CRIMINAL CHRISTMAS: A Set of 8 Holiday Suspense Stories, page 44
He stifled a chuckle as he stared at the adorable face looking back at him from his monitor. Pixie cut blond hair, big blue eyes, and full lips. “No, it’s not. You’re five-five, a hundred and twenty pounds—”
She cut him off with a low groan. “Not anymore, I’m not.”
“Baby weight. That’ll be off in no time.” He frowned as he focused on her DOB. “You’ve got a birthday tomorrow.”
“Yep.”
“What was that like? Being a Christmas baby, I mean?”
“Not as great as you’d think. Try planning a birthday party when all your friends are out of town for the holidays.”
“Yeah. That would kind of suck.”
“I can’t believe I’ll be thirty years old already. Yesterday I was still in high-school, you know?”
“Tell me about it. I just had my fifteen-year class reunion. I’ll be thirty-three on Valentine’s Day.”
“Go figure,” she whispered. “A Valentine’s Day baby talking a Christmas baby through her labor from a 911 call during a Christmas Eve toy store robbery. This has got to be a first.”
He chuckled at her description. “Can’t make this stuff up, can you?”
“You can, but nobody would believe it. Now you know what I look like, but I know nothing about you. This situation is one huge bucket of suck.”
“Ask whatever you want and I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”
“Height and weight.”
“Six-one, two-twenty-five, and I don’t want to brag, but it’s all muscle.”
She snorted. “Hair?”
“Existence or color?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Then yes, I have hair.” He paused to pass his fingers through his short-cropped hair. “No sign of thinning yet and it’s light brown, kind of wavy if it gets too long, so I keep it cut short. I have one green eye and one blue.”
“No kidding?”
“Yes.”
“Can you ride ponies backwards and flip pancakes in the air, too?”
“Excuse me?”
“Like Aiden Quinn’s character in the movie “Practical Magic” . . .”
“Don’t know that I’ve seen that one.”
“It’s only the best chick flick ever . . .”
“Could explain why I haven’t seen it.”
“It’s so good—one of those I have to watch anytime it pops up on a movie channel. It used to annoy the hell out of my husband. I’d always have to go watch it in another room.”
“So how do the two different color eyes fit into the plot?”
“Sandra Bullock’s character is Wiccan. The women in her family are cursed and any man they love will die. Her daddy dies when she’s a child, and afterwards she casts a spell so she’ll never fall in love and get hurt. Her true love would be able to ride a pony backwards, flip pancakes in the air, have a kind heart, his favorite symbol would be a star, and he’d have one blue eye and one green eye. As an adult, she meets a cop with all those qualities.”
“So that’s good?”
“Well, not at first. As a child, she cast the spell so she wouldn’t fall in love. A guy with those qualities wasn’t supposed to exist, so she’d never fall in love and she’d never lose him and get hurt.”
“That sounds complicated to me.”
“You’d have to see the movie to understand.” After a pause, she whispered her next question. “Do you have something against longer hair?”
“What? No.”
“You said you keep it cut short.”
“It’s the waves I don’t like.”
“Why not? Wavy hair on a guy is so sexy. Like cover model sexy.”
“You think?”
“Mm . . . I know,” she sighed. “Aidan Quinn’s hair is wavy in the movie. He’s a cop, and it’s extremely sexy.”
“I guess I got used to having it short in the military.”
“What branch?”
“Marines. Twelve years.”
“Wow . . . I guess you’ve been everywhere, haven’t you?”
He laughed into the phone. “If you consider the middle east everywhere. Places I’ve been are not exactly tourist destinations.”
“Twelve years. Why’d you stay so long? Did you plan to make a lifetime career of it and change your mind?”
“Not at all. I was a sniper, set up to protect squadrons. They’d put us where our guys were feeling the heat. I kept a lot of men safe, and . . . I don’t know. I just felt like I couldn’t leave. And then one day I had enough and walked away.”
The silence grew heavy and ominous between them.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I mean, no lingering effects? No PTSD or anything?”
“Civilian life took some getting used to again, I’ll admit. But no, I haven’t had any of the episodes some servicemen experience. I’m lucky.”
“Well . . . good. I’m glad to hear that.”
The lull in their conversation had him thinking about the bag full of ammo she’d found. “So, have they searched for the missing ammo bag, yet?” He found himself whispering, and then cleared his throat to repeat the question.
“No, they didn’t come inside the room. They just stood outside trading insults. I’m okay for now, but I have to wonder how long I can stay hidden. If this turns into a prolonged stand-off, I may have to—”
“You won’t!” he said. Her silence had him struggling to find something to keep her hopeful. “What’s your son’s name? I guess you’ve had one picked out for months.”
“I have not. I don’t know what I’m going to name him.”
“That surprises me. You mean you haven’t been pouring over a book of one thousand baby names or scouring the internet?”
“No. I’m holding out for something that moves me, something that has some kind of meaning. They’ll be building snowmen in hell before I name him after his father.”
“I can’t blame you for that. Is your place all set up and ready for the baby?”
“Not at the moment. I haven’t even put the crib together. I’m missing the patience gene when it comes to reading directions and constructing things.”
“I think it shows patience that you didn’t jump on it right away. Some friends of mine had their entire nursery furnished and ready before she started her fifth month.”
“That was my sister. I’ve always found first time expectant parents to be annoying as hell so I was determined not to be one of them. But . . . I can see now that I should have tackled that crib sooner. And I guess I’ll have to scratch to find a name sooner than I expected.”
Another thirty minutes dragged by with no headway on the hostage situation.
Luke cocked his head at the sound of voices in the background. “What’s going on over there?”
“They’re arguing again . . .oh, shhhh . . .”
* * * *
Cori craned her neck to peek between two large boxes at the room’s opening. Thug 1 shoved Thug 2 up against the wall, one hand around his neck, while placing the gun against his temple.
“Where’s the bag? What’d you do with it?”
“I don’t know! It’s here somewhere.”
“You ain’t helping me, dog.” Thug 1 raised his gun. “You just said yours is empty and I only got two shots left. You know, I woulda had more, but some dumbass had to go shooting at stray cats and shit.” He slapped Thug 2 upside the head. “You got shit for brains in that head of yours! I shoulda known better than to plan any damn thing wid’ you.”
“It’s here, dog. I’ll find it.”
Cori held her breath, kept the phone tucked close to block out the screen’s glare as the man rummaged around the area closer to her and her baby belly. She didn’t breathe again until he returned to Thug 1.
“It ain’t here, DaShawn. But I just remembered more cops showed up when I was in here. I musta brought it out wid me. Ima go look again, D.”
“DaShawn” pointed the gun at Thug 2’s head and bared his teeth. “I oughta shoot yo worthless black ass right now and be done wid it. You ain’t gonna do nothing but get my ass killed.”
“Please, man, don’t do it! I’ll find it. I will!” He stepped toward the door. “Ima go find it, right now!”
A ruckus at the front of the store had them both running toward the noise.
“Something’s happening,” she hissed into her phone.
“I sent word the perps were in the stock room at the back of the store. The department may have taken the opportunity to try to clear the doorway.”
She gasped as the thug’s hostage let loose a blood-curdling scream.
“Stop or she’s dead, man. I ain’t foolin’ around, and I ain’t goin’ back to jail!” DaShawn bellowed.
“Oh God, he’s going to kill her if they don’t stop!” She sucked in her breath as sharp pain sliced across her abdomen. “Oh. My. God . . .”
“Cori? What’s happening?”
“Something’s wrong, Luke. This can’t be normal. It’s too soon in the labor process for the pain to be this bad.”
“Rate it for me—one to te—”
“Eleven!” She panted through the pain, gritting her teeth. It finally eased up enough so that she could catch her breath. A new kind of wet seeped through her maternity jeans. She stared at the dark stains. “And I’m bleeding. What do I do?”
“You’re going to stay calm and get through this. Does it feel like heavy spotting?”
She didn’t have to undress to know this was more than an episode of spotting, heavy or otherwise. “Not spotting—much heavier—more like hemorrhaging. Oh, my God. I can’t lose my baby!” In all the scenarios she’d played out in her mind since discovering her pregnancy, this had never come up. Not once, in all her stages of shock and disbelief had she imagined she would lose this child. She could hear the rapid tapping of Luke’s fingers on his keyboard.
“You are not. I’m getting you some help. Where are they?”
“I don’t know, but they aren’t in here. Luke, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“I need you to call my family if I don’t make it out of here . . .” She left off the word “alive”, deciding he’d know what she meant.
“You’ll make it.”
“But if I don’t, or if I’m not capable of communicating with them, or if. . . if my baby makes it but I don’t. My parents are Joan and Charles Granger. They live in Richmond. My sister and brother-in-law in Houston are Melissa and Roland Landry. If my parents aren’t there already, they will be soon.”
She gave him their phone numbers, heard his fingers hitting the keyboard before he called them back to her for verification.
“That’s it,” she said, somewhat relieved. “It’s important they hear from someone soon because they’ll be waiting for me.”
“I’ve got it and someone will let them know, immediately, I promise.”
“Thank you, Luke. It means a lot to me.”
“They’re going to make some noise at the front of the store, but it’s a diversionary tactic. They have the key to that padlock on those doors. They’ll be using some kind of laser torch to cut out the lock, and pass you the key. The perps only have one gun with ammo and they can’t be in two places at once.”
“Will it be loud?”
“No, but there’ll be sparks flying, so stand clear of it until they’re done.”
She rolled up one of the smaller blankets and stuffed it between her legs to staunch her bleeding, then eased her way out of her self-made hide-a-way. As soon as she saw the first sparks flying, her gaze flew to the opened door leading into the shopping area. She waddled to the door, held her breath and waited. The sudden blast of the firetruck’s air horn gave her the cover she needed to close the squeaky door several inches. She waited off to the side until they’d cut out the door’s locking mechanism. A couple of taps and thuds later, a hole appeared in the steel door as the lock disappeared from sight.
“Are you there?”
She peeked through the circular opening where someone shined a flashlight. “I’m here. Where’s the key?”
Seconds later, someone used a pair of pliers to pass the key through the still smoldering hole cut through the door. She grabbed at it and immediately went for the padlock. Lightheaded and shaking, it felt like forever before the lock released. She had to keep herself from crying out when she freed it from the heavy-duty hasp. A steady flow of banter from someone in charge on the law enforcement’s PA system gave the team the cover needed to push the doors open. A swarm of officers entered silently, all of their weapons trained on the door. One turned, focusing on her. “We’re going to get you to the hospital right away. We’ve got an ambulance wait . . .”
Cori gazed at the man’s mouth. His lips moved but she could barely hear him over the loud humming in her ears. She raised the phone she’d been clutching in one hand. “Luke? I can’t . . .” She paused—the humming drowned out her own words. “Tell my family—my baby—I love them.”
Her hand dropped to her side as though it were made of lead. She watched as her phone skidded along the floor in front of her, wondered if the impact resistant case kept it from shattering. She felt a gush of something warm and wet between her legs a second before a sea of blackness engulfed her.
* * * *
“Cori? Are you there? Is anyone there?” Iciness settled over Luke’s heart as he heard the pop of gunshots and shouting in the distance. He waited several more minutes until the line went dead. His fingers flew over the keys, making a swift inquiry as to the hostage’s condition. It took a few minutes to get a response.
Pregnant woman en route to Christus St. Elizabeth Hospital on Calder Avenue.
He released his breath at the news he’d been hoping to hear. “Condition?” he typed.
Critical due to severe blood loss from hemorrhaging. Patient was unconscious.
“Oh . . . shit.” He wiped one hand over his face. “Condition of hostage?”
Second hostage safe and unharmed.
“Thank God.”
One perp down, the other in custody.
“Whatever.” As far as he was concerned, those two could live with the consequences of their choices, or not.
“Any news on the officer shot earlier?”
Negative.
Byron entered the room, his gaze curious.
Luke gave his co-worker a brief nod. “It’s all yours, buddy.”
His co-worker took his place and logged-in. “What happened to the hostage and the pregnant chick?”
“Hostage is free and unharmed. The pregnant lady is on her way to the hospital, but she’s hemorrhaging.”
Byron grunted. “Man, that’s rough. Hope she makes it, and the kid, too.”
Luke headed for his locker to get his bag and coat. “Yeah, me too. Merry Christmas, bro.”
“You too, Luke. I’ll be sitting here all week, waiting to hear all about your conquests of the fairer sex.”
“Man, I just want to chillax, you know? Do some diving, some snorkeling, explore the Mayan ruins for a day, and get in some deep-sea fishing. Between this job and my class load, I’m burnt out.”
“Well, if anyone deserves a break, it’s you, man.”
He gave him a two-fingered salute. “Later.”
Chapter 2
Luke had just enough time to take a quick shower at his place and slip into some fresh travelling clothes. He’d arrive at his friend’s place in Humble by 6:00 a.m., leave his truck there to keep from paying for parking, and take a ten minute cab ride over to the airport.
His mind should have been free from thinking about work, but all he could think about was Cori and if she was all right. Finally, he called a friend of his, an old high school fling who worked as an ER nurse at St. Elizabeth’s.
“Lucas Oliver! To what do I owe this immense pleasure?”
“I need a favor, Janie. I need some information on a caller I had earlier. She was brought to St. E’s, but I know from experience they won’t give me any information on her. I’m just concerned, is all.”
It took all of ten minutes for her to call him back. “Hey, Luke, I found the pregnant lady. By any chance, is the kid yours?”
“No, hon. I only met her for the first time tonight. Scratch that . . . I’ve only spoken to her for the first time tonight. Sounded like she’s had some tough breaks and I wondered how she’s doing. End of story.”
“Well, she’s out of it.”
“What?”
“In a coma.”
“Oh, hell. What about the baby?”
“Delivered. All his signs are good.”
“Any of her family members there, yet?”
“Her parents have been contacted but they’re still waiting on them. Not sure about the father of the baby.”
“Her husband died several months ago.”
“Oh wow. That’s gotta suck for her. Sure hopes she makes it.”
“She will.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“She has to.”
“Are you sure you don’t have some kind of history with this woman?”
“Nope.”
“Oh . . . it’s just . . . you sound determined, like your mind’s made up.”
Did he? Was it? She’d know if he was. They had been close once.
“Like I said, she’s had a rough time of it in the past, and her kid needs a momma, right?” That’s all there was to it. “Thanks for the info, Janie. I appreciate it.” He drove on, tapping an old drum cadence from high school onto his steering wheel. The idea of spending the next week wondering about Cori’s condition sucked all the fun out of this vacation for him. Something he’d looked forward to several hours ago now held zero interest for him. Luke fought the strongest urge to turn his truck around and head back to Beaumont—or to be more precise, head straight for St. Elizabeth’s hospital. He didn’t, because, well . . . that would have been insanity, right? He’d be crazy to cancel this trip for someone he didn’t know. He’d paid for everything already, planned for months in advance. Surely, it was non-refundable.
He kept driving, but called the twenty-four hour hotline for his travel agency. Fifteen minutes later, he turned his truck around, satisfied that he hadn’t thrown thousands completely out the window. While they couldn’t refund the money, they could reschedule the vacation at a later date, adjusting the package as necessary. The agency had also taken care of his flight—note to self: always, always, always pay for the flight cancellation insurance. He remembered grumbling about it after his travel agent had talked him into it, but damn if it hadn’t paid off.
