Jeffery Deaver - Watchlist

Surprise me, he had said, the night she had found out, a smile playing around his lips. And she had felt so full of love at his uncharacteristic spontaneity that she had thrown her arms around him and given him a really terrific hug, at least by pregnancy standards, which was from three feet away.

She shifted on the bed, and her eyelids fluttered open. She caught a glimpse of light from the windows, behind institutional-beige curtains. The brightness told her it was morning, though of which day, she didn’t know. Before her eyes closed again, she spotted Jack, a sleeping silhouette slumped in a chair, his broad shoulders slanted down. His head, with his sandy hair rumpled, had fallen to the side; he would have a crook in his neck when he awoke.

She felt an ache of love for him, together with an ache of pain for their loss. His son. Their son. A son could continue to redeem a family name tainted by his grandfather’s shady dealings. He had become one of the most respected lawyers in New Orleans, if not Louisiana, and his secret motive was to silence the whispered sniggering behind hands, the malicious talk of Creole mob connections and worse. He’d served on several committees to allocate Katrina relief funds, and his work to help the hurricane victims had gained him some national attention. For him, a baby son represented a new, brighter future.

I’ll take one of each, Charley, he said one night, as she rested on his chest after they had made love. He had been tender with her in bed, even more so than usual, moving gingerly over her growing tummy. Neither wanted to do anything to hurt the baby, the two of them as spooked as kittens.

But now there would be no baby, no son, no redemption. Only emptiness.

She blinked, then closed her eyes, feeling tears well. She didn’t cry, stopping at the edge of emotion, afraid to fall into the chasm of full-blown grief. The drugs were preventing feelings from reaching her, distancing her even from herself. She must be having some kind of delayed reaction. The night she’d miscarried, she’d been so scared when she heard that she was in danger and Harry, too, that she hadn’t had time to react to losing the baby, much less to mourn him.

Her eyelids fluttered again, and the background noise grew louder. She was waking up; there was no avoiding it. She realized that the talking wasn’t in the hall, but it was her husband’s voice. He was saying, “Don’t worry, she’s asleep and should be up in an hour or so.”

She looked over, her vision clearing, and realized that he hadn’t been asleep, but on the cell phone, which was tucked in his neck.

“Okay, good luck,” he said into the phone. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Jack?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He closed the phone, rose, and came over to the bed with a warm smile. “How you feeling?”

“Fine.” She didn’t feel like telling the truth, not now.

“That was your dad, checking on you.” He sat on the bed and stroked her hair back from her forehead. “Good news. He’s fine. He’s joined forces with some people he seems to have faith in. I gotta believe he knows what he’s doing.”

“He does.” She felt relief wash over her. A professional, her father knew who to trust and who to run from.

Perez leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. “So all we have to worry about now is you.”

Suddenly a burst of laughter came from the open door, and they both looked up in time to see a stout nurse in patterned scrubs bustle into the room, her hand extended palm-up. “Give it here, buddy!” she said to Perez. Her voice was louder than was polite, but she was laughing.

“No way.” He laughed, too.

“We had a deal,” the nurse shot back, and without missing a beat, she grabbed the cell phone out of his hand. “Your husband works too damn hard,” she said. “I told him he can’t use his phone in the hospital. Now I’m confiscating it.”

Perez rose, mock-frowning. “Who are you supposed to be? Nurse Ratchett?”

“You know, your poor husband hasn’t eaten since yesterday lunch,” the nurse said. “He won’t leave your side.”

“Aww.” She felt a pang of guilt. The nurse couldn’t know that Jack was guarding her in case the killer came looking for them.

“All the other girls are crushing on him, but I’m impervious to his charms.”

“Impossible,” Perez said with a smirk.

She was feeling safer now that it was morning and her father was OK. Plus the hospital was waking up, the hallway increasingly noisy. “Jack,” she said, “why don’t you go get some breakfast? Take a break.”

“No, I’m fine.” He dismissed her with a wave but the nurse grabbed his arm.

“Go, get out. I have to check some things on your wife, and I’d throw you out, anyway.”

Perez said, “You OK, Charley?”

“Yes. Please, go. Eat something.”

Perez nodded, then eyed the nurse with amusement. “Gimme my phone, Ratchett.”

“When you come back.”

“But I need to make calls.”

“Go and take a break.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Perez mock-saluted as he left.

“So how are you doing?” the nurse asked. She had a pleasantly fleshy face, with animated blue eyes and a freckled nose, and she wore her wiry, reddish hair back in an unfashionably long ponytail.

“Fine, I guess.” She wasn’t about to open up about her feelings to someone she hardly knew. The nurse tugged over a rolling cart, slid out a digital thermometer, and replaced its plastic tip.

“Open wide.”

She obeyed like a baby bird, and the nurse stuck the thermometer into her mouth.

“You slept well, and your color looks good. I need to check your vitals.”

The thermometer beeped. The nurse slid it out, read it quickly, then replaced it in the cart.

“You’re back to normal,” she said.

“Great. Is that what you have to check out on me?”

“No, I just said that to give us some alone time.” The nurse took the blood pressure cuff from a rack on the wall and began wrapping it around her patient’s upper arm. “I wanted to see how you were feeling. Really feeling, I mean. It’s tough, emotionally, I know. I missed once, myself.”

Missed. That must be the lingo.

“You will get through this, I promise. Take your time.” The nurse squeezed the black rubbery bulb, and the pressure cuff got tighter and tighter.

“Excuse us, ladies!” called a voice from the door. A doctor entered, and two interns followed like a flying wedge of white coats.

“You’re early, doc,” the nurse said, her smile fading. She let the cuff deflate rapidly.

“Our chief weapon is surprise,” the doctor said, and the young interns laughed.

“Please, no more Monty Python.” The nurse rolled her eyes, folded up the blood pressure cuff, and stuffed it back in the wire rack. “I can’t take any more.”

“Ha! And now for something completely different.” The doctor approached the bed with a sly smile, and the interns laughed again.

“Get ready to fake-laugh, Mrs. Perez,” the nurse said as she patted her arm. “They’re men, so they’ll buy it.” She handed over a cell phone. “Oh, I almost forgot, here’s your hubby’s phone.”

“Thanks,” she said, not recognizing it as Jack’s. He must have gotten a new one.

“See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.” The nurse hustled from the room.

“I’m Dr. Lehmann, and these are my interns, but you don’t have to know their names. Think of them as Palin and Gilliam to my John Cleese.”

She fake-laughed, and the nurse was right. He bought it. Dr. Lehmann had a square jaw and long nose, and he smelled of fresh cologne. His expression was warm-until it changed.

“Well, my dear, you’ve been through hell.”