by Loree Lough
Then it was on to a more interesting—and difficult—project: assembling the crib.
“This manufacturer must be from Timbuktu or something!” Mitch growled. “I can’t make heads or tails of these instructions. And what’re all these nuts and bolts for? There aren’t half as many holes to stick ’em into!”
“Sweetie,” she said, repeating what he’d told her a day earlier, “it isn’t good for you to get so worked up.”
He shot her a narrow-eyed smirk. “Careful, lady,” came his mock threat, “’cause I’m the guy in control of the cheesecake….”
Amazingly, she seemed to know what fit where without ever having so much as glanced at the directions. And once he got over the humiliation of being bested in a construction project…by a woman…the crib went together in no time flat.
She had him rolling the thing to every conceivable spot in the ten-by-twelve-foot space, and finally settled for putting the crib against the only blank wall in the room. The changing table, she decided, looked best under the window, and the dresser simply had to stand on the short wall, just inside the door, with the toy box right beside it.
Ciara clasped her hands under her chin when it was finished. “We’ll have to get another catalog,” she gushed, “and fill that toy box to the brim!”
“That’s what Christmas and birthdays are for,” he muttered, hanging the last picture on the wall.
“Oh, don’t be such a Grinch,” she scolded playfully. “Besides, his birth day isn’t very far off, you know….”
Mitch tried to read her face, but couldn’t tell if the silly expression was part of her excitement at having completed the nursery, or some strange way of masking pain. “Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling beside her chair.
“This has been driving me crazy for weeks. Now that it’s done, I feel so much better!”
The doorbell rang, and Mitch grinned. He couldn’t have timed it better if he’d tried.
“You didn’t order in from Chiaparelli’s, did you?” Ciara asked, narrowing one eye.
“Nope. Now you stay put, while I see who it is.”
How the women for the baby shower had all managed to arrive at the same time boggled his mind. Leave it to Gina to get a bunch of women organized, he thought, grinning.
Gina had her back to him when he opened the door, and Mitch would have bet his last nickel that folks clear on the other side of the street had heard her severe “Shh-hhh-hhhhhh!”
Silently he waved the ladies inside, nodding and smiling as they passed, each carrying a brightly wrapped package. “Get back upstairs,” Gina whispered, “and turn on a radio or something so she won’t hear us putting up the decorations.”
“How will I know when to bring her down?”
“I’ll send Chester up to fetch you,” she whispered, smacking his bottom. “Now git! Before I take a broom to the seat of your pants!”
He ducked into their bedroom and turned the clock radio on full blast before returning to the nursery. “Who was it?”
“Wrong house number,” he fibbed.
“Wrong—”
“Somebody looking for the Smiths. I think they were on the wrong street. I hope I didn’t get them lost….” And without another word he scooped her up and carried her into their room.
“Goodness, Mitch,” she said, hands over her ears, “aren’t you a little young to be experiencing your second childhood? What’s with the loud—”
“Didn’t you ever get an itch to dance?” he asked, spinning in a dizzying circle, still carrying her. “Listen to that,” he added, swaying to and fro in time to the music. “Ain’t it a shame? They just don’t write ’em like that anymore.”
“I think you must have clunked your head on something while you were putting the furniture together,” she observed, giggling. “You’re acting very—”
She cocked an ear toward the doorway. “What was that? Did I hear voices downstairs?”
“Maybe…I left the TV on in the family room.” He danced her farther from the door, danced her back again and kicked it shut.
“Put me down, you big nut,” she scolded, “you’re starting to perspire. I’m not exactly a featherweight these days. All we need is for you to develop a hernia right—”
“I’m fine,” he interrupted. “Now stop being a spoil-sport. Who knows when we’ll get another opportunity to go dancing?”
“What’s that noise?” she asked, a finger aloft.
Mitch plunked her gently on the bed and turned off the radio. “Scratching?” He opened the door. “Hey, Chester. What’re you doin’ up here, old boy?” He ruffled the dog’s thick coat, then hoisted Ciara in his arms once more and hurried down the stairs.
“Mitch, I wish I knew why you’re acting so—”
Her eyes widened as both hands flew to her mouth. “Balloons, streamers, cake,” she said, taking it all in, then seeing the women. “When did all of you— How did—”
Giggling, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and whispered, “How’s my hair?”
“Can you believe all these wonderful presents?” she asked, holding up a tiny terry cloth jumpsuit. “We’ll have enough diapers to last for months, and all these Tshirts and booties and…”
He’d been stuffing wrapping paper and bows into a gigantic lawn and leaf bag when he noticed she’d stopped talking. Mitch peered over his shoulder, surprised to find her crying. Dropping the trash, he wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m so lucky,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “I have such good friends and so many wonderful relatives, and you…you’re the best husband any woman could ever hope for!”
“But those are good things, sweetie. Why are you crying?”
She settled down a bit to say, “Because…because…because I’m so happy, that’s why.”
“I sure will be glad when this baby gets here,” he teased, handing her a tissue, “’cause you’re costing me a small fortune in blotting materials!”
Giggling, she blew her nose. “You could always buy stock in the company….”
He popped a kiss onto her forehead. “That’s what I like, a woman with business sense who isn’t afraid to cry.”
“I hate crying,” she admitted, sniffling. Then, eyes wide with panic, Ciara added, “What if I never go back to the woman I was before I got pregnant? What if I’ve turned into a big fat crybaby forever? What if—”
“What if I start hauling some of this loot up to the baby’s room while you take a nap. You’re looking a mite pooped, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“You know, I think I’ll take you up on your offer,” she said, snuggling under the covers. “Two parties and a bomb blast in three days can be exhausting!”
He plucked a trash bag from the box and chucked a load of stuffed animals into it, filled another with miniature shorts and hats and shoes, and dragged both up the stairs behind him. It isn’t like her to give in so easily to a suggestion to take a nap, he told himself. And she did look paler than usual….
Should he call Donna? Peterson? His mother? What could they do that you’re not already doing? And the answer was, Nothing.
He continued making trips upstairs until every gift had a new place to call its own. She’ll be happy to know the baby’s toy box is filled to the brim, he thought, smiling as he left the last of it. Mitch stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and looked at the nursery. Soon, a baby boy or girl would call it home. Soon tiny cries would wake them from a sound sleep, demanding food or a fresh diaper or a dose of affection.
The telephone interrupted his reverie, and he crossed the hall to answer it in the master bedroom.
“Hey, Parker,” he said, “what’s up?”
“Well, I have the answer to your question, for starters.”
“Yeah?”
“Bradley’s blood type is AB Negative.”
The news made him weak in the knees, and he sat on the edge of the bed. The card in his wallet said he was O Positive. And according to Donna’s
chart, Ciara was O Positive, too. Peterson had “typed” the baby weeks earlier, so they’d have a plentiful supply on hand in case of an emergency…and the baby’s blood matched his mommy’s and his daddy’s.
His mommy’s…and his daddy’s!
How could he have ever doubted her? He felt terrible about it now.
The heat in his cheeks and the buzzing in his ears had usually accompanied bad news. Not this time. Thank you, Lord, he prayed. Thank you!
“What did you need that information for?” Parker wanted to know.
“Uh—confidential at this point,” Mitch replied curtly. He wasn’t lying. He’d no interest in sharing his suspicions about Ciara with anyone.
“Gotcha,” Parker said.
“You said the info was ‘for starters’?”
“Well, it’d be nice if you’d fill us in once in a while, Mahoney. How’s that gorgeous wife of yours?”
“Tired, but holding her own. I think it’s going to be soon. Very soon.”
“Want some friendly advice?”
“Sure…”
“Get all the shut-eye you can, while you can, ’cause once that little one gets here, you’re gonna need a dictionary to remember what sleep means.”
Sleep? Mitch thought. I don’t know what that is now, what with all that’s been going on around here. Chuckling, Mitch thanked him and hung up. Then he headed down the stairs to climb into bed beside his sleepy wife and try to take Parker’s advice.
“Mitch,” Ciara whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Mitch!”
He draped an arm over her middle. “Mmmm?”
“I think I heard something….”
“Where’s Chester?”
“Right here at the foot of the bed. There it is again…in the kitchen….”
“Can’t be,” he muttered, opening one eye, “there are half a dozen cops outside. Houdini couldn’t get past ’em undetected.” He yawned. “But I gotta admit,” he said, wiggling his hips against hers, “I like the benefits of comforting a frightened—”
“Did you hear that?”
He laid a finger over her lips and nodded, then held the finger in the air, as if commanding her to listen.
“What do you—”
One sharp look from his worried eyes silenced her. “Don’t say another word,” he instructed, his whisper hoarse and stern. Mitch handed her the phone, where he’d taped Bob Knight’s cell phone number. “You hear anything funny in there, call him. Okay?”
Wide-eyed, Ciara nodded. She grabbed his hand. “Please,” she said, a hitch in her voice, “be careful….”
Trying to appear cavalier, he sent her a wink.
“Mitch,” she added as he got to his feet. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” he whispered, and headed for the stairs.
He took them two at a time, as he’d planned, then ducked into the closet and grabbed the Rossi. Lord, he prayed, switching off the safety, I think we both know I’ll use it if I have to. Don’t let me have to….
Mitch crept back down the stairs and peered around the double-wide doorway leading from the foyer to the family room. Hiding the gun behind his back, he caught Ciara’s eye. “He still in there?” he mouthed.
Ciara nodded.
Thumb to his chin and forefinger to his ear, he pantomimed, “Did you call Knight?”
Another nod.
He blew her a kiss and headed up the hall. It seemed to take hours, rather than seconds, to reach the kitchen. Since he could see the reflection of a dark-haired man in the black glass oven door, the man could see him, too. Mitch flattened himself against the wall, heart hammering as he tried to plan his course of action.
Where are those confounded County boys? he wondered. They must have been asleep on the job. How else had this guy penetrated their line of defense? It happened so quickly, he never saw it coming…the karate chop that sent his service revolver clattering to the hardwood floor. He gave it a solid kick, sent it careering to the end of the hall. If I can’t reach it, neither can—
A fist crashed into his jaw, killing the thought.
In the next seconds, amid the flurry of fists and arms, Mitch managed to grab hold of the man’s T-shirt.
Pericolo’s men never went out in public without a shirt and tie. But who was he to complain; the soft, cottony fabric of the T-shirt was a whole lot easier to grasp than a starched white collar. In a heartbeat, Mitch wrestled the intruder to the floor, straddled him and attempted to disable him with a wrestler’s hold.
The high-pitched whimper made him stop just long enough to look at the face he’d been beating.
A boy’s face.
David Pericolo’s face.
Mitch pinned the kids’ wrists to the floor. “What are you doin’ here?” he demanded.
“You put my father in jail,” he said haltingly, his lips swollen and bloodied. “‘Eye for an eye,’” the boy added. “‘Eye for an eye.’”
Bob Knight burst through the back door just then, and three uniformed officers came in on his heels. “Cuff him,” Knight ordered, “wrists and ankles.”
Shaking, Mitch got to his feet and leaned both palms on the kitchen table to steady himself. “Meet David Pericolo,” he said to Knight.
“You’ll pay,” David whimpered, as Knight’s fellow policemen secured the handcuffs.
“Get him out of here and keep him quiet,” Knight barked, shaking a big fist in the air.
Once they’d dragged David off, kicking and screaming, Knight closed the kitchen door. “You okay, buddy?” he asked, patting Mitch’s back.
“I’m fine.” His gaze shot daggers into the cop. “How’d he get in here, anyway? Your boys oughta be ashamed of themselves.”
Knight shook his head. “That number you gave me…the one you star sixty-nined?”
Mitch nodded.
“Pericolo’s…car phone.”
“I see.”
“Heads are gonna roll for this one,” Knight said, “trust me.”
“You’re just lucky nothing happened to my wife.”
At the mere thought of her, Mitch tensed. “Ciara—” He ran into the family room and gathered her in his arms. Thank God she’s all right. “You okay, sweetie? How are you feelin’?”
“Not so hot,” she said in a small, shaky voice. “I’ve already called the hospital. They’re expecting us.” She buried her face in his shoulder. “Oh, Mitch, I was so scared. I thought…I thought….”
“Shhh,” he soothed, stroking her back. “Nothing happened, and—”
“This time.” She sat back, eyes bright with tears, and faced him down. “You’re not a cat, Mitch. You don’t have nine lives.” Her lower lip quivered when she added, “If you were, I imagine you’d have used up at least six of them by now. How much longer do you expect your luck to hold out? How much—”
Gripping her stomach, she winced with pain.
“Ciara, sweetie, what is it?”
She met his eyes. “It’s time, that’s what it is….”
She was right. It was time. Time to stand up and act like a man. Not a gung-ho, macho, hot-doggin’ FBI agent, but a man, who took his responsibilities seriously. He only hoped it wasn’t too late….
Ciara took a deep breath and said on the exhale, “Could we…could we continue this later, do you think?” she said, smiling past clenched teeth. “Because if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather have a baby right now.”
Epilogue
Ciara snuggled deep into the pillows on her hospital bed, smiled contentedly into her newborn’s face. “Your daddy went to get me a cup of soda,” she cooed, kissing the tiny fingers that had wrapped around her thumb. “He’ll be back any minute now.”
And when he comes back, she thought, I’m going to tell him that it doesn’t matter to me what he does for a living or where he does it; all I care about is that he’s happy, and healthy, until the Lord calls him home.
She closed her eyes, hoping to blink away the horrible scene that had taken place ho
urs ago. Until the sounds of the life-and-death struggle penetrated her brain—when she knew and understood that she could lose him, right there in her very own kitchen—Ciara had not realized just how much she loved having him in her life. Whether you have a week or a year or a lifetime more with him, she told herself, you’ll enjoy every moment, and thank God for it!
How could she say that she loved him, really loved him, and demand that he give up the Bureau? He had worked too long, too hard, to leave it all behind now.
No doubt she would keep a careful eye on the clock until he arrived home from work safe and sound, but she would lose no sleep over his absences, because faith would see her through. “When I’m afraid, I will look to the Lord,” she paraphrased Micah, Chapter Seven, Verse Eight. “I will wait for the God of my salvation, and He will hear me.”
The coins dropped into the machine with a metallic chink-chink-chink, and Mitch pressed the button that said All Natural Orange Juice. That oughta hold her over till they bring her supper, he thought, nodding when the can hit the tray with a hollow thud.
Those hours in the delivery room, when it was touch and go for a while, he knew what he had to do. You could have lost her, he reminded himself, but you didn’t, and you’d better thank God for that!
Ciara had asked him to think about changing jobs. He could tell by the way she’d phrased the question that she fully intended to stand by him, regardless of his answer. He also knew that, even if he decided to stay with the Bureau, she would never do to him what her mother had done to her father. And you haven’t earned devotion like that…yet….
While the nurses were getting Ciara and the baby cleaned up, he pretended to need a breath of fresh air. Instead, he placed a phone call, straight to the director’s office. The director took the call, not so surprisingly, considering what Mitch had just accomplished on behalf of the agency. He would put in his resignation, here and now.
