Stella

“This your first child?” The doctor’s an older man, white-haired and jocular. Reminds me of my great-grandfather, a little.

“First, yeah.” My teeth are chattering—it’s cold in here, and the hospital gown isn’t helping. Neither’s the ultrasound wand—what’d he do, dip it in ice?—to say nothing of my jangling nerves. It’s all catching up to me, at the worst possible moment, and I need to get a grip.

“The first’s always an adventure. I’ve got six, myself. Can’t count the times me and the wife wound up right where you are now—and I’m a doctor.” He moves the wand into position. “There we go. That’s the worst over with.”

The worst, right. Unless it’s bad news. I force a watery smile of my own, but I’m one huge knot of nerves, shivering and exposed. At least there wasn’t much of a line: apart from some old guy cradling a wailing toddler, I walked into an empty ER.

“And there’s your baby.” He nods at the monitor. “About six, seven weeks; everything looks great so far. Got a heartbeat, right...there.”

It doesn’t look like much, but I can make out the pulse, tiny and regular, thumping away. “And it’s fine? No problem, no... It’s really fine?”

“Looks like a healthy pregnancy.” He nods, peering at the screen. “A little cramping’s normal in the first trimester. Your insides have to do some rearranging, to accommodate that baby—that can definitely cramp a little. Plus, you mentioned some caffeine?”

I flush, embarrassed. “A Dr. Pepper, yeah.” My own heartbeat’s finally slowing. “I think it might’ve been that. All the water you had me drinking for the ultrasound, it actually kind of helped. Barely hurts anymore.”

“Well. There you go. Might want to take it easy for a day or two, but this is a good start.”

He drones on, but I’m hardly listening. I can breathe again. My eyes sting, and I laugh out loud as the relief bubbles up in my chest. It finally feels real, all of it, and I’ve never wanted anything more.

“Hey, it’s all right—you’re both fine. There’s a lot of surprises with the first one, but don’t worry: most of them are good.”

“I’ve never been big on surprises.” I rearrange my gown over my thighs and sit up. “Thank you, though. I’m glad I came in. Needed to see that.” Jack would’ve appreciated it, too, nosy bastard that he is. He’d have jumped at the chance to peek inside me. A gleam of anticipation sparks to life at the thought: he’ll be here for the next one. And every milestone after that, if all goes according to plan.

By the time I’m dressed and on my way, loaded down with pamphlets and prenatal vitamins, I feel like myself again. I’ve survived my first new-mother crisis, and with any luck, Jack’ll be waiting when I get back. He’ll be pleased to hear the baby’s healthy, strong as a horse in there.

“Keep your eyes forward and get in the car.”

I stumble to a halt. Something hard and snub-nosed digs into my back, prodding, urging me on. There’s a limo in front of me, door yawning wide.

“Katrina? I know that’s you.”

“Then you know I mean business. Get in.”

There are people here—a man in salmon scrubs throwing bags in his trunk; two nurses chatting by the loading bay. An ambulance pulls up just beyond them, siren dying down. This is my chance.

“Scream, and I’ll shoot you right here. We’ll be gone before your corpse hits the ground.”

“I’m dead anyway, if I get in there.”

She shoulders me in the back, sending me careening toward the car. “Maybe, but not right away.” Another push, and I’m tripping over my sore ankle, barking my knee on the doorframe. I grip the roof two-handed and shove with all my might, but Katrina’s taller, heavier, with gravity on her side. I squirm and kick, twisting instinctively to bite at her wrist.

There’s a sudden yank from below. Someone’s in the back seat, dragging me by the lapels. I kick out and something crunches, a ghastly, wet sound. There’s a low grunt, and a hard thump below my ribs. The breath whooshes out of me. I drop my hands to protect my belly, and just like that, it’s over. My arms flail, my knees buckle, and I sprawl across somebody’s lap.

“Got her.”

I strain to turn my head. It’s Magnus—I’d known his voice anywhere. But I need to see his face, know I bloodied him for this. He grabs me by the hair and rubs my nose in the leather. The chemical stench of new upholstery sets me gagging.

“Hold still, if you don’t want to suffocate.”

The front door slams and Katrina peels out. Got to keep my head, focus on...on everything. Anything that might help me. I listen to the traffic, but it’s not like in the movies. There are no tunnels, no bridges, no patches of bumpy road—nothing I can identify, tie to a landmark. Time stopped making sense the second my face hit the seat. I count a left turn, a right, and another left, but none of it means anything. I don’t know this neighborhood.

When the acoustics finally change, we’re in a parking garage, not a tunnel. I’m bundled out of the limo and into a pitch-black stairwell. Magnus sets a punishing pace, urging me on, floor after floor, gun at my back. Katrina follows with a flashlight. A hopeless feeling settles into my gut: this place is deserted. The garage was a great empty cavern, and it’s quiet—too quiet. Even the street sounds are sparse, like there’s nothing around.

Emerging into the chill of the penthouse, it all makes sense: this building’s under construction. Bare concrete walls give way to a dizzying drop where picture windows should be. Plastic sheeting snaps and rustles in the wind. I could scream forever up here, and that same wind would carry it away.

“Sit down.” Magnus gives me a shove.

I sway on my feet. There’s nowhere to sit.

“I said, sit!”

A furious response boils up—I’m not a dog!—and I clamp my teeth on it. Some things aren’t worth fighting over. I put my back to the wall farthest from those empty windows and slide down.

“Where’s Jack?”

“No idea.” He could be anywhere by now: the hospital, the hotel, on his way here—maybe he followed us. Maybe he’s outside, even now, waiting to make his move.

Katrina crouches over me, leaning into my space. “Look, you’re going to tell us what you know. Could be now, could be later, but the more you draw it out, the worse it gets for you.” She hugs herself, rubbing her arms. “Brr—this weather! What do you weigh, one-ten, one-fifteen? Aren’t you freezing?”

I’m a goddamn ice cube. “I’m fine.”

“Got a long night ahead of you. Maybe you can burn that jacket... Think you can strike a spark?”

Magnus huffs. “We shut down your blog half an hour ago.” He says blog like it’s a dirty word, something to spit on the floor. “Might as well give it up: What do you have?”

Laughter threatens to break loose. What do we have? Jack’s hunch, my guesswork—and now, Magnus’s own admission there’s something to have. I turn away and say nothing.

“Better if we work together on this.” The wind picks up. Magnus strolls to the open balcony and kicks a chunk of concrete off the side. I don’t hear it land. “I guarantee you, if we go down, Jack goes down. Don’t forget: we know where the bodies are buried.”

The bodies. Right. “Think they’re still there?”

He whirls, eyes boring into me. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, it’s a desert. It’s made of sand. Things move around. Get unearthed. Carried off by—what do they have over there? Jackals? Vultures?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Katrina gets to her feet. “Bodies or no bodies, it’s three against one. We’ll swear he knew from the start. Masterminded it, even. Think about it: these two snatched their slice of the pie and sat on it. Your boyfriend built an empire. Who’s the Machiavelli of the bunch?”

“You are.” A nasty mix of fear and anger spurs me on. “Flying under the radar, all this time—so sneaky, even Jack had no idea you were involved. You still think you’ll slink off into the night, don’t you? If all this goes south?”

Katrina lunges. My sidelong dive’s just quick enough to deflect her kick to the meat of my thigh.

“Or maybe it’s you! Swoop in like some slutty seagull, fly off with whatever you want? That your game?” She goes for another kick. I roll over, catching it in the back this time.

Magnus sniffs and wipes at his bloody nose. “This is getting us nowhere. C’mon. Let’s get Erik. Couple of hours in the cold ought to soften her up.”

Or harden me into an icicle.... I gather my knees to my chest, trying to fit as much of myself as possible under my coat. Jack will come. Or I’ll find a way out. At the very least, this is a construction site. There’s got to be something—a level, a crowbar, a nail gun—something with lethal potential.

I wait till I can’t hear footsteps and scramble upright.