2nd Cycle of the Harbinger Series Collection Read online

The baby kicked, hard. It hurt.

  No, it more than hurt.

  “Oh no,” Nicole moaned as Ruben helped her up.

  * * *

  Ruben struggled to keep Nicole upright as she gasped, holding her belly.

  “More Braxton Hicks contractions?” Ruben asked. They’d been through this a week before.

  Nicole shook her head. “No, I think this is the real thing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Nicole indicated down to the floor that was slick with amniotic fluid. Ruben’s partner had broken her water.

  For a moment, he couldn’t comprehend what was happening. They were supposed to be identifying Kent’s body. How quickly circumstances had changed.

  Nicole was giving birth.

  He had dreamed of this moment so many times, it seemed surreal now that it was happening. Of course, in those dreams, the baby was Ruben’s but right now it didn’t seem to matter.

  Nicole groaned, hunching over, biting her lip.

  “I better call an ambulance,” Joshua suggested.

  “I don’t think…” Nicole puffed. “The contractions are right on top of each other.”

  The shock of Kent’s identification must have jump-started her labor.

  Ruben scooped Nicole up from the ground. “I’ll take her. Call ahead to the hospital and have them page her doctor.”

  “Who is?” Joshua asked.

  Damn it. If Ruben had been the father, he would have known that.

  “Dr. Hitchens,” Nicole croaked out, her neck muscles bunched together as she strained in labor.

  Ruben didn’t bother to make sure that Joshua did as asked. If there was anyone as devoted to Nicole as Ruben was, it was Joshua. They were talking about Kent’s baby after all. Joshua had probably sworn some kind of blood fidelity to the child already.

  Backing into the door, Ruben pushed it open with his behind, then ran down the hallway, clutching Nicole to his body, trying to protect her from the impact. Although that seemed to be the least of her problems.

  He’d seen women in labor before. You couldn’t do this job for long without running into at least one woman about to give birth.

  But this was different. It was as if he could feel each and every one of her contractions himself. Her belly writhed against his chest. Her screams beat against his neck.

  The outer doors whooshed open as he ran full speed to the car. Ruben fumbled with the keys to unlock the car door. He lay Nicole down then rushed to get into the driver’s seat.

  With lights and sirens blaring, he rushed to the hospital. No ambulance could have gotten there quicker.

  Nicole gritted her teeth. “I am not having this baby in the backseat of your car.”

  Ruben certainly hoped not. He loved Nicole and all and would raise Kent’s baby as his own, but this was a fairly new car and those were leather seats back there.

  * * *

  Nicole screamed out loud. She didn’t bother to try and mute it at all as they drove into the hospital’s ambulance bay.

  They were met by a few nurses manning a gurney. Ruben squealed to a stop. Then there were hands, so many hands she couldn’t tell who they belonged to, helping her out of the car and onto the gurney.

  Her position mattered little as the contractions came one after another with barely enough time for her to catch her breath. And she knew what they were going to say. It was too late for an epidural. She was going to feel each and every one of these contractions until she finally pushed her bouncing little boy out of her body.

  Halfway down the curtain-lined ER room, Dr. Hitchens ran up. “What happened?”

  No one answered, since it seemed pretty self-evident.

  He trotted next to her gurney. “How long has she been in labor?”

  Ruben looked to his watch. “I don’t know. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

  The doctor looked horrified. “There’s no way she’s this far along in that amount of time.”

  Nicole clutched her belly as they wheeled her into the elevator. Ruben pulled the doctor off to the side, but Nicole could still hear every word.

  “She just lost her husband,” Ruben reported.

  “Kent? Kent is dead?” the doctor asked rather loudly.

  Ruben nodded. “And she just identified his body.”

  “Oh my…”The doctor looked to her. “Well, we better get ready for this baby to come then.”

  “Great idea,” Nicole hissed through her teeth.

  * * *

  Ruben was fairly certain that he would never regain full neurological function in his right hand again. Nicole had claimed it as her own, squeezing it with every contraction. Which was pretty much every few seconds.

  They were set up in the birthing room. There were as many machines as there were people.

  What had seemed like an imminent birth had slowed a bit. The doctor was predicting the boy would come within the hour.

  Ruben glanced to the baby’s monitor. His heart rate was nice and fast and steady. He seemed to be doing great. His mother, however, not so much. Between contractions, she’d sob hysterically. Nicole was inconsolable.

  He’d never seen her like this. Then again he’d never seen her right after her husband’s death, delivering her baby.

  The doctor was trying to coax her out of her crying, but not even he could talk her out of it.

  The nurses wet her forehead, stroking her hair, but still she cried.

  It sounded as if her soul had been cracked in two.

  Ruben had known she’d loved Kent, for whatever strange reason, but he never knew she cared this much for the profiler.

  He almost felt bad for all the times he’d thought Nicole married Kent out of pity. Apparently he didn’t understand their relationship at all.

  Suddenly the baby’s monitor flashed an alarm. His heart rate was dropping.

  “Push!” the doctor shouted, but Nicole was too busy hiccupping to put out the effort.

  It was Ruben’s turn to squeeze Nicole’s hand. “Nikki, the baby needs you.”

  He knew that was the only concept that could penetrate Nicole’s grief stricken mind.

  “Kent’s baby needs you.”

  Nicole swallowed twice, nodding. She pushed herself up further onto the bed then bore down.

  His partner threw her head back, screaming to the heavens.

  Ruben only hoped that someone heard her.

  * * *

  Nicole didn’t know this level of pain existed. Physically or emotional. Thank God her body knew what to do. Kent had promised to be here. Bastard. He’d gone and gotten killed just before their baby was due.

  Everyone was still yelling and the alarms were going off. The baby was in distress. Kent’s baby. The thought of losing her son on the same day of her husband petrified her.

  But she couldn’t allow herself to go numb. Her baby needed her.

  She pushed again, even though the pain felt like it might tear her soul from her body.

  Then there was a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find a doctor in full blue scrubs and a facemask. His eyes smiled at her. Relief washed over her. He didn’t say a word, but she knew what he meant.

  “Everything is going to be fine. You and the baby are going to be fine.”

  She didn’t know why she believed the doctor’s eyes. Maybe because they looked a lot like Kent’s. She wasn’t even sure if the doctor was real or if her torn mind had invented him.

  Did it matter?

  As the alarms shrieked loudly, Nicole gripped whoever’s hands she was holding and pushed as hard as her body would allow her.

  Then the wail of a baby’s cry.

  Her son.

  His first breath of life.

  She’d done it.

  She’d given birth to Kent’s son. At least now she would always have a part of her husband.

  CHAPTER 2

  The last three days had been a blur. Ever since the birth of the little Harbinger, Nicole hadn’t decided on a name yet, life as Ruben had
known it was over.

  Thank goodness Nicole’s father had shown up. He’d missed his grandson’s birth by about five hours. He’d brought Nicole’s little brother, Peter, as well. They were primarily holding down the home front.

  Ruben was the designated errand boy and there were errands galore. The Harbingers hadn’t been expecting the baby for another few weeks and in typical fashion, had left a lot to the last minute.

  Let’s just say Ruben was now intimately familiar with the layout of the local BabiesRUs. It was pretty amazing the sheer amount of products you needed for a little seven pound human.

  But right now, he was on a more somber task. Ruben had volunteered to make the arrangements for Kent’s funeral. If there was anyone prepared to put Kent into the ground, it was Ruben.

  But even that hadn’t been as straightforward as it could have been. The FBI and CIA had sent their own representatives to go over the proceedings. It was crazy. There was going to be an honor guard. The Chaplin of the Army was going to officiate. Not just any chaplain of the Army, but the Chaplain.

  In the hustle and bustle of every day life, it was hard to remember that Kent was connected. Internationally. The Prime Minister of England had sent a card of condolence. The New York Philharmonic wanted to send a small quartet to provide the music for the service.

  Kent had always bragged he had been asked to consult for presidents and kings. Turned out, it wasn’t just hot air. The profiler really had friends in really high places.

  So instead of a funeral, Ruben was left to the task of organizing an international day of Kent worship.

  For joy.

  No matter how he felt, Ruben had taken this on and would see it to its fruition.

  Now he was heading to the funeral home. He’d gotten some kind of emergency 911 text from the home’s director. What could be 911 at a funeral home? All of their charges were dead after all.

  Ruben had tried to call several times, however no one picked up the phone. Service these days.

  He drove into the parking lot. There was only a single car. So much for a 911. Ruben scrolled through his phone’s notepad to find all of Nicole’s preferences for the funeral. They may actually have to move the funeral to a new venue with the RSVPs rolling in.

  Even in death, Kent could cause quite a stir.

  The front door to the funeral home was open so Ruben entered. There were three doors that led from the foyer. He knew that the one to the left was the “showroom” and the other two led to viewing rooms.

  He took the door to the left. Still no one.

  “Hello?” Ruben called out.

  Was that a squeak? Even though he had no real reason to be worried, his hand still went to his gun. Kent, after all, had been stabbed in the back. The vaulted profiler had fallen. Ruben wasn’t taking any chances.

  A figure hurried out from a door in the back of the room.

  “Hold it right there,” Ruben ordered.

  The disheveled man looked up, saw the gun and stumbled to a halt. His arms flew up in the air. “It’s me. Mr. Bannish.”

  Mr. Bannish? The owner of the funeral parlor? Two days ago the man had been in a pristine starched and ironed dark suit, his hair slicked back and his shirt buttoned down.

  Now? His hair was two inches short of Albert Einstein. And was he wearing flannel pajamas?

  Ruben lowered his gun. No matter his attire and state of his hair, the man was in fact Mr. Bannish.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You see…you see…” the man rambled.

  Ruben put his hand up. “Start at the beginning.”

  The man took a shuddering sigh and plopped down in one of the satin-seated chairs.

  “The body came in last night…”

  “And?”

  “And the night man signed for the body. He didn’t look in the bag…”

  Ruben usually prided himself on his patience, but this guy was really pulling it like taffy.

  “And?”

  “So our make-up specialist came in this morning to prepare the body and he found...”

  “What?”

  Another deep, deep sigh. “You have to understand, we’ve never had anything like this happen before, and it is really the morgue’s fault. If you are going to sue, sue them.”

  “For what?” Ruben barked. The man jumped, clutching his hands together. Ruben felt mildly bad about leaning on the frail man, but come on.

  “The body that was delivered was a female.”

  “A woman? Not Kent?”

  The man’s head bobbled up and down, up and down.

  “Then where is Kent?”

  “You should call the morgue…”

  “No, I’m asking you.”

  It was clear the funeral director knew what had happened to Kent’s body, he just didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.

  “The body was released yesterday to another establishment and was…cremated.”

  Ruben rubbed his face with both hands. Nicole was going to go ape-shit, pardon his French. The Ambassador from France was going to throw a hissy fit. Ruben wouldn’t be surprised if he got a call from the Queen of England at this point.

  “How could this happen?”

  “Like I said, you’ve got to talk to the morgue. Our only error was not confirming the identity of the body that was delivered last night... but by then Kent was already…well…gone.”

  Ruben was pissed, but the director was right. This wasn’t on him.

  “Fine. I’ll contact you later this afternoon to discuss how to move forward.”

  The man just nodded again and again. Probably happy just to have Ruben out of his funeral home.

  Turning on his heel, Ruben headed back out to his car.

  Now to inform Nicole.

  He seriously wondered if, maybe, he shouldn’t wear body armor.

  * * *

  Nicole sat in bed, propped up on a half-a-dozen feather pillows. Ruben really had outdone himself. Her son was nursing comfortably in her arms. Well, comfortably for him, not so much for her.

  She really didn’t think that her boobs could hurt this much, but they did. Already her nipples were raw from the baby’s suckling. And the pressure from the milk? Yikes. The baby nursed every three hours and she had to pump milk once in between feedings to keep from having a milkshake explosion.

  Oh, how Kent would have enjoyed this. He had been looking forward to lactation breasts the whole pregnancy.

  The thought made her start to cry. Again. She knew she needed to move on, for the baby. That crying changed the chemical composition of her milk. Or at least the hippy-touchy-feely websites said so.

  But she couldn’t think about Kent, in any way, without bursting into tears.

  Perversely, the only thing that made her stop crying was trying to solve Kent’s death.

  Carefully, so as not to bother the baby, Nicole leaned over and grabbed her laptop from the nightstand and pulled it onto the bed. She opened the lid and fired the sucker up.

  The window with Kent’s case popped up. It was the only thing she had been working on since her little boy’s birth. Her nameless boy’s birth.

  He was three days old and still no name.

  She just couldn’t bring herself to do it. To commit. It was one of the few things that Kent and she had argued about regarding the baby. She wanted to name him after her father. Nathan. Kent had wanted to name him Bruce, as in Bruce Wayne of Batman.

  There was no winning that argument while Kent was alive. Tears brimmed again. She felt if she moved forward and named the baby Nathan, that it would be slap in the face of Kent’s memory. And there was no way she was naming the poor child after Batman’s alter ego.

  So here her baby boy lay in her arms, unnamed.

  Tears threatened again, so she blinked rapidly, studying the screen. Not a lot had happened on the case since the original investigation.

  The evidence supported the conclusion that Kent had been surprised and stabbed in the back before he coul
d mount any kind of defense. There were no defensive wounds. No indication that Kent had tried to fight his attacker off. How could that be? Kent lived for brawls. Yet there was the report staring back at her.

  Which seemed insanely crazy. Kent surprised? Not mounting a defense? How many serial killers had he gone up against? And Kent wrote the book, literally, on peripheral sensory perception. The man might as well have had eyes in the back of his head.

  The knife that killed her husband appeared to be an average kitchen knife, which was not yet recovered.

  Now Nicole knew how victims’ families felt when days dragged on after a murder with no arrests.

  There had been no foreign fibers or DNA found on Kent’s body. No ATM/traffic cams nearby. No clue as to his killer.

  Their only lead, which was highly suspect, was that two nights before Kent’s murder a drug deal had gone wrong and a gangbanger was stabbed in the back. The wound impressions were similar to Kent’s.

  Of course, there had been no witnesses to that crime either, and the suspect in that drug murder had gone to ground.

  Kent, killed by a crackhead? Again, except for the fact that Kent was dead, the killing made absolutely no sense to her.

  A knock came at the door.

  Nicole slammed her laptop shut, jostling the baby. Luckily he was too busy enjoying his milk to care.

  Her father stepped into the room, moving very quietly for such a big man. “Sorry, honey,” he said in that voice that one only used around a newborn. “But you’ve got a visitor.”

  Nicole threw a blanket over her nursing son. “Send them in.”

  Her house had become Grand Central over the last three days. Everyone either coming to pay their respects or to visit the new baby. Or a combination of the two.

  She was a little surprised when her Captain walked in. What was Glick doing here?

  “Detective,” Glick said, bowing his head.

  “Captain,” Nicole answered, equally stiffly. “What’s going on?”

  Glick nodded toward Nicole’s laptop. “For a woman on maternity leave, you are hitting up our internal server more than the commissioner.”

  Stupid Joshua or Jimmi. One of them narced on her.

  “Just doing some reading while I’m breastfeeding the baby.”

  Glick gave a sympathetic smile. “How’s the little guy doing?”