SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
SEPTEMBER 13
11:28 P.M.
Grace picked up Faroe’s phone, saw who it was, and switched on the scrambler before putting the phone on speaker. “Grace, here. Joe’s busy driving.”
“How bad can traffic be at this time of night?” Steele asked, his voice crisp.
“It’s not the traffic, it’s the fact that she’s having the baby!” Faroe said loudly. “Lane, how long since the last contraction?”
“Two minutes, twenty-eight seconds.” Lane’s voice was tight, deep. Like Faroe’s. “How you doing, Mom?”
“Will you both shut up?” Grace asked pleasantly. “I can’t hear the ambassador. And slow down unless you want a police escort.”
Steele’s surprisingly warm laughter came from the speaker. “I take it all is under control, Judge?”
“Yes, but you couldn’t tell by talking to my men. My doctor is on the way in to the hospital, the staff is ready, and apparently so is the baby. What do you need?”
“Jillian Breck just called for Joe.”
“What?” Lane said. “Is she all right? Is she hurt? Does—”
“Belt up, Lane,” Faroe said. He knew his son had a crush on Jill—what healthy young man wouldn’t?—but that wasn’t the point. “Where is she?”
“Mesquite, Nevada. Eureka Hotel. Room 435. Safe enough for the moment. She’s had a death threat.”
“Craptastic,” Faroe said, checking the intersection again as he accelerated through a yellow-going-red light. The Mercedes SUV gave a happy roar. “Never rains but it bloody pours.”
Grace started to say something, then shut up as her abdomen clamped down back to front, hard and long, pushing the baby closer to the moment of birth.
“Time,” she said to Lane between her teeth.
“Oh, god,” Lane said, his voice thinning. “They’re coming too close!”
Grace felt the same way herself. This baby was in one big hurry. She knew that for most women a second baby came faster than the first, but with a sixteen-year-gap between pregnancies, she hadn’t expected the rule to apply to her.
“Zach Balfour is our closest free operative,” Steele said. “Until we know the exact nature of the threat, we’re going with an intelligent bullet catcher.”
Faroe grunted. “Good. I like Zach’s style. But the last time I talked to him, he was packing for a vacation. He change his mind?”
“No, I did. He was about forty miles from Mesquite, Nevada, heading south in the morning. Now he’s heading north.”
“Works for me.”
“I doubt if it worked for him,” Steele said dryly, “but he’s on the way to Ms. Breck just the same.”
Faroe almost smiled. “Did you get him out of bed?”
“He’s recovering from babysitting DeeDee Breitling.”
“Jesus. Give him double pay. Whatever. Just get him to Jill fast.”
“I’ve seen the man drive,” Steele said. “He’ll be there fast.”
Faroe slowed for another red light, scanned the intersection, gunned through it without stopping, and turned hard right. “We’re almost at the emergency entrance to the hospital. Give me Jill’s hotel phone. I’ll call while they’re checking Grace in.”
“I could call her and—” Lane began.
“Time contractions!” Faroe and Grace said together.
Steele said Jill’s number in a loud, precise voice.
“How long was that contraction?” Faroe asked, never looking away from the hospital rushing toward him.
“Not—done—yet,” she said in a strained voice.
“Bloody hell,” Steele said. “I’ll talk to Jillian myself.”
“No,” Faroe said, leaning on the SUV’s horn, summoning the emergency staff as he braked gently to a stop by the wide glass doors. “I owe her. This op is on me.”
“It’s on St. Kilda. I have plans for Lane,” Steele shot back. “Now, just for the novelty of the experience, be reasonable. Grace needs you more than—”
“I can talk to Jill and tell Grace to push at the same time,” Faroe cut in.
“You do and you’ll need a surgeon to remove the phone from your ass,” she shot back.
Steele almost laughed out loud.
Faroe did. “That’s the delicate little flower I know and love. And here comes the med team. I’ll call Jill.”
He hung up, looked at Lane and the people hurrying close, and said, “Help your mother and answer their questions while I talk to Jill.”
“Will do.”
Faroe didn’t answer. He was already punching in Jill’s hotel number.