Another contraction comes. My fingers splay, my back arches up, my head hangs. The urge to push overwhelms me. I make noises I’ve never made before. Peter moves around me. My shirt has ridden up. “The baby is crowning,” Peter says as the contraction fades. “Let your contractions guide you. Breathe and rest now. Just breathe and rest.”
“Should I lie on my back?”
“Only if you want to.”
“I don’t.”
“Do whatever you want. Whatever feels right to you is right for you.”
I nod. My mind does this thing it does in a fight, where it disappears. It’s not needed and so it leaves—allowing my body and my instincts to lead. The urge to push comes again and I follow it. My son kicks, moving himself out into the world. “I’ve got you,” Peter promises. “I’ve got you. Almost there.”
The contraction passes and I pant, my head hanging. “Take off your shirt,” Peter says. “He will be here on the next push.”
I grab Mulberry’s shirt, pulling it over my head. Air hits the sweat on my back, cooling me. When the urge comes again, I grip the shirt, my eyes squeeze shut, my entire consciousness is in my body, working with my son. Then he’s out, in one big swoosh, he’s outside of me.
I fall onto my elbows as I hear his cry. Tears spring to my eyes and my chest tightens with a new emotion. Something I’ve never felt before. Peter guides my hips so that I lie on my back and then he places my little boy on my chest.
He’s white and wrinkly and covered in blood and goo. He’s perfect, his pink mouth open as he screams his existence into the world. “There you are,” I say. “There you are, my little person.”
At the sound of my voice he turns his head, as if searching for me even though his eyes are still closed. “Keep talking to him,” Peter says.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, his cries winding down. “Mama is here.”
Something inside me shifts in that moment. I’m a mother. It dawns on me as hard and disruptive as a tsunami. A fierceness rises up in me, a knowing…I won’t let anything happen to this little person. Whatever it takes. This love of mine will not die.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“James,” I coo. “What a good little boy. Yes you are.”
He suckles, his eyes closed, little tiny hand on my breast. Joy hums through me. Peter helped me get cleaned up and produced a new pair of pants and shirt along with pads and other things a new mother would need. He’d come to the island fully prepared, if needed, to deliver a baby en route to safety! Petey Poppins does not disappoint.
I’m sitting on the clean parachute, my back against a tree, Blue lying by my side, my son, named after my brother, feeding at my breast. The ocean laps at the shore. The sun is setting, turning the world orange and pink.
Peter crouches by a fire he made, tending to a pot with something simmering in it. On the horizon a light twinkles. Peter sees it too. “A ship,” he says, standing. He crosses to his Poppins pack and pulls out a flare. Never suggest this man is not prepared. I’m waiting for the reading lamp to come out of there along with a hat stand. Not that we have much use for a hat stand.
Peter jogs to the water’s edge and shoots the flare into the sky. James jerks at the sound and sucks harder, drawing comfort along with his meal. Blue stands and looks at me. “It’s fine,” I tell him. He sits, keeping his gaze on Peter.
It’s fine. But I’m not going back. James and I won’t be returning to my former life. To my husband—Robert Maxim will not own me, or my child. No, that is over. We are not going back to any of it. I’m keeping this kid alive and the only way to do that is not be me.
James stops sucking; his hand loses its grip. He’s asleep. I stare down at his perfect little face for a long moment, then tuck his little arm inside the towel he’s wrapped in. “Blue, down.”
Blue lies at my side and I shift to place the sleeping baby in the curl of Blue’s body. Blue sniffs James’s head, then rests his chin on the ground next to it, creating a safe space for my son to sleep.
I crawl to Peter’s Poppins’s bag and check that the key fob is still there. Dan’s expression and words filter back to me, urging me on. Just in case, if you need anything…go. My fingers wrap around the hard plastic and I take in a breath. I release it back into the bag and my fingers swipe something else. I pull it out. A pocket knife in matte black. I slip that into the pocket of my pants and then stand.
Every muscle hurts. It feels like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck. I make my way down the beach to Peter. He puts out his arm and I take it, slipping mine through his like we are lovers taking a stroll along the Seine.
“We will get you back to your husband soon,” Peter says, patting my forearm, like he is a grandma. This guy is really something else.
“No,” my answer comes quick and quiet.
“No?” Peter turns to me, his gaze sharp, searching my face.
“Whatever he paid you to bring me to him,” I say, shifting to look up into his face, “I’ll pay you double to hide me.” His eyes narrow. “Robert Maxim is a dangerous man. I’m not taking my son back into that world. We are starting over. And you can either come with me and help. Or die.”
Peter turns fully toward me, my arm slipping from his. I’m unsteady on my feet but the knife in my pocket tells no lies. I’m a mother—fiercer and deadlier than any man. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my child.
“You’re threatening me?” Peter asks, his eyes narrowed, searching my face.
“Yes,” I answer, tipping my chin up. “I’ve been in a lot of fights, a lot of battles. I’m undefeated. You think you’re the man who can take me out?”
He doesn’t answer, just asks another question. “Does Robert Maxim hurt you?”
“No.” I’m not going to lie. “But he wants to own me. And if I stay in the life I’ve been living, then my son is at terrible risk. Everyone I love has died, Peter. And I won’t let that happen to him. I won’t.” Peter nods, believing my tone if nothing else. “I’m sure you have family,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I lost my parents and sister several years ago, in a car accident. They were my only family.” There is pain in his face—the kind I recognize. A loss like that doesn’t ever not hurt.
“You’ll have to disappear, too. Robert will search. Will you do it?” I ask. “I will pay you enough to last a lifetime. And once I’m hidden, you can disappear, too. Live whatever kind of life you want.”
I’m not going for some simple life in a pleasant place this time—I know I’ll be hunted. This time I’m burrowing. I’m going to dig deep into the world, where no one will ever find me. It’s not a burning after all…it’s a burial.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of Relentless, Sydney Rye Mysteries book 16, or purchase it now and continue reading Sydney’s next adventure winter 2023: emilykimelman.com/RL
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