Stirred

“Not go

The image of Phin with a stroller popped into my head. But rather than picture him in a park or at a shopping mall, my mind’s eye saw him pushing our baby into a bank, pulling a gun out of her diaper, and robbing the place. Phin was ten years my junior, and I’d first met him in a professional capacity, back when I used to be a cop. I’d arrested him. Though I believed he’d stayed on the right side of the law since knocking me up, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure of it.

The nurse called my name, and I heaved myself out of the uncomfortable plastic chair and waddled my way into one of the exam rooms, where I was ordered to disrobe. Phin had to help me with my shoes. I stripped down to my sports bra—uncomfortably tight—and an enormous pair of gra

A good-looking doctor came in through the curtain, holding a chart. “Mrs. Daniels?”

“Miss,” I said. I almost corrected him with Lieutenant, but that had been a long time ago.

“I’m Dr. Aguier. I’ve got the urinalysis results. Your protein level is at three hundred and sixty milligrams, and your creatinine clearance is dangerously high.”

Phin’s face tightened. “That’s worse than before.”

“Any headaches or blurred vision?” the doctor asked.

I squinted at Dr. Aguier, pretending not to see him. “Who said that?”

“She’s been having headaches,” Phin tattled. “And tingling in her hands and feet.”

“Any pain in the upper abdomen?”

“Even worse than the pain…” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I think I have something growing inside of me.”

“Jack, can you please be serious?” Phin had taken on a stern, almost parental tone. But I couldn’t be serious. If I were serious, I wouldn’t be able to hide how scared I truly felt.

“You’re at thirty-seven weeks,” the doctor said, glancing at the chart. “Has your primary care physician talked with you about inducing?”

“Yes,” Phin and I answered in unison. But I added, “I won’t do it.”

“Eclampsia is a life-threatening condition for both you and your baby. Have you had any seizures?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” Phin said.

I turned to him. “When?”

“Last night, while you were sleeping. You began to shake really bad.”

“It could have been another nightmare.”

“I’ve seen enough of your nightmares. This was something else. Your whole body locked, and you were…” He trailed off.

“I was what?”

“Your mouth was foaming, Jack. Scared the shit out of me. Lasted about twenty seconds. You slept right through it. One second longer and I would have called nine-one-one.”

Jesus.

Phin tugged out his phone again, glancing at the screen.

He began to walk away.

“Hey!” I called after him. “What is it?”

Phin stopped, and I saw a look on his face that was unfamiliar—fear. Not much scared Phin.

“What?” I demanded.

“It’s from Herb. He’s at a crime scene near the river.”

I knew where this was going, but I asked anyway.

“Luther?”

Phin nodded once. “He’s back.”

March 31, 9:30 A.M.

So much to do.

So very little time to do it.

But Luther is pleased.

After months—strike that—years of preparation, this is all coming together as smooth as smooth could be.

He stares at his iPhone.

So tempting to call.

To leave another clue. Another breadcrumb.

Getting her number had been child’s play. One of the many times he visited her house to watch her, he helped himself to her mail and copied down her cell phone number from a bill. Luther was pleased to discover Jack also had a monthly charge for a portable WiFi hotspot. It was such a smart idea, carrying the Internet around with you, that Luther bought one for himself.

His fingers hover above the keys, poised to text, but then he thinks better of it.

Later, Jack.

No point in rushing anything.

Gratification is so much better when delayed.

A tapping on the driver’s-side window pulls Luther’s attention away from his iPhone.

A traffic cop is twirling his finger, motioning for Luther to lower the window.

Luther’s breath catches in his chest.

If this cop sees what he has in the back of the van…

Luther rolls down the window, forcing his features to relax.

“Yes, Officer?”

“You can’t park here, buddy, unless you want a hundred-dollar ticket. It’s a loading zone.”

Luther’s finger eases up on the trigger of the Glock he holds down between the door and the seat. “No problem, I’ll move.”

The officer leans in closer. “Mind if I ask you a question, buddy?”

Luther’s finger again tightens on the trigger. “Sure.”

“How much did this Mercedes Sprinter set you back, man? It’s one sweet van.”

“About seventy-five grand.”

The cop edges in even closer, trying to peer into the darkness of the cargo area behind Luther.

“A friend of mine has one of these. Totally pimped out the back. Turned it into a little love mobile, if you know what I’m saying.”

Luther allows himself a small smile. He’s pimped this van out as well, but not for love.

“Yeah, I’ve made some modifications.”

For an excruciating second, he thinks the officer is going to ask for a tour.

“But it’s a real expensive vehicle,” Luther adds with a hint of condescension in his voice. “I’m not sure a civil servant could afford a ride like this.”

The cop’s face hardens.

“Move it along.”

“Have a nice day, Officer.”

As Luther shifts into drive, he sees the professor enter the building.

Goddamn it, now he’s going to have to pay for parking.

March 31, 9:30 A.M.

Against the tag-team protests of the doctor and my boyfriend, I dressed and got the hell out of there. Phin wasn’t pleased. He refused to let me use his phone so I could call Herb and also refused to give up the diaper bag, which had my cell in it. I stormed outside, a cool, needling drizzle forcing me to squint, but then Phin made an even bigger mistake: he grabbed my wrist to hold me back.

“Jack, I can’t let you go. You need to—”

I twisted my arm, breaking his hold, and then clamped onto his wrist and used momentum and leverage to put him in an armlock. He dropped to his knees, not because he was begging forgiveness, but because if he didn’t, his elbow would hyperextend.

Or maybe it was for forgiveness. Angry as I was, we both knew I wouldn’t hurt him.

“You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Phin. And you don’t try to physically restrain me. Ever. Are we clear?”

Phin stared up at me, his expression resembling a dog who’d been kicked. “In your condition—”

“Luther is probably the most dangerous psychopath I’ve ever met, and I’ve met more than my fair share. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life peering over my shoulder, waiting for him to make his move.”

“Let Herb handle it. He’s good.”

“I’m better.”

“I couldn’t take it if anything happened to you, Jack.” He reached up, put his palm on my belly. “To either of you.”