? You pot, me kettle.”
* * * *
Jessica sat propped against pillows in the hospital bed and marveled at the beautiful little girl swaddled in her arms.
“Bella Mia Bright. You are beautiful. And you are mine. With a promising name like that, how can we girls go wrong?” Even fatigue and stress couldn’t take the edge off of the joy she felt as she leaned down and nuzzled her baby’s warm brow. “You’re mine, sweet angel, and nobody is going to take you away from me.”
Tracey slipped in and said, “The sheriff’s here, asking to interview you. Do you want me to take Bella for you?”
Jessica shook her head, unwilling to let her little girl out of her sight. “No, she’s fine. Is he mad?” They hadn’t found a trace of Dornan in the labor and delivery department.
Tracey frowned. “Why would he be mad? You did right by speaking up. And don’t worry, he’s tall and imposing but he’s soft as a marshmallow on the inside. I’ll send him in.”
A knock came at the door and she looked up to see the sheriff, standing there.
“Miss Bright? I’m Hank Stinson. Could I ask you a few brief questions?” She nodded when he pointed at the chair beside her bed.
“Come in, sir, I’m so sorry for the false alarm. I really did think it was Trevor Dornan that I saw. I thought I would know him anywhere, but I…must’ve been mistaken.” Tears filled her eyes and worry edged in. She looked down and realized she was clutching her baby to her chest.
Hank raised a hand to stop her apology. “No apology is necessary, Miss Bright. Given your unique circumstances, I’d prefer that you spoke up. The labor and delivery department here is very vigilant, but things sometimes happen when you factor in human error. I looked at the security footage.”
“Did you?”
Hank nodded. “Shortly after you arrived with Lydia and the others, a flower delivery was admitted. The delivery person had on a baseball cap and he never looked up at the cameras, so the image isn’t conclusive. I hate to ask since you’ve just been through a trying experience, but would you mind looking?”
Her baby let out a soft sigh and she looked down at her again, and nodded. “Of course, Sheriff. I’ll do whatever I can.”
Hank flicked his finger across the screen of his smartphone and then turned it so she could see. “This is the clearest image we could get.”
“You’re right. With the hat it’s hard to tell. His physical build is right, though. He was wiry like that. And he had a big floral arrangement in his hands.” A shudder ripped through her as she remembered the way he’d come at her with those hands, hurting her and whispering hateful words meant to break her spirit down.
Lydia, Tank, and Troy peeked in from outside in the hallway. When Hank saw them, he beckoned them in to ask them a few questions and they told him what they could.
Tank said, “Honestly, my focus was on Jessica, and when I went outside the door, everything looked normal out there, at least as far as I could see.”
A deputy came to the door, a large floral arrangement in his gloved hands. “Sir, we found these in the vacant patient room near the entry doors.”
Hank turned to Jessica, the question apparent in his eyes, and she nodded. “That was them.”
Hank asked the deputy to make sure the vase was dusted for fingerprints.
“Hank,” the deputy said.
“Yeah?” Hank looked up from his smartphone, which he’d been making notes on.
The look on the deputy’s face communicated as much as words could that he needed to speak with Hank privately. He excused himself and joined the deputy in the doorway and Jessica watched as his head fell forward and his shoulders sagged briefly before he straightened back up. He said something quietly to the deputy who nodded and then walked away. When Hank returned to her bedside, his expression confirmed her worry.
“Sir, are you all right?”
He tapped the screen of his phone, blinking hard, and then looked up at her and nodded. “Just got some bad news about a friend.”
“I’m very sorry. Are they okay?”
Hank swallowed and then nodded, a sorrowful smile on his face. “He is now.”
Even though she didn’t know this man well, she couldn’t rein in the urge to reach out to him. She squeezed the top of his big hand. To ask questions seemed rude. Sensing his grief and hoping it was appropriate, she said, “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” Hank sat back, breathed in deeply, and sighed as he focused on his notes. “Okay. I’ll arrange for someone to be here to watch over you while you’re in the hospital.”
“Thank you, Hank,”
Lydia said as she came to stand by Jessica’s side. Jessica looked up at Lydia when she sniffled and saw her swipe tears from her cheeks. “We’ll take her back out to the ranch with us when she’s discharged. Hank? Was it Patterson?”
Hank nodded. “He just passed.”
Lydia drew in a deep breath and nodded, wiping at more tears.
Hank cleared his throat as he stood and looked at the two men standing near the door. “Keep up the good work, gentlemen.”
“We’ll keep her safe,” Tank said, absolute certainty in his voice.
She met Tank’s gaze for a second before averting her eyes, doubly embarrassed that not only had her water broken all over him, he’d also been right outside the door while she’d given birth. And Troy had been inside for every moment of the painful process. Her cheeks felt like they radiated enough heat to fill the building.
Standing beside Tank with his muscular arms folded across his chest, Troy reaffirmed. “She’ll be safe out at the ranch with us until this blows over.” When she made eye contact with Troy, all she could see was warmth in his gaze as he looked at her, which made her feel even more self-conscious. She figured she must look a fright.
Hank nodded. “Until we catch him. We’ll hopefully confirm his identity through the fingerprints on the vase. If it was him that you saw, I doubt he’s going to give up so easily.”
“I don’t know if he saw me or not. He may have just been checking. Maybe he’ll give up—”
Hank gave her a resigned look. “Given your position near the desk, and his behavior when he turned in your direction, he saw you. He backed up toward Grace’s door, hesitated, and then thankfully turned and walked away.”
“Grace’s door? Oh no. I forgot she was here, too. Oh my God, that was close. You think it was him?”
Hank shrugged. “I’m erring on the side of caution. I can’t seem to keep the women of this town from coming into the crosshairs of bad men, but I can damn sure do my best to protect them.” He leveled his gaze on Tank and Troy. “You two watch out for her and let me know if you have any trouble.”
Tank and Troy nodded but said nothing else. Their stance, muscular arms crossed over chests, standing with booted feet shoulder width apart, said they were ready. She wondered how they’d get any work done if they were constantly watching out for her. How boring was that job going to be?
* * * *
Trevor Dornan cursed softly as he pulled into the coffee shop parking lot. He quickly changed into the other jacket and put on the straw cowboy hat he’d found in a discount store on the way to town. He’d figured in such a small town that their hospital security would be piss poor but he’d been wrong. It didn’t happen often.
He’d considered slipping into that other bitch’s room but he didn’t want to get trapped in a hostage situation that didn’t give him what he wanted right off the bat, namely his bitch and his kid, but she’d been surrounded by people so he’d had no hope in hell of getting close anyway.
“Need a donut and some coffee to settle my nerves,” he muttered to himself. “Need to regroup. Plan.” She was havin’ that kid, he was certain. He’d know that pained moan anywhere. He’d enjoyed the sound as he walked away, liked the way it’d sent a thrill down his spine. Too bad he hadn’t gotten to her sooner. He could’ve grabbed her and listened to her moan and scream as she gave birth. Then he’d be done with her and have the one thing he wanted in all the world. His kid.
“Hello, sir, how can I help you?” a chunky, middle-aged woman said with a polite smile on her face.
The tag pinned on her blouse said her name was Cassie. There was flour dusted on her cardigan and the little coffee shop smelled good. He was willing to bet she could cook good and wondered why in the hell she wasn’t at home where she belonged. Maybe she didn’t have a man.
She had her pad and pen ready so he gave her his order and then took a seat in the corner, looking out a window on the main street. Had to keep vigilant. Couldn’t be too careful. He was still a wanted man.
He played scenarios in his head, and by the time she brought him his coffee and apple fritter, he had the beginnings of a good, solid plan worked out. He’d change his appearance first and then make another attempt at the hospital. The nursery was near the entry doors. If he timed it right, it could work. And if not, he also had the makings of a good backup plan in place.
He’d get his boy, come hell or high water.
* * * *
With the workday done, Presley Ann climbed the stairs to the apartment she shared with Leah. Shared. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. Presley Ann lived with her. Sponged off of her.
One more thing to be ashamed of.
Any time she paid her share of the rent, Leah actually showed surprise because it happened so rarely. A good money manager she was not. She’d always justified her lack of payment in the past because the job her dad had given her didn’t pay all that well. She’d shifted the blame to him, but the truth was she’d never pursued her commission sales with much vigor so that, too, was her fault. She knew her dad made up the difference every month for her rent with her sister. Being Leah’s gold-digging roommate was just one more way she’d failed at showing independence.
That’s changing now.
She’d seen Leah sitting out on the balcony, her feet propped up and a longneck bottle in her hand when she’d pulled up. Maybe she could have that talk with her now. She felt like they hadn’t shared more than the briefest of conversations in days. Every time she saw Leah, her sister looked more drawn, more grief-stricken, and she hadn’t felt it was right to intrude on that. It was a painful reminder that she wasn’t the only one with troubles.
As Presley Ann opened the front door, she heard George Strait playing on the stereo. She dropped her keys and purse on the side table by the door. “Marina Del Rey” filled the apartment but some instinct told Presley Ann not to call out. The French doors leading out to their balcony were wide open and the soft spring air filled the space, the scent of the blooming mountain laurels planted in front of the apartment building wafting through.
Presley Ann stopped in her tracks and scanned the space for some hint of what was wrong. Leah was fastidious about not leaving the air-conditioning on while the windows or doors were open. It was a waste of hard-earned money she always said. A check of the little box on the wall verified that the AC was humming right along, “cooling the great outdoors” as Leah would say.
Leah sat so still in the lounge chair on the balcony, Presley Ann might’ve thought she was asleep but then she lifted the longneck bottle to her lips. After taking a sip, she lowered the hand holding the bottle until it hung just an inch above the balcony floor and stayed there, little drips of condensation forming a circle on the cement.
“Leah?” Presley Ann could barely hear her voice and doubted Leah had either. The last verse of the song played as she quietly stepped over to the open doors. The soft breeze caught Leah’s pixie-cut brown hair, but she didn’t turn if she’d heard her. The odd thing was that Leah had always been a high-energy person, rarely ever sitting still, always busy, always pitching in where needed. To see her so still set Presley Ann on edge.
The barest movement of her head turned a portion of her profile into view as she lifted the bottle again. Leah rarely ever drank anything besides iced tea or water, even on those few occasions they’d gone out together to the Dancing Pony and the Twisted Bull. She emptied the bottle and set it on the floor, and Presley Ann noticed that her hand was wrapped in a gauze bandage, around the palm.
George Strait’s voice sang on, the song adding a texture of emotion that charged the atmosphere with sadness, or maybe that was coming from Leah.
“‘Marina Del Rey’ was his favorite song. He’d tell me that if he could just get me out on the dance floor while good ol’ George was singing that he could win my heart.” Leah’s voice cracked with the last words. Still she didn’t move. Presley Ann looked down at the threshold and scuffed the toe of her flat over it.
“What happened?”
“He’s gone. Died earlier today.”
Sorrow for her sister sliced through her heart. That explained why she hadn’t come home the night before. Knowing Leah, it was likely she’d spent his last night at the hospital with him. She was good that way. Strong.
Presley Ann swallowed and stepped out onto the balcony and turned the other chair so that she faced her sister. Leah’s hazel eyes were bloodshot and dull, and her face was expressionless as she scanned the pastoral view from their balcony. With her hands in her lap, and her feet propped up on the other chair, she was utterly motionless except for the wisps of her hair that the breeze toyed with around her shoulders. She noticed that both of Leah’s hands were wrapped in gauze, in the same manner.
“What happened to your hands?”
Leah turned them palm up and looked at them as if only just noticing them but shrugged. “Would you mind getting me another beer?”
“Sure.” In the kitchen, she paused as she reached for one of the beers that had been sitting in the refrigerator door since winter. She vaguely remembered Patterson Elder coming to the apartment with that six-pack of Miller Genuine Draft in one hand and Lonesome Dove on DVD in the other.
Presley Ann had been wrapped up in her own little world at the time but she recalled the way Leah had blushed when she’d realized who was at the door. He’d told her sister that she worked too much and that he thought it would be a good idea for her to relax with a good movie for a while. Then he’d stayed and watched it with her. He’d drunk two of the beers and the rest had still been in the refrigerator the next day. There they’d sat until today.
A painful ache grew in Presley Ann’s chest. As far as she knew, Patterson had only ever been nice to her sister, a gentleman, and had in fact even been kind to Presley Ann even though she’d given him no good reason to do so. She regretted that, too.
She popped the top off of one of the bottles and rejoined Leah on the balcony. Leah thanked her softly when she held out the ice-cold bottle.
Divine Charity [Divine Creek Ranch 18] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 24