Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (27 page)

The cowboy pinched the bridge of his nose. With a sigh, he shook his head. “I am grateful for their help with Mickey, but some days I’d be glad for the privacy.” He patted Max’s gut. “Ready for some chow?”

Upstairs they headed into Cowboy’s “apartment” to wash up. As he waited for the cowboy, Max noticed the brown, oversized bag sitting on the bed. Hastings. Max tilted his head, remembering the bag Cowboy had delivered the Bible in.

“Go ahead,” Cowboy said, stepping from the bathroom.

Max pointed to the bag. “I thought you didn’t shop there.”

Cowboy looked at the bag then quickly wiped his hands on a towel. “I … it’s … old.”

Was the guy’s face turning red? Oh, Max couldn’t let this go. “Come on, Cowboy, cough it up. I’ve bared my soul. Time for some of yours.”

Blue eyes flashed at him. “I don’t like being cornered, but you’re right. Friends cut it straight.” He huffed. “But this stays between you and me, got it?”

A grin pulled Max’s lips apart. This was going to be good. “Okay.”

Cowboy scratched the back of his head. “There’s this …
person
at the store.” He glanced at Max, looking guilty and embarrassed. “I guess you could say I’ve been reconnoitering.”

“Recon?
On a Hastings employee?” Max held a fisted hand to his mouth to cover the laugh seeping into his throat. “What does she look like?”

Rivaling songs belted into the room. Max gripped his phone. Cowboy did the same. They both glanced at their screens. The Nightshade signal.

“Looks like we’re going to miss dinner.”

I
t was true. With each day that Jon’s strength returned, that his limbs firmed and the cough subsided, Kimber weakened. What alarmed him was that the woman who never complained, not even in childbirth, now moaned about the ache tightening her back that made it difficult to move. Neither of them voiced what was quickly becoming obvious. At any other time, the fever could be treated medically and the patient would recover. But here? Where their captors seemed to be waiting for the end of the world, hope faded with each sunset.

He gazed out the thin gaps in the thatched hut, peering up at the light that snuck past the thick canopy of leaves. Light. Of what day? How long had it been? He wrapped his fingers tightly around the wood spindles and squeezed. According to Kimber, he’d lost nearly a week to the fever that—

Jon froze. Had he given his wife the sickness that now ravaged her body? He shifted back and peered over his shoulder. She lay on the small cot, curled on her side, pale. So very pale. He turned back to the bars and hung his head. How long would God leave them here? Why hadn’t Peter gotten them out yet? The insanity was the fact that he and Kimber had left the civilized world to come out here, be a light to the darkened world, and bring hope, and yet he had no hope.

I am your hope
.

Clenching shut his eyes, Jon gritted his teeth. He wanted to believe the soft whisper truly came from the Divine, but after all this time, all these weeks …

Then again, the Higanti had kept them here much longer than he’d anticipated, apparently unable to reach an agreement with the radicals. No surprise there. At least they were still alive. But it also made him realize their chances of a rescue were all but a fantasy.

A gentle touch against his leg snapped him out of his morose thoughts. He glanced to the side—and down. White blond hair, though dirty, gleamed like a halo against the dank backdrop. Soft blue eyes glittered up at him. Maecel held both hands toward him. “Up, Daddy.”

With a smile, he hoisted his daughter into his arms. She nuzzled into him, her no-longer chubby hand patting his shoulder. Jon rubbed her back, noting the rank odor emanating from her. And this time, it wasn’t dirty diapers. They’d been unable to bathe her—for that matter, nobody had showered. He missed the sweet smell of mango soap Kimber had made that normally clung to Maecel’s shoulder-length hair and skin.

He tightened his hold on her, nudging her to rest against him. “Soon, baby. Soon we’ll be home.”

She lifted her head and smiled at him. “Go?” She nodded, innocence supreme. “See Imee.”

Imee. He hadn’t thought of the woman since they’d been captured. Guilt wove a thick band around Jon’s chest. He didn’t know where Imee and the others were. Was she even alive? Would he ever see his parents again? If he did, his dad would probably take him up into the mountains for a long walk and talk. His mother would scoop Maecel into her arms and not let go for a week. He would get away to a lodge with Kimber for the weekend, leaving their daughter in the protective care of her grandparents. He ached to stretch what little morsel of hope remained and believe that a rescue could happen.

Rescue. Right. The Higanti were holding them just long enough to hand them off to the radicals. Which meant being moved. Eventually. Surely it didn’t take this long to put together a team and come save the day, did it? What hope was there?

I am your hope
.

In that moment Jon realized that maybe, just maybe, they did have hope. Assemble a team, get them out. It could be done, and stealthily.

No. Hope should not be based in anything temporal. Like Kimber said, they would be gone one day. Only God was eternal. If Jon transferred his hope to God and
only
God, then he couldn’t be disappointed.

As he rubbed Maecel’s back, he lowered himself to the chair, watching as she drifted off to sleep. Light as a feather, she gave a soft shudder as Jon lowered her into his arm and cradled her. He stared down at the little angel who’d overtaken his heart and life. Love found new meaning and depth the moment she was born, grunting and offering her first protest at the world.

Movement to the side startled him. Kimber knelt next to him, brushing Maecel’s hair from her face. “To have the peace of a child …” Dark patches encircled her eyes.

“You should be resting,” he whispered.

Soft and slow, a smile came to her lips. “I feel fine.” She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I had another dream.”

“Yeah?” He lowered Maecel onto the cot and turned to his wife—and stilled. Even with the circles and the gauntness, even more than that, she looked haunted. “What’s wrong?”

Her lip quivered, forcing tiny dimples into her chin. She shook her head. “A rescue team is coming.” A tear slipped free, mingling with the dirt on her face and forming a dark streak down her cheek.

He started. “A rescue?” Jon clasped her shoulders. “You’re certain?” Only then as he held her and light streamed through the slats of the hut did he see it. Yellow tinged her skin. Jaundice. His stomach clenched. A fatal phase of the dengue fever.

Shouts outside jerked them both rigid. Jon rushed to the wall and peeked through the wood. More than a dozen Higanti swarmed toward them, yelling and shouting. Faces streaked with red and white, they bore the blue cross that smeared from chest to belly. Two rushed forward. Several others seemed to be wrangling someone.

“Get back,” Jon hissed, snatching Maecel from the bed, startling her awake. “Stay in the corner.” Even as he talked, he nudged them into the space between the wall and the foot of the cot. “Down.” He pushed on Kimber’s head just seconds before light burst into the hut.

He spun—only to see the two warriors lunging at him with their sticks. “Back!” they demanded in a foreign tongue. “On the ground. Don’t look.”

Jon complied, turning his face toward his wife and daughter. Despite Kimber’s gentle words and bouncing, Maecel shrieked.

One guard started for them, but Jon leaped in between. Pain stabbed through his back. He grunted but withstood it, huddling with Kimber and Maecel.

Seconds later the chaos ended. The hut darkened. Jon braved a glance to the side, verifying that the door was locked. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“Are you okay?” Kimber asked as they both stood, hugging each other.

“Fine.” The sting in his back would go away eventually.

“They hit you,” she mumbled, her eyes glossing.

Jon cupped her face. “I’m fine. Okay?”

Behind him, he heard a soft crunch.

He whipped around—and froze.

Cowering in the corner, arms wrapped around her, was a young girl. Her face was badly beaten and swollen. But the eyes … he remembered the eyes.

“Kezia?”

Y
ou ready to see your baby, Mrs. Jacobs?”

Flat on her back, Sydney stared up at the ceiling, wishing the doctor would say that a little more quietly. Having grown up in Richmond, she knew just about every woman in the office. And what if a friend sat on the other side of the wall?

“Yes.” No. Yes. This baby she’d never planned … but wanted. Yet didn’t want. Guilt hung low and wide over her for even thinking that. Cutting ties with Max wouldn’t be as clean now that they’d have a child together.

The OB squirted what felt like ice-cold gel on her belly, making her gasp. “Sorry. I guess the warmer isn’t working.”

Taking the bottle of goo from the doctor, the nurse smiled down at Sydney. “So are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“A healthy baby.”

The Doppler glided over her slight protrusion as the doctor worked a keyboard. “I’m going to take measurements, check the fetus’s health; then we’ll get to the fun part.” The doctor worked quietly for several minutes, clicking, angling, and measuring, then typing.

Mesmerized by the color 2-D imaging, Sydney stared at the monitor.
There you are
. Something deep and maternal welled up within her as she stared at her baby. A real, live growing and developing baby.
Her
baby. Tears pricked her eyes as she watched an arm swimming across the screen. A foot dashed out.

She felt a kick against her belly.

The doctor chuckled. “A feisty one. Doesn’t like me poking around.”

Sydney laughed at the personality already budding in her womb. She wished for her mother’s hand while she caught the first glimpse of the child stirring up chaos in her life.
Already like Max
. Familiar longing slithered through her, aching for Max to be a part of this. But he wasn’t. And wouldn’t be. She just had to draw up her chin and survive as she’d always done.

“Well, everything looks good. I see no abnormalities. The heartbeat is strong and steady.”

Oh, thank You, Jesus
. Sydney tried to stem the tears that slipped over her composure.

“And,” the doctor said, angling the Doppler to the side, “there. Can you tell what it is?”

It was difficult enough to make out the arms. Sydney wouldn’t even attempt a guess at the baby’s sex. “I haven’t a clue.”

“It’s a boy. And according to the measurements, you’re right on target with the projected due date of June 1, which means you’ve got just a little less than four months left. You’re carrying small, but that won’t last much longer.” He chuckled.

A son. Tears streamed down her face. Max would have a son. A new pain embedded itself in her heart. She and Bryce had grown up without a father, and she knew how much that had affected her brother. Even though Max had never told her exactly what had happened with his father, he detested being associated with the man.

God, I want my son to know his father
. He was a good man, honorable and strong. When he found out about this baby—his son—he’d demand to be a part of the child’s life, wanting to do the right thing. Sydney just wanted her husband and his love back.

A soft touch to her shoulder reminded her she lay on a table with goo all over her belly and was flanked by a white-jacketed doctor and his nurse. “You okay, Mrs. Jacobs?”

“Yes,” she mumbled, wiping her tears as the nurse cleaned her belly and lowered Sydney’s shirt so she could sit up. “Just overwhelmed.”

“Do you have a name picked out?” the nurse asked, washing her hands.

Shaking her head, Sydney realized that she had not fully accepted her child’s existence until this moment. “Not yet.”