the top of his bare foot, escaped his weakened grip and started to chuckle.
“You thought—?” She laughed so hard she couldn’t finish. “You thought—?” She doubled over, stumbled to the couch and plopped down. After about a minute of trying to regain her composure, Jaci inhaled a deep breath, pushed it out and asked. “You thought I had your baby?”
She made it sound like such a ridiculous assumption he decided not to answer.
Then all humor fled, and like she suddenly realized she’d been insulted, she got mad. “You honestly thought I wouldn’t tell you if I’d gotten pregnant? That I wouldn’t include you in the birth of our child or introduce you to your son or daughter at the first opportunity?”
Obviously he hadn’t done a thorough job of thinking things through because Jaci was straightforward and not at all the type of woman to lie about a pregnancy.
“The babies you heard,” she stood, “are my nieces. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention them to anyone because Jena doesn’t want people to know she’s back in town until this weekend.”
“What’s this weekend?”
“The second annual benefit gala for the Women’s Crisis Center.”
“Is that the ritzy shindig Justin’s running security for on Saturday night?” Her brother was an outspoken supporter of the crisis center. Hmmmm … The perfect opportunity for a little man to poor-excuse-for-a-brother chat and to take care of the asses who’d been giving Jaci a hard time.
Jaci nodded. “This year we’re having a silent auction coordinated by Millicent Parks with items worth tens of thousands of dollars.”
“So if you didn’t come up here to welcome me home,” he said, “or tell me about the babies, why are you here?” And while he was asking the questions, “And how did you get in?”
“I knocked. When you didn’t answer I,” she held up a key, “used this.” At Ian’s grimace she added, “I have a key to Justin’s condo and he has a key to mine. For emergencies.”
“So what’s your emergency?” he asked.
“The storm uprooted that massive oak by the parking lot which is now resting on top of nine cars, one of them the vehicle I was supposed to drive back to the crisis center this morning to pick up my car which, as it turns out, is sitting in two feet of water in their parking lot thanks to the Bronx River spilling over its banks at some point in the night. Streets are flooded, trees and power lines are down all over the county and there’s a state of emergency in effect so taxis aren’t running. I came up to ask Justin for a ride to work.”
“Do you hear yourself? There’s a state of emergency. The roads aren’t safe. Yet here you are ready to forgo the warnings so you can traipse around town.”
“For the record, I never traipse. And please spare me the lecture. I have two patients I must see as soon as possible, others depending on me for treatments due today, and some I’d like to check on to see how they made it through the storm.” She turned toward the hallway leading to Justin’s bedroom.
“He’s not here,” Ian said. “Mandatory overtime because of the weather.” Which gave Ian the perfect opportunity to play hero. “Give me a minute to get changed, and I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”
“I don’t need you to—”
“Yes you do, sweetheart.”
Luckily, Jaci’s cellphone rang because she looked to be gearing up for one major league verbal smack down. She checked the number and answered. “Hi, Mrs. Lewis. Yes. Don’t worry. I said I’d be there and I will.” She listened. “If I have to walk a little that’s no problem. Uh huh. See you soon.”
She ended the call and looked up at Ian. “What are you waiting for? I need to get on the road. Meet me in the parking lot.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ian hurried to his room, for the first time in months meeting a new day with a sense of eager anticipation.
CHAPTER THREE
“THIS is unbelievable,” Jaci said. An honest to goodness lake rippled where the heavily traveled thoroughfare of Westchester Avenue should be. After two failed attempts to find a passable road to get to her office to pick up her work car, each wasting valuable time, Jaci had agreed to let Ian drive her around today. And boy was she glad she had.
At the orange barrels blocking entry, Ian turned around. Again.
The annoying GPS voice said, “Recalculating route.” Again.
Jaci started to wonder if she would, in fact, be able to keep her promise to Mrs. Lewis.
“I have an idea,” Ian said, pulling onto a side road. The man was completely unflappable. While she stared at the horror of murky brown water raging along swollen riverbeds and flowing down roadways into shops and homes, he kept focused on the street ahead of him, steering around downed tree limbs, debris, and standing water, avoiding hanging power lines—some still twisting and sparking.
He sounded official when interacting with law enforcement and emergency personnel who routinely stopped them and cautioned against being out on the roads. A few words from Ian and they were offering directions and detours.
Jaci’s phone rang. She looked at the screen. Mrs. Lewis. “Hi, Mrs. Lewis. It’s taking a little longer than I expected—”
A male voice interrupted. “This is Barry, Laney’s husband. She’s frantic. The doctor told her to take her insulin around the same time each morning. She was due at seven and it’s almost seven-thirty. She says she feels her heart racing.”
“Tell her we’re very close. Maybe five minutes. Ten tops.” But who knew what they’d find around the next corner.
“Problem?” Ian asked when she ended the call.
“The patient is very anxious about her new diagnosis.” Gestational diabetes, on top of being an already nervous, first-time pregnant, soon-to-be new mom.
The car accelerated.
“Thank you for offering to drive me,” Jaci said. “This is much worse than I’d imagined.”
Ian cut through a grocery store parking lot. “This is nothing. In Iraq there were sand storms and mud storms that made driving next to impossible.”
“A mud storm? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It’s when it starts to rain during a sand storm. Clumps of mud fall from the sky.” He swerved to avoid a plastic garbage can blowing in their direction. “I’d rather deal with the remnants of a weakening hurricane than the IEDs and RPGs intent on killing me,” he mumbled.
She’d read about IEDs—improvised explosive devices—and RPGs—rocket propelled grenades—and the threat they posed to the armed forces.
“I think we’re here.” Ian made a left turn and shot his arm over to hold her in her seat as he slammed on the brakes to avoid a front-end collision with a huge tree that blocked the road. About ten feet beyond
