13. The Wrong Arms
Chapter thirteen
The Wrong Arms
The Stanton estate slept. A single bedside lamp cast long, distorted shadows across the master suite walls. The velvet curtains were drawn tight against the winter wind outside.
Bastien balanced on a small step stool in the corner of the room, his broad shoulders crowding the space near the ceiling. I stood by the footboard of the king-sized bed, bracing the open plastic tool kit against my hip. The quiet ticking of the hallway clock bled through the closed door.
“Hand me the wire snips,” Bastien whispered.
I reached into the kit, shifting my weight in my loose maternity sleepwear. The baby pushed low in my pelvis, a heavy, rolling ache pulling me down. I pulled out the metal cutters and handed them up to him. Our fingers brushed. His skin was warm against the chill of the room.
“Here,” I whispered back. “Be careful with the plaster. If Jane notices dust on the floor tomorrow, she will tell Lavinia.”
“I’ve got it. I’ll catch the debris.”
A faint, metallic snip echoed in the corner. I watched his large hands connect the delicate wiring in the shadows. I traced my thumbnail over the plastic latch of the tool kit. I focused on the rigid edge to steady my nerves.
This piece of plastic up in the crown molding was the only thing standing between my unborn daughter and Tobias.
Bastien paused. He lowered his arm just enough to look down at me.
The yellow glow of the lamp caught the hard angle of his jaw, highlighting the faint scar cutting through his eyebrow. He studied my face in the dim light.
“Your hands are shaking,” he noted.
I set the kit down on the mattress. I pressed my bare palms flat against the smooth wood of the footboard. “Just finish the wiring.”
He didn’t push the issue. He turned back to the molding, twisting a thin black wire into the recess of the wood.
The transmitter slid into place with a muffled click.
He reached into his pocket for the ornate wooden cover plate.
He adjusted the piece, making sure the pinhole lens pointed down toward the foot of the bed.
The camera angle covered the expanse of the Persian rug. He tested the stability of the woodwork with his thumb, pressing the edges tight.
“If he notices a shadow on that molding or sees the lens, he will tear the room apart,” I warned, keeping my voice low. “We won’t get a second chance at this.”
“He won’t notice a thing,” Bastien said. He snapped the faceplate flush against the wall. “Tobias only sees what he wants to see. Right now, he is focused on the trust fund.”
Bastien stepped down from the stool. The floorboards creaked under his boots. He wiped a smudge of plaster dust from his thumb, his broad frame blocking the dim light from the bedside lamp. I looked from him to the ceiling, searching for any sign of the sabotage. The wood looked untouched.
“Just make sure the microphone is sensitive enough,” I said. “I need every single word of his confession crystal clear.”
“It will pick up a whisper from the hallway,” Bastien assured me.
He leaned over the tool kit on the mattress and closed it. The plastic latch engaged with a crisp snap. I stared up at the seamless join in the wood, trusting that tiny, invisible lens to finally catch him.
“I’ll put the tools back in the closet,” I offered.
I reached for the kit. Bastien stepped into my path, his heavy tread scuffing the wood.
“Leave them,” he instructed. “I’ll take them out with me when I scrub the scene.”
I nodded. My fingers curled around the handle of the kit. Without warning, a severe cramp tore through my lower back. I gasped.
My fingers went numb. The plastic tool kit slipped from my grasp. It hit the hardwood floor, the impact echoing in the quiet bedroom.
A sudden rush of warm fluid soaked through my maternity pants. It splashed down my legs, pooling on the edge of the rug.
Bastien moved instantly. He closed the gap between us, his large hands gripping my shoulders to hold me steady as my knees gave out. I slumped forward, breathing through the sudden contraction.
The plotting, the hidden cameras, the trap—none of it mattered anymore. An entirely different panic took over. The baby was coming.
“Bastien,” I choked out. “Oh God. My water just broke.”
“Okay,” Bastien said. His voice was a low, steady rumble near my ear. “I’ve got you. Breathe through it. Let the contraction pass before you try to walk.”
His words faded into the background. I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain. My hands flew up to grab the fabric of his shirt sleeves, twisting the material in my fists. I clung to his forearms, using his frame to keep myself upright.
“It hurts,” I groaned. “It’s too early. I still have almost two weeks.”
“The baby is coming right now,” Bastien said. He wrapped one thick arm around my waist, pulling me against his side. “Lean your weight on me.”
The contraction peaked. I let my forehead drop against his chest, leaning my weight onto him as the next wave hit.
The worst of it finally passed. The agonizing pressure in my lower spine receded, leaving my legs trembling and weak. I leaned heavily against him. The wet fabric clung to my thighs.
“Let’s move,” Bastien instructed. “Shift your weight to your left foot. We need to get you downstairs.”
“I know,” I breathed out. “The pain is fading. Just give me a second.”
I gripped his forearm, letting him haul me upright.
We shuffled out of the master suite. The thick soles of his boots thumped against the hallway runner, masking the wet, unsteady slap of my bare feet.
We cleared the doorway and stepped out into the low light of the second-floor corridor.
Down the hall, the brass handle of the guest bedroom turned.
The door swung open. Tobias stepped out, wearing expensive silver silk pajamas. He stopped short, his eyes darting from my face down to the puddle of amniotic fluid trailing out of the master bedroom.
At the exact same moment, frantic footsteps pounded against the main wooden staircase. Jane, the night-shift maid, rushed up the final few steps carrying a tall stack of folded towels.
“Mr. Stanton!” Jane gasped, stopping at the top of the stairs. “I heard a crash, is everything—”
The audience was in place. The comfort of leaning against Bastien was suddenly dangerous. I had to secure my facade. I let go of his arm, surrendering the only thing keeping me on my feet.
I stumbled forward. The damp soles of my feet slipped against the edge of the rug.
“Tobias!” I cried out.
I threw myself against him. My fingers tangled in the slick fabric of his silk pajama shirt, pulling the material into tight knots.
He caught me, wrapping his arms around my waist to brace me.
The suffocating, manufactured scent of his cologne filled my nose, turning my stomach.
I buried my face deep into his chest. He could not see my cold revulsion.
I clamped my eyes shut and let out a genuine whimper of pain, feeding the exact image he needed to see.
A helpless wife begging for him to fix it.
“Cecilia!” Tobias shouted, sounding every bit the terrified husband for Jane’s benefit. “What’s happening? Is it the baby?”
“Tobias!” I sobbed against the silk. “It hurts so much, the baby is coming!”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Tobias promised, his voice authoritative as he rubbed my shoulders. “Jane, get her hospital bag from the closet! Mr. Kavanagh, pull the car around right now.”
I kept my face buried against his shirt, waiting for Bastien’s response. His commanding presence vanished. Bastien slipped entirely into the role of the hired help.
“My vehicle is stationed at the front doors,” Bastien said, his voice detached. “We’ll take my SUV. It’s faster.”
Tobias shoved the heavy front doors open, half-carrying me out into the biting winter air. The freezing wind whipped across the driveway, cutting through my thin, soaked sleepwear.
“Watch your step, it’s freezing out here,” Tobias said, steering me toward the idling vehicle. “Almost there.”
Bastien’s massive black SUV sat on the pavement, exhaust pluming white in the cold night. Tobias rushed me into the backseat, climbing in right behind me before I could even slide across the leather. He slammed the door shut, trapping us in the heated, insulated cabin.
Bastien slid into the driver’s seat and shoved the vehicle into gear.
“Get us to St. Jude’s Medical Center,” Tobias ordered, his voice booming in the enclosed space. “Do not stop for anything.”
The SUV lurched forward. Bastien pressed the accelerator to the floorboard. The powerful engine roared, the tires gripping the long, paved driveway as we tore away from the estate.
Tobias hauled me flush against his side, pinning my arm tight to his ribs. The heat radiating from his body was suffocating. The slick drag of his silk sleeve across my bare skin made me shudder.
Bastien picked up his two-way radio from the front console, a sharp burst of static crackling as he pressed the transmit button.
“Marcus, we are en route to St. Jude’s,” Bastien said, his deep, authoritative voice carrying over the engine noise. “Lock down the estate. Nobody enters or leaves the grounds until I give the clear.”
I listened to the static cut out. Bastien was not just playing the bodyguard; he was securing the estate.
He was making sure that when we returned, the property would be ready for Tobias and Lavinia to finally expose themselves.
Knowing that gave me something to hold on to against the searing pain radiating through my lower back.
“Just breathe, Cecilia,” Tobias murmured, tightening his grip on my shoulder. “Everything is going to be fine. I’m right here with you.”
The SUV tore through the city streets. Outside the tinted windows, the harsh yellow glare of the streetlamps whipped past in a relentless, strobing rhythm. The flashing light burned right through my eyelids, worsening the nausea rolling in my stomach.
“Take the next avenue, Kavanagh,” Tobias ordered from the seat beside me. “The lights are staggered. We can shave ten minutes off the route.”
Bastien did not reply. The steering wheel jerked as he wrenched the massive vehicle into a tight turn, the tires squealing against the frozen asphalt. The sudden sway threw me harder against Tobias.
The next contraction hit. It did not build slowly. It crashed into my lower spine with agonizing force, bowing my back off the leather seat.
I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut against the flashing yellow lights.
My hands slipped off my damp knees. I reached out and clamped my fingers around Tobias’s wrist. I dragged his hand into my lap and crushed his fingers together as the contraction tore through me, hoping to bruise the skin beneath my sweating palms.
“Tobias,” I cried out, my breath catching in a ragged wheeze. “Please, it hurts! Tell him to drive faster!”
“He’s going as fast as he can, darling,” Tobias murmured.
He used his free hand to brush the damp, tangled hair away from my forehead. The clammy slide of his palm against my sweating skin made my throat close up.
“You are doing so well,” he continued, leaning his face close to mine. “Just look at me.”
I refused to open my eyes. If I looked at him right now, he would see the absolute hatred cutting through the pain. He sent men to drag me into a warehouse, and now he wanted to play the soothing, devoted father. His tender touch made my skin crawl.
I twisted my body, turning away from the window. I buried my face straight into the curve of his shoulder. I smothered my grimace against the slick silver silk of his pajama shirt.
“Don’t let go of my hand,” I sobbed into the fabric. “Promise me you won’t let go.”
The tires screeched against the concrete as Bastien slammed on the brakes at the hospital emergency drop-off.
The heavy SUV rocked on its suspension, jarring my aching spine before settling into a rough idle.
Blinding white glare from the ER canopy lights flooded through the tinted windows, erasing the strobe of the streetlamps.
Bastien threw his door open. He stepped out into the freezing night, leaving the open cabin vulnerable to a sudden blast of winter air.
“We have a woman in active labor!” Bastien shouted, his deep voice echoing off the concrete pillars. “We need a wheelchair!”
He did not wait for a response from the triage team. He moved to the rear of the vehicle, scanning the immediate perimeter. He stood like a physical barricade guarding its exposed flank.
I released the damp, twisted silk of his pajama shirt as Tobias pushed his door open and scrambled out onto the pavement. He reached back into the heated cabin, grabbing my elbow.
The winter wind bit through my soaked maternity pants, turning the amniotic fluid to ice against my skin. I reached out, pressing my palm against the cold metal of the door frame to steady myself. My legs trembled as I slid off the leather seat, my bare feet hitting the icy concrete.
The clatter of rubber wheels pierced the night air. Two nurses in teal scrubs rushed out of the automatic doors, pushing a wide wheelchair across the pavement. They descended on the vehicle.
“We’ve got you, Mrs. Stanton,” the lead nurse said. She wrapped an arm around my back, pulling me away from the door frame. “Dr. Williams is already scrubbing in upstairs.”
The medical staff inserted themselves directly between my husband and me. The sudden crowd of nurses broke Tobias’s physical hold on me. The distance offered a brief reprieve from his suffocating presence.
“Be careful with her!” Tobias snapped. He hovered right behind the nurses, projecting his voice for the gathered hospital staff. “She’s having severe contractions.”
The nurses ignored his demands. They eased me backward. My exhausted muscles finally gave out, and I sank into the vinyl seat.
My damp hands locked onto the hard plastic armrests, gripping the edges to anchor myself against the rolling pain in my abdomen.
Tobias tried to step around the wheelchair to grab my hand again, refusing to let the nurses cut him off.
I focused on the nurses, letting them direct my movements so I didn’t have to look at him.
Bastien intercepted him. He stepped directly into the path, using his broad frame to block Tobias from crowding the chair.
“Clear a path,” Bastien commanded, his voice booming toward the ER security desk. “Get her straight up to the suite.”
The nurses spun the wheelchair around. The automatic glass doors parted, admitting us into the sterile, brightly lit lobby.
The squeak of the tires against the polished linoleum drowned out Tobias’s orders.
I surrendered my weight to the wheelchair, letting the rush of nurses and the impending labor demand all my attention as I prayed for the safety of my baby.