Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) (50 page)

The sunroom door eased shut and Russell placed long-handled tongs he was using on a plate as he wandered through.

“When did you set the table?” she asked.

“While you were at the store.”

“It’s lovely. But we’ll probably have twice as many people, and they’ll end up eating in the living room and sun room, too,” she commented.

“Well, it’ll be nice until they get here,” Russell said, with a smile.

Clara turned to wrap her arms around his waist and press close. “I wish he’d been mine, Russell.”

“I do, too.” He laid his cheek against her hair. “Gloria and Carl have gotten exactly what they deserved. He’s filed bankruptcy and his lawyers have dropped him. He’ll eventually go to jail. She’ll probably divorce him before that happens and try and save whatever she can.”

She didn’t want to say she was glad for Gloria’s misfortune, but she felt justice had been served. The woman’s social standing and money had been stripped from her.

“You did a beautiful job on the table.” Clara touched one of the paper swans. “I was thinking maybe June would be a good time for a wedding. Nothing really elaborate, just the family, a few friends, and us.”

Russell tipped her face up to him, and kissed her. His hazel eyes searched her face. “You wanted to wait until Hawk was home, and he will be in just a few minutes. I want a date, Clara, not just a month. Because we’re going to have a honeymoon and that takes a little planning.”

The thought of a honeymoon brought a flush to her cheeks. Almost fifty-six years old and the thought of having married sex with him gave her a hot flash.

The phone rang. “How about the third Monday in June. It’s cheaper to fly during the week, if we fly somewhere.” She pulled away. With people coming, it might be someone checking to see if Zoe and Hawk had arrived.

“I’m holding you to that,” Russell said.

Clara answered the phone, and Brett’s voice came over the line. “Mom, Zoe and Hawk have gone to the hospital.”

***

Yasin closed and locked the front door behind him. He had searched a section of Baghdad north of their home. Every boy they passed on the streets he thought was Sanjay. After nearly four months of searching, he had yet to find him.

Had they done something to him during the month they’d held him for questioning? Had they threatened him? Why had he left them again?

The house lay quiet around him. Levla spent much time in Amira’s room keeping vigil over the only child they had left. With Tabarek dead in America, and after so many months, he was confident his threats were forgotten, but Levla still watched over their daughter.

He went into the kitchen and found a plate wrapped in a towel. The evening meal had long since passed, but Levla always left him a plate for when he returned. He sat down at the dining room table and began to eat the roasted lamb wrapped in flat bread, but the food had no taste and he pushed the plate away.

When a knock came at the front door, he rose to look out one of the windows. Two men stood beneath the awning. They each held a large flashlight and wore the desert cammies of the American military. Yasin cracked the door and looked out.

“Yasin al-Yussuf?” One of the men asked.

“Yes.”

“We would like to speak to you about your son.”

Yasin’s heart leapt with hope. “Have you found him?”

“No, sir. We were unaware he was missing again.”

“He left about a week after the Iraqi army released him.” This time he had taken his possessions. Some of his clothing and the MP3 player he had gotten him from one of the soldiers.

“I’m sorry, sir.” The man sounded sincere in his sympathy. “May we come in and speak with you?”

Yasin studied them. “I would like to see your identification.”

“Certainly, sir.” The two men handed him their military identification. He looked over the laminated cards. The dark haired one was Rice and the other Austen. Both were Naval investigators. 

Yasin returned their cards, and, opening the door, motioned them in. He led the way to the formal living room where he and Levla had talked of Sanjay’s disappearance with the American journalist.

He motioned for them to have a seat.

“We are here to ask you some questions about Sanjay’s disappearance before. During that time, did you have contact with him at all?” Agent Rice spoke, while Austen sat studying his home and him. What did the man see, but a man? A man broken by loss. His son was gone. His wife, obsessed by the fear of losing their remaining child, had turned away from him. Amira, his daughter was the only one who still spoke to him, still showed him affection.

“No. We had not spoken to him until he was returned to Baghdad by the Navy SEALs who rescued him.”

“Mr. al-Yussuf, do you have a cell phone?”

“Yes.”

“May I see it, sir?”

“Certainly.”

Yasin rose to remove the phone from his belt and hand it to him.

“This is the only one you have, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Might I write down the number, sir?”

“Certainly.” Rice removed a small notebook from his pocket and wrote the number down. Then handed it back to him.

“We have discovered that calls made from America came to a phone close to your location. We’ve been able to trace it to a cell tower nearby. Do you know a man named Tabarek Moussa?”

Yasin had been waiting months for someone to come to him with questions. “No. I do not know that name.”

Rice mentioned three other names that truly were unknown to him.

“No, I do not know those men.”

“We know you have done business with the American military units and that is not a popular thing to do in this area.”

“But it brings money to those who need it.”

“Are you aware of anyone who would have had a reason to direct al-Qaeda to your son in order to hurt you?”

Was that what had happened? Had his son been targeted in order to punish him? His throat hurt. Why had he not thought of that? “I know of no one.”

After a few more minutes, the men rose to leave and Yasin showed them to the door.

“Thank you for allowing us into your home, sir.” Rice said. “Have a good evening.”

Yasin closed the door and locked it once more. The Americans did not suspect him. With the phone destroyed, there was no connection between him and Tabarek. He turned from the door. Amira stood in the hallway. Her dark eyes held a question.

“You did not tell them of the phone you hit with the hammer,” she said.

“That was long ago, Amira.”

She continued to stare at him for a long moment. “You spoke to one of those men on the phone. I heard you. You said his name.”

Yasin’s heart plunged.

“It is your fault Sanjay is gone, Baba.” The conviction in her face, in her voice, pierced him like a knife.

“No.”

“Yes, it is.” As he read the sadness in her face, so much a mirror of her mother’s, he stepped toward her to explain his mistake, to beg her not to look at him with such disillusionment. She was all he had left.

 Amira turned and walked away from him.

The silence of the house settled around him.

***

Hawk and the doctor stood outside the labor room door. “This isn’t normal, is it?” Hawk asked. “I read about labor and delivery while I was in Iraq, but nothing I looked at said anything about this.”

Dr. Lester, a woman of about fifty, seemed friendly and competent. “It’s called a precipitous labor and it’s a complication we didn’t expect for Zoe, since this is her first child. It’s a frightening and intense situation for a first time mother,” she explained.

Well it hadn’t been too great for him, either. He was sweating, and though they’d made it to the hospital and were surrounded by medical help, his heart kept up a pace just short of a gallop. His legs shook as though he’d run a five-mile race.

“The nurse will bring you a paper gown in a moment. You’ll have to hurry and put it on if you want to stay with Zoe while she delivers.”

“I’m staying,” Hawk said. His insides twisted with fear at the idea, but he was sticking it out. Seeing her in such pain—Jesus. He hadn’t been prepared for that. He’d thought he was going to lose her. And it wasn’t over yet.

“We’re taking her to a delivery room instead of allowing her to stay here in the labor room and deliver.”

He nodded. Did that mean they were worried about complications?
Oh God, don’t let anything happen to her.
He should be thinking of the baby, too, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Zoe had to be okay.

Hawk forced himself back into the room. They’d made him leave while they prepped her. The lights overhead glared and stung his eyes.

“I have to push. You have to let me push,” Zoe begged from behind the curtain.

Jesus. He couldn’t take this. It was torture hearing her hurt like this.

The nurse thrust a paper gown, at him. “Get a move on, Papa. This baby wants to come
now.
”

Hawk shook the garment out and put it on the best he could. He shucked his boots and put the booties on over his socks.

Another nurse jerked the curtain back and started pushing the bed out of the room. Hawk fell in beside Zoe and covered her hand with his as she gripped the bars.

Her cry of pain as she fought the contraction kicked his fear up a notch. God, he’d rather be facing down armed terrorists than see her like this.

They shoved through a door into a room all white walls, steel tables, and large lights. When the nurses asked Zoe to slide over on the table, he went around the delivery table and lifted her onto it.

“Hold me Hawk. Please hold me,” she begged.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He raised her, wrapped his arms around her above her belly, and held her back against his chest as they pulled out the stirrups, positioned her feet, and covered her with a sheet. He had never been more aware of Zoe’s vulnerability. The scars on her legs stood out stark white. He wanted to cover her, protect her from the other people in the room.

The doctor finally appeared, gowned and gloved. She scooted the stool close to the end of the table.

“I’m going to do an episiotomy, Zoe. This is a big baby, and we don’t want you to tear.” The nurse handed the doctor a syringe.

Nausea struck Hawk. His baby was going to tear her. It was his fault they were here. His fault she was hurting. They were never going to have sex again without a condom. He’d see to it.

“You’re fully dilated and can push with the next contraction, Zoe,” the doctor said.

Every muscle in Zoe’s body seemed to tighten as she pushed. Each time she bore down, he caught himself holding his breath along with her. He’d never felt so useless in his life, so he changed tactics, adding his encouragement to the nurses’. And with every push, he prayed for it to be over. Twenty minutes later, he understood what the word labor truly meant.

“The head’s out. I see dark hair, just like papa’s.” The doctor smiled up at Hawk.

He couldn’t return the gesture. If it had taken her this long to deliver the baby’s head—What if she couldn’t do the rest? Damn, this had to end.

“Really big push, Zoe.” Dr. Lester encouraged.

“I’m so tired,” Zoe said. He could feel her panting for breath, could see her red cheeks and the sweat-darkened hair clinging to her face.

“We’re almost there, Zoe,” Hawk said, against her ear. “One more big one and you’ll be done. Just one more and it’ll be over.”

She caught her breath, and Hawk laid his hand on her belly, putting steady pressure against the muscles, giving her something to push against. He felt the baby leave her body the moment it happened. Tears of relief burned his eyes and he blinked.

Thank you, Jesus.

“It’s a boy.” Dr. Lester said. She suctioned the baby’s nose and mouth and he let out a high-pitched squeal of protest. She lifted the baby, wrapped in a disposable chub, onto Zoe’s stomach. Hawk slipped from behind her to allow her to lie down. He placed a protective hand against the wrapper, holding the baby in place. His son. His hands were fisted and waved in the air. His tiny, features swollen from the ordeal, crumpled, and he began to cry as though someone had pinched him. Every finger and toe was exactly where it was supposed to be.

“Would you like to cut the cord, Lieutenant?” the doctor asked.

“Uh—” He shook his head. “No.”

The nurse whisked the baby away as soon as the cord was cut.

Hawk focused on Zoe. She cheeks were still flushed, her eyes swollen, and her hair lay in a tangled mess about her shoulders, but she’d never looked more beautiful to him.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

“He’s fine, he’s perfect.” He bent to kiss her forehead, her cheek, then her lips. “I’m sorry you had to go through this, Zoe. I’m sorry I wasn’t here with you.”

“You’re here now. And I couldn’t have done it without you. I knew as long as you were holding me, we’d be okay.”

Humbled by such trust, Hawk’s eyes blurred with tears. He pressed his face against her breast and felt her fingers run through his hair.

“We have to clean you up a little, Zoe,” Dr. Lester said.

Hawk straightened and found a nurse standing beside him with the bundled baby. “Here, papa. You can hold your son while Dr. Lester finishes,” she said. Hawk automatically closed his arms around the tiny package she thrust into his arms.

With the crisis over, he was finally able to focus on this new little creature. His son. The baby yawned, exposing a tiny tongue and gums. And a smile curved Hawk’s lips. Oh, man. He was beautiful.

***

Zoe studied Hawk’s face as he looked down at the baby. She’d never seen anything quite so perfect as the sight of him holding their son. As protective and loving as he was to her, he already had everything he needed to be as good at fatherhood as he was at being a SEAL. 

She flinched as she felt the pull and release of the afterbirth. When Dr. Lester started putting in the stitches, she was able to relax.

The doctor looked up and nodded toward Hawk. He was doing a rock and sway movement while he held the baby, “The bigger and badder they are, the harder they fall,” she whispered.