Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

“It had nothing to do with you,” she said. “I swear it.”

“And we’re okay?”

“You and me? Yeah, sweetheart, we’re good.”

“I’m trying not to jump to conclusions here, Gina. Don’t get me wrong. I just hope that whatever was going on, you got it worked out.”

She nodded. “That makes two of us.”

“Three of us,” he said softly. And turned on the TV.

CHAPTER

FORTY-ONE

Early September—Chattanooga

Another day down. Three and a half weeks remaining till the due date.

With eight hours on foot every shift, and between four and five miles traveled through the Ruby Falls cave system, Gina was a regular workhorse. She figured at this rate she would be ready to run a marathon the week after her delivery.

Alone, leaning over the employee restroom sink, she tried to process again all that had been explained—and all that had not—seventeen days ago, on this very property. She hadn’t seen Cal since, but he had promised to be nearby.

First, there had been that confrontation down in the caverns. She had felt something rise within as she faced the snooping, slender brunette—a need to fight, to protect her young. She’d told herself at the time that it was an overzealous burst of hormones. It had to be, right? Because it would be schizoid to start going around thinking everyone was out to harm your baby.

Then came the revelations, from her conversation with Cal.

So there were killers after her child?

Maybe she was schizoid.

It was too much to assimilate, to catalog. Cal claimed he had reappeared for the sake of her baby, but it wasn’t every day you heard talk about the doubly dead, the doubly alive, vampire hordes, and secrets of the Hebrew alphabet. At least Jed had been patient with her. She hated keeping him in the dark, but she didn’t see any good that could come from revealing all that had been told her.

Gina scooped back her hair.

There it was, all the proof she would get: the letter Tav.

“You.” She pointed into the mirror. “Yeah, you. You’re one bad mama-jama.”

Then she chuckled at herself. Which caused her baby boy to shift inside, pushing a foot, or maybe an elbow, up beneath her ribs until she was sure a lung would puncture. This was what you endured for your child, all part of the process.

She said, “I sure hope you get here soon, kiddo.”

In response, pain barraged her belly and back, arrows streaking in from all sides and angles, piercing, tearing, pinning her entire being down to the bathroom floor in a quivering pool of thin, warm liquid.

Was this it? Had her water just broken?

The child inside of her was saying he’d had enough and that if he was going to feel the sorrows of the world, he might as well do so out in the open, where he could face them like a man.

Gina could respect that. Intense love welled up in her chest.

She dragged herself to her knees, fetched the keys from her pocket, and stumbled out into the parking lot. She would have the nurses call Jed from the clinic, but there wasn’t a moment to lose. Her baby had dropped into position, exerting pressure between her hips.

Ready or not, the little guy was on his way.

Buckhead

Erota pranced into the vaulted entryway and greeted her husband. “Ray-Ban. You’re home early for a Thursday evening.”

“Long week already.”

“Well, I had fun. I took a day trip to Chattanooga.”

“Again?”

“It’s so quaint, compared to Atlanta.”

“Just be careful with the Jag. The insurance is through the roof.”

“The roof ?” She glanced upward, feigning ignorance.

“Lots of money,” he said. He tossed his jacket over the knob on the banister, the expectation implicit that she would see to it for him. “Brutal day at work. I had a good-sized deal fall through—six figures—but the boys and l’ll get it cleared up in the morning.”

“You’re good at what you do, aren’t you?”

“Don’t let ’em know you care. That’s the secret.”

She gave an exaggerated blink of her eyes, brushed fingers down his chest. “Is that why you are so often gone? To make me think that you don’t care?”

“Is it working?”

“I don’t care either,” she said. “I think we’re both happier this way.”

“I’m going to check the news.”

“I’m going upstairs.” She pushed away from him. “For a shower.”

“Now?”

“A long, hot shower.” Pouty lips. “Not that you care, my husband. Now that you’ve got your Ukrainian bride to show off to your friends, you can carry on with your life with no one thinking you have other inclinations.”

“Hold on there. Is that what you think, Erota?”

“Convince me otherwise.”

She was in the middle of being convinced when the cordless phone rang. At day’s end, Ray-Ban abhorred all forms of communication, and he swiped the offensive appliance off the night stand. The phone rang again. Erota rolled to the side of the king-sized bed—a circular affair with mounds of pillows—and retrieved the receiver from plush white carpet.

“Leave it.” He swatted at her.

She checked caller ID. Her contact from Erlanger East Medical Clinic.

She felt her heart rate pick up and thought for a moment that her predatory side was about to manifest—the glowering eyes, the nails, the curve of long teeth. All of it, in anticipation of blood. The desire ran hot up her chest, into her throat, and—

She winced. There it was again, that stabbing pain in her temples. The tension between Collector and host grew more intense each day, as though sooner or later one of them would have to give.

“What’s wrong?” Ray-Ban asked.

“I’ve got a headache.”

“But,” he said in a husky voice, “I haven’t finished convincing you.”

“Later, alligator.”

“Wrong phrase, Erota. And no one says that anymore.”

“I don’t care. Remember?”

Phone in hand, she sashayed into the master bath and closed the door.

South of Atlanta, Georgia

He was a soldier. A demolitions expert, if you will.

Leaned over a wooden work bench in this College Park basement, he pressed his arms against the edge to keep his hands steady. No sudden movements. See? Just like that.