by Cindi Myers
Andi couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line. She closed her eyes again and pressed her forehead to the passenger window, the iciness of the glass sending a shiver through her. Wind rocked the vehicle as Simon waited for someone on the other end of the line.
“We’re at mile marker... I can’t see a mile marker,” he said. “But we’re just past the turnoff for County Road Twenty-Four...Yes, her water has broken...Yes...No...How long do you think it will be?...No...I’ll call you back if I need to.”
He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the console, his mouth twisted in an expression of frustration. “What did they say?” Andi asked. “Are they sending an ambulance?”
“They said it will be forty minutes, maybe an hour,” he said. “A major pileup on I-70 has diverted all the local transport, and it will be that long before they can get to us.”
She fought down a wave of panic as a hard gust of wind rocked the vehicle. “What were all those questions that you were answering yes and no to?”
He kneaded the bridge of his nose. “They asked if I had ever delivered a baby before.”
“Have you?”
“Not exactly.” He opened the driver’s door and put one foot out. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and some blankets from the back of the cruiser,” he said. “I think you should move into the back seat, where you’ll have more room.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?” she called after him, but he had already shut the door and was walking around to the back of the cruiser.
Icy wind whipped through the vehicle when he opened up the back hatch. Andi turned away from him, wanting to insist that he keep driving—all the way to Breckenridge if he had to. But she knew they didn’t have time. The increasingly urgent need to push told her this baby was going to be born, whether she was ready or not.
Simon came around to the passenger side and opened the door, his arms full of blankets. “I’ll spread one of these on the seat for you to lie on,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of clean towels, too, and some bottled water.”
He reached to help her out and she gripped his hand. “Have you ever delivered a baby?” she asked again, staring hard until he met her gaze.
Before he could answer, another contraction rocked her. She let out a low groan, and Simon massaged her shoulder.
When the pain passed, she let him help her move to the rear seat and scoot back, legs stretched out toward him. A cold wind swirled around the vehicle, hard granules of snow splatting against the open doors and gathering on the floorboards. His eyes met hers once more. If he was afraid, he was doing a good job of hiding it. “I once watched my uncle deliver a baby at a clinic in Mexico,” he said. “I was seventeen and I was helping out there for the summer. When they brought the woman in, I think everyone had forgotten I was in the room. I didn’t do anything—I stood in the corner and watched.”
“What did you think?” she asked.
“I was terrified and fascinated.” He made a face. “I remember there was a lot of yelling, and a lot of blood—two things I wasn’t used to back then.”
“And you are now?”
“Let’s just say I’ve seen more of both over the years. They don’t shake me as much now.”
“I hope you remember some of what you saw,” she said.
He held up a paperback book. “I have some instructions here that should help. But really, there’s not a lot I can do. Yours is the hard part.”
Another pain rocked her, this one more intense. She tried to stifle her scream by biting her lip, but Simon grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Go ahead and make all the noise you want,” he said. “There’s no one else out here to hear us anyway.”
* * *
ANDI’S SCREAMS CUT through Simon like razors. With shaking hands, he tore one of the clean towels into strips, as instructed by the book he had wedged open on the floorboard of the backseat. Get a grip, he told himself. Time to man up and do your job.
He tried to remember everything his uncle had done when he had delivered that baby in his clinic all those years ago, but he had been so young then, fighting a mixture of horror and embarrassment. There was no room for any of those feelings now.
He glanced up and into Andi’s wide, frightened eyes, and tried to force a smile. She was counting on him to get her through this. Her baby was depending on him too. He squeezed her hand. “You’re doing great,” he said.
“What does the book say?” she asked.
He glanced down at the open pages. “We should see the head at the entrance of the birth canal,” he said. “That’s called crowning. A couple more strong pushes after that, and the baby will be born. I have to clear any mucous from the baby’s mouth and nose and make sure it’s breathing, then tie off the cord and keep it warm, and deliver the afterbirth.”
“So much to do,” she said, before another cry of pain choked off her words.
Following the instructions in the first aid manual, he laid out a clean towel, water, scissors, first aid tape and alcohol wipes. “Something’s happening!” Andi cried.
“I can see the head.” Simon dropped to his knees, ignoring the snow and dirt, bracing himself to support the baby when it emerged. He barely registered the crunch of tires on snow, and glanced to his left to see a vehicle pulling in behind him, the grille almost touching the back bumper. Then another cry from Andi forced his attention back to her.
“Another push or two, I think,” he said.
“It hurts so much!” she screamed through her tears.
“You can do this.” And then he was holding the baby, a writhing, sticky bundle pulsing with life. He stared at it, overwhelmed by such a feeling of awe that he was glad he was already on his knees. The infant was so tiny and perfect, so alive... He shook his head, forcing himself out of his reverie, and consulted the first aid manual. Following the instructions illustrated on the page, he carefully wiped the baby’s mouth and nose, then gently turned it over. “It’s a girl,” he said, surprised at the tears choking his voice.
“Let me see her.” Andi struggled to sit up, tears streaming down her face. The baby let out a lusty cry and the sound made Simon laugh. He laid the baby on Andi’s stomach, and she spread her hand protectively over the baby’s back.
A shadow loomed over him, and something hard pressed against his temple. “How does it feel to bring a new life into the world?” Victor asked. “When you’re about to lose yours?”
* * *
“GO AWAY!” ANDI SCREAMED. “Don’t touch my baby!” Ignoring the pain it cost her, she leaned forward, trying to cover the infant’s body with her own.
“I don’t care about your brat.” Victor kept the gun pressed to Simon’s temple, but he was focused on mother and child. “Give me the key.”
“The key?” Andi asked.
“Don’t be stupid. I know you have the key that belonged to Metwater. Give it to me.”
“He hid it in this necklace.” She grasped the pendant and tugged, trying to tear it from her neck, but the gold chain refused to budge.
“Give it to me!” Victor roared. Snow swirled around him, collecting in his blond hair and on the shoulders of his wind-whipped coat. He looked like some demon out of a horror novel.
“I’m trying,” she cried.
“I need to tie off the umbilical cord,” Simon said, his voice eerily calm in the midst of chaos.
“Shut up,” Victor said. “If you don’t give me the necklace I’ll kill him now.”
Sobbing, Andi wrenched the necklace free, and hurled it at him. It sailed over Simon’s head and landed in the snow. Victor dove for it as Simon rose, his gun drawn, but it was not his bullet that struck Victor in the shoulder and sent him spinning to the side.
Daniel Metwater stepped forward, his foot crunching the necklace into the snow. Victor looked up from where he lay sprawled in the snow, blood drip
ping from his blasted shoulder, and all the color drained from his face. “You!”
The gun fired again, and red blossomed in the calf of Victor’s right leg. His keening wail echoed around them. Andi folded herself more securely over the baby, who cried softly and nestled against her stomach. “I want the key,” Metwater demanded. “Tell me where it is or I’ll shoot again. The other leg this time.”
“The necklace,” Victor gasped. “The key is in the necklace.”
Keeping his eyes and the pistol fixed on Victor, Metwater bent and scooped the necklace from the snow and dropped it in the pocket of his ski jacket. Then he stood over Victor, who bowed his head and buried his face in the snow.
Andi looked away, sure Daniel would kill the Russian now. But instead of the explosion of gunfire, she heard the sound of tearing fabric, as Simon worked to tie off her baby’s umbilical cord. “I was paid to kill you once before, David,” Victor said. “A fee I was never able to collect.”
Metwater leveled the gun at Victor’s head. “My name is Daniel. David was my brother.”
“No, you’re David,” Victor said. “You knew we were closing in on you so you came up with a plan—a smart, perfect plan. You went to your brother Daniel. The good brother who always came through for you, who always got you out of trouble. You invited him to dinner at your place. You drugged him. Then you paid a tattoo artist a lot of money to duplicate your infamous lion tattoo on his arm. Then you shot him and dumped his body in the river, and you stepped into his life. You identified his water-ravaged corpse and arranged for a hasty cremation. With David presumed dead, you didn’t have to worry about the Bratva coming after you as payback for all the money and drugs you stole from us. But just to be safe, you went into hiding. You became a prophet in the wilderness.”
Andi stared at the two men. “That’s why you didn’t want anyone to see the tattoo,” she said.
Metwater’s eyes met hers. “You were the only one who knew,” he said. “Once you and your cop friend are dead, I’ll be safe.”
She clutched at her baby, determined to protect the child. She hadn’t come this far to die out here in the snow. “Simon,” she whispered.
He glanced up at her and gave a small shake of his head, then reached for the scissors to cut the cord.
“You forgot that the Bratva never forgives those who betray them,” Victor said. “You were supposed to deliver a million dollars as a favor to us. Instead, you stole the money.”
“Lies!” Metwater screamed. “You can’t prove any of it.”
“I found the tattoo artist,” Victor said. “That was a mistake, leaving him alive. Or maybe you did come after him, but too late. He took the money you paid him and ran—it took us quite a while to track him down.”
The distant wail of a siren rose over the whine of the wind. Andi’s eyes met Simon’s once more. He had risen and was standing between her and the two men. His gun was drawn, but he held it low at his side.
“It’s too late for you now,” Victor said, his voice strained. “The police are coming for you.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Metwater fired again. Andi screamed as the Russian slumped to the ground. Metwater pivoted toward Simon, and Andi screamed again. “No!”
Chapter Seventeen
Simon dropped to a crouch, his hands slippery with the blood of Andi’s baby, the gun cold in his hand. Metwater stood with his gun still smoking, calmly taking aim, ready to kill without emotion or regret. He had been cold-blooded enough to kill his own brother, so what were Andi and a cop to him now? He looked on his targets not as adversaries, but prey. He had every tactical advantage over Simon.
Except that Simon was determined to live. He wouldn’t leave Andi and her child defenseless. He wouldn’t let this killer win.
With a roar of rage, he sprang up and charged at Metwater, striking him full on, even as a bullet whistled past his head. Metwater landed hard on his back, the gun still in his hand. Simon struck out viciously with a karate chop to Metwater’s wrist that sent the gun skittering into a snowbank.
The two men grappled, rolling around on the shoulder of the road, coming to rest against the tires of the ambulance that skidded to a stop beside them. Metwater shoved Simon away from him, scrambled to his feet and lurched to his car. By the time Simon had risen, he was driving away.
Simon searched the snow for his weapon and found it near his cruiser. He wiped it on his jacket and reholstered it, then made his way to where one of the EMTs knelt beside Victor. “He’s dead,” the EMT said. He stood. “What happened here?”
“It’s a long story,” Simon said.
“They usually are,” the EMT said.
“He’s not your patient.” Simon led the way to the cruiser and looked in at Andi. She had pulled the fur coat over her and the baby, whom she still cradled on her stomach. She looked pale and frightened.
“Simon!” she said. “I was so afraid.”
“Ma’am, let’s just have a look here.” The two EMTs shouldered Simon aside. While one examined Andi, the other began radioing in particulars, starting with a call for police assistance.
Simon walked to the back of the cruiser and leaned against the bumper, feeling shaky as the adrenaline left him. Cold seeped through his shirt and vest. He should put on his coat, but he was too exhausted to move. Victor’s still figure lay a few feet away, facedown in the bloody snow. Wind ruffled his hair and tugged at his jacket.
So Daniel was really David, a man who had killed his own brother, sacrificing the one person he had been closest to, letting him take the fall for the crimes he had committed. He had played the role of the innocent brother for months, and might even have gotten away with it, if not for his own greed. Somehow he had come to the Bratva’s attention, and they had figured out his scam.
Andi had seen the damning tattoo, so he had had to come after her. Her millions had been just an added bonus. He might have gotten away long before now, if he hadn’t been determined to help himself not only to the stolen million dollars, but to Andi’s wealth as well.
Simon turned to stare in the direction Metwater had driven. He was running out of places to hide now. He was getting more desperate, and more reckless. As soon as Simon had Andi settled, he would go after the man who had tried to kill her. He wouldn’t stop until he had Metwater in custody.
The EMTs wheeled a gurney across the snow to the side of the cruiser and transferred Andi and her baby to it. Simon moved around the cruiser to stand beside her. “How are you doing?” he asked. The EMTs had cleaned her and the baby up some, and cut the cord so that she could cradle the now-swaddled newborn to her breast.
“I can’t believe what just happened,” she said. “Do you think it’s true—that Daniel is really David?”
“He didn’t deny it,” Simon said. He brushed her hair from her eyes, the strands silken against his fingers. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. And the baby is fine—thanks to you. Everything is going to be all right now.”
“I forgot to tell you happy birthday earlier,” he said.
She gave a weak laugh. “It’s been an eventful day.” She looked down at the infant at her breast. “I think I already have the best present ever.”
“I have some loose ends to tie up here,” Simon said. “But I’ll be at the hospital to see you as soon as I can.”
She nodded and he started to turn away, but she reached out and clutched his hand. “Wait.”
He turned back to her. “What is it?”
“They key Daniel—David—was looking for—”
“You did the right thing, giving it up to him. It wasn’t worth your life to argue with him.”
“No—it wasn’t in the necklace. I took it out.”
He frowned. “When did you do that?”
“In the cabin. I knew he and probably Victor too, wanted
it, and I was afraid of what they would do to me. I thought it would be better if I didn’t keep it on me. So I took it out and hid it in the cabin. It’s in my uncle’s toolbox, under the sink in the kitchen.”
“All right. Thanks for letting me know.”
“I still can’t believe he murdered his own brother,” she said. “The brother who had always helped him. His twin. How could anyone do something like that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe sometimes something gets broken in a person that makes it easier for them to do horrible things.”
“We need to go now,” one of the EMTs said. “We need to get mom and baby out of the cold.”
Simon hesitated, then bent and kissed Andi, a brief buss on the lips. “I’ll be by to see you soon.” She would be safe in a hospital, surrounded by other people. He needed to find Metwater, and make sure he didn’t come after her again.
“I love you,” she said. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“I love you too. And I won’t forget.” The words were easier to say than almost anything he had ever said, akin to a miracle, considering how hard and messy he usually found emotions to be. It was as if he had built up a callus over his heart and this beautiful, trusting and strong woman had lifted it off, making him at once more vulnerable and more free.
As the ambulance, lights flashing but no siren, pulled onto the highway, two Colorado State Patrol vehicles pulled in front of Simon’s cruiser. “Agent Woolridge?” A silver-haired man in a heavy black coat stepped out of the first vehicle and addressed Simon.
“Yes.” Simon straightened and offered his hand.
“Sergeant Nick Schwartz.” The older man looked down at Simon’s hand, but didn’t take it. “Are you all right, sir?”
Simon realized his hands were still covered in blood. He wiped them on his uniform, but it was almost as soiled. “I was delivering a baby,” he said, by way of explanation.
Schwartz nodded toward Victor’s body. “What happened to him?”
