Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(19)

“Their forensic evidence may lead us to the killer,” David commented in his agreeable way. He was like that, always willing to see both sides to keep the peace.

Harley snorted. “I don’t believe a word of it. The only way we’ll know what happened is to get on that rooftop ourselves.”

“It will take time. The Bureau cordoned it off as a crime scene.” David sighed.

“So? What’s the plan then? Sit on our thumbs while—”

“The plan is that we do our job. We go over the evidence as soon as we can and we find the truth,” Mark interrupted. “Have you heard from Judy yet?”

“Ah, yeah.” Harley glanced at the pager on his belt. “She buzzed me a while ago, but—”

“She buzzed you? And you’re still here? Go home.”

“Nah. She said her water broke. It’s no big deal. She’s got plenty of time, and—”

“Get your dumb ass out of here, Mortimer. I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

“But I wanted to see if the FBI...” Harley brushed a hand over his head and headed out the door. “Okay. I give. You’ll call me if anything breaks?”

“Something’s already broken. She’s in labor, for hell’s sake. You don’t work here right now. Get her to the hospital.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’re an ass, Mortimer. Judy needs you more than we do. Get the sonofabitchin’ hell out of here.”

The door shut quietly behind Harley.

David shook his head. “He needs help.”

Mark stared at the closed door. “No. He needs Judy.”




“Don’t say one word to me, Mortimer,” Judy warned.

How could he? She clenched Harley’s hand as if she meant to snap it off at his wrist. A woman in labor had some awful powerful strength, especially under the influence of one breath-stealing contraction after another. It didn’t help she was mad when he showed up. Spitting mad.

She yanked his face down to her nose, her teeth grinding. “This is all your fault.”


“Yes, ma’am, it is, b... b—”

“Don’t call me ma’am!” Her face morphed into a sweaty Halloween mask that in no way resembled the joys of motherhood. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she whined in a throaty, threatening kind of way he’d never once heard before.

Birthing rooms weren’t his area of expertise, although it felt a lot like a warzone now that he thought about it. The panting woman digging her fingernails into the flesh on the back of his hand did remind him a few hand-to-hand combat scenarios he’d lived through. She grunted the same way his opponents had, only she looked deadlier than any insurgent he’d ever encountered. Maybe the United States Army ought to drop a few women in labor on the Islamic terrorists. That would teach ’em.

Even the kind professional words from the delivery nurse at his elbow didn’t soothe the savage beast crushing his fingers. “You’re doing fine, Judy. Take a deep breath. Remember how we practiced.”

“How we practiced? I don’t remember you being there, either!”

Harley cringed. Those words were meant for him. He eased his fingers from his wife’s grip, but he didn’t escape her wrath. She glared at him with the malevolent eyes of a wolverine caught in a trap, ready to chew its leg off and attack anything that moved. “You and your damned job! You’re never home.”

“I know, darlin’, and I promise—”

“Oh, shut up! You know I don’t mean it. Arghhh!”

Another contraction stole the nasty words right out of her mouth, and Harley hoped, out of her mind. Since he’d left the office and shown up at the hospital barely two minutes after she’d arrived all by herself—just two minutes, mind you—she hadn’t said one nice word to him or to anyone else.

The strength of this woman was fierce. He’d no sooner leaned in for his customary hello darlin’ kiss when she’d pinched his lower lip, pulled him down to her nose and shrieked in no uncertain words, “YOU’RE LATE!”

From that split second on, he tried not to say anything, and he was pretty sure his lip was bleeding.

His cell phone sent out a barrage of flute tones. Mother. Great. She probably just wanted to know if the babies were born yet. He scooted the noisy thing out of his tight jeans pocket, and—

Oh, shit. If looks could kill...

Judy glared at him like one of Charlie Manson’s girlfriends, her left lip lifted and baring teeth. “So help me, Mortimer, if you answer that phone, I’ll get off this bed and kick your ass. God, I feel bad about what happened to Alex. I’m sorry about Kelsey, but I need you to focus for once in your life. I need you in this room with me. Here! Now! Do you hear me?”

He shoved the phone back in his pocket, nodding as fast as his head could bob. Yes, ma’am, I am so focused right now.

“Okay. That’s better. One breath per second.”

The cheerful nurse seemed unflappable. Harley on the other hand was close to passing out. He hadn’t eaten or slept in days, and here he was in the middle of a different kind of hell again. What he’d thought would take minutes had stretched into hours while Judy grunted, cursed, and sweated through the—get this—joys of natural childbirth.