Those Who Chase Her

Chapter 1

“I’m having a baby,” Laurel said as she gripped her round belly tightly.

She’d been carrying high, and her mother had insisted that meant she was having a boy. Either sex was fine with Laurel. She only wanted the baby to be healthy.

“We know,” Brad said, kissing his bride on the forehead. “I hate to break it to you, babe, but people can tell.”

He whispered the last part, being silly.

It was summer now, and Laurel was a week past her due date. The Tennessee heat felt downright oppressive. Almost oppressive enough to make Laurel wish she still lived in Washington, D.C. Although, summers got hot and humid there, too.

“I mean that I’m having a baby … right now!” she exclaimed.

Laurel gasped, sudden panic lacing her voice as a sharp pain gripped her middle. She was standing in the kitchen of her mom’s house, teetering next to the wide island as she waddled from side to side. “Brad!” she called out.

It was early evening, and Brad had been at work at the police station since before sunrise. He was tired, yet never too tired to show up for Laurel when she needed him. He was good like that. As Maureen would say, you could set your watch by him.

“Stay calm,” he replied, his hands moving instinctively to her shoulders. “Let’s call Dr. Stewart and see what she wants us to do.”

Rage moved through Laurel, lighting her up like an angry bull, ready to charge. “Are you kidding me right now? We need to go to the hospital. I told you. I’m having a baby. Your baby. So, how about you fall in line and make yourself useful? You did this to me.”

It wasn’t like Laurel to be so short tempered. Who could blame her, though? Being big and pregnant in the summer heat wasn’t for the faint of heart. Not to mention, she, Brad, and their dog Lilly were still staying at her mom’s house after the tornado that hit Appleman’s Gap had destroyed theirs. They’d looked for a temporary place of their own. Unfortunately, with all of the rebuilding and relief efforts in the area, things were booked solid for months to accommodate construction and utility crews. The few hotels in town were completely sold out. Vacation rental properties were all occupied. They’d had no choice but to stay with Maureen, in Laurel’s childhood bedroom. It was less than ideal, even if they were a close family.

As Laurel turned to look at him, Brad was already dialing Elsa Stewart’s number. He took his wife’s temper in stride, soothing her by gently rubbing her shoulders then placing an ice pack from the freezer on the back of her neck, all while he talked to Dr. Stewart’s answering service on the phone.

“That’s right,” he said to the young man on the other end of the line. “Laurel Tate. T-A-T-E. She’s a week past her due date, and she’s a patient of Dr. Stewart’s.”

Hearing her new last name brought a smile to Laurel’s face.
She’d initially planned to keep her maiden name, Dane, but had decided to change it to Brad’s and become a Tate when she’d learned how important it was to him. As open as Brad was with Laurel in most areas of his life, he didn’t talk about his childhood or his parents much. He hadn’t even invited his parents to their wedding. The lack of information about her husband’s formative years made Laurel pay close attention when he did mention something related to his sense of family and identity.

Taking his name was a gift that she could give him. He’d given so much to her, each and every day, and she knew he’d continue to do so for many years to come.

“Babe,” Brad said, leaning the phone against one shoulder, “have you been timing your contractions?”

“Uh huh,” Laurel replied.

“And?”

“The last few were fifteen minutes apart, ten minutes apart, twenty minutes apart, then twelve minutes apart. They’re getting closer together,” she explained.

“Have you had any spotting or bleeding?”

“No, but—”

“Any fluid leakage that might indicate that your water has broken?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

Brad relayed the times to the man on the phone, along with details about how Laurel felt. After a few okays and nods, he hung up. “Dr. Stewart will call back within a half an hour,” he reported. “He said we should stay put and wait for her call.”

Anger flared in Laurel’s eyes again. She’d been sitting around her mom’s house for far too long. She was restless, and she was ready to give this baby an eviction notice. Before she could unload on Brad, her youngest brother walked in.

“What’s up?” Ryan asked with a nod as he grabbed a banana and climbed onto a bar stool. He smoothed his disheveled hair with one hand then closed his eyes as he savored the taste of the fruit.

“Not much,” Laurel replied, “except that I’m having a baby and my husband won’t take me to the hospital.”

That got Ryan’s attention. He sat up straight. “I’ll take you, if you need me to.”

Brad raised a hand. “Relax. I have a call in to the OB. She’ll let us know if we need to go to the hospital. It could be false labor, like it was the other two times Laurel thought the baby was coming.”
Laurel shot him a glare that could curdle milk. “This isn’t false labor, Brad. I know my body, and it’s telling me this baby is ready to make its grand entrance. It's a week past my due date. An entire week!”

Ryan swallowed his bite of banana and glanced back and forth between the two. “Can’t you just go?” he said, the frown deepening on his brow. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? If it’s not real, they’ll just send you home, right? What am I missing?”

Ryan had graduated from Middle Tennessee State University with his bachelor’s degree in Aerospace and a private pilot concentration less than a month prior. He was staying at home while on the hunt for a real, full-time job. The house was crowded.

Laurel appreciated her brother's straightforwardness. If only it were as simple as that. “It feels real to me—a lot more real than waiting around here, bumping elbows with Mom and feeling like a ticking time bomb. I want to be in a place where I know I’m safe, where I can focus on this baby and not on a kitchen that needs cleaning or an orchard that needs tending.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Brad conceded, wringing his hands and pacing briefly before returning to her side. “Let’s be prepared. That always feels better. Why don’t you finish packing the overnight bag, and I’ll grab some snacks?”

Laurel nearly crumpled with relief. “Now you’re talking,” she said. Just then, a high-pitched ring pierced the room as Brad's phone vibrated frantically on the kitchen counter.

Their gazes fixed on it. It was Dr. Stewart. Laurel swiped to answer, and without preamble, she blurted, “I need to come in. I’m having real contractions, I swear.”

“Take a deep breath, Laurel,” Elsa said. “Given your history and the fact that this baby has been camped out long enough, I would like you to come in. Let's start at my office.”

“How soon?” Brad interjected.

“I’m still here, so twenty minutes?” she asked.

“See you then.”

Outside, the summer sun beamed brightly, oblivious to the events unfolding in Laurel's personal life. It was tough not knowing what awaited them, especially with The Cradler still at large. Every tick of the clock felt like a countdown. Not just to motherhood, but to the reckoning she desperately sought. She was eager to get this baby settled then get back to work for the F.B.I. She hated feeling useless, especially when she knew she was needed.

“Are we ready?” Laurel asked ten minutes later, her breath heavy as another wave of pain spiked through her. Luckily, the overnight bag had been packed a few weeks before. All it needed was the addition of a toothbrush and toothpaste.

Brad hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded vigorously. “Snacks are ready, and I’ll carry the overnight bag. Breathe, okay? In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

She laughed weakly, though it turned into a wince. “You sound like a childbirth coach.”

“Trying to keep you focused, babe. Give me a break,” he said with a smile.

Before walking out the door, Laurel and Brad leaned down to scratch Lilly behind the ears. They said their goodbyes, knowing the pup was content to stay with Maureen and the rest of the family. Ever since the addition of Cornelius’ dog, Sully, earlier in the year, Lilly had made it known that she was happy to stay at the Dane estate for as long as possible. Lilly and Sully had become the best of friends.

As they stepped onto the front porch, a gust of sweet, warm air enveloped them, mingling with the faint scent of fresh-cut grass and wildflowers that dotted the yard. The sun began its descent, casting a golden hue over the landscape, but Laurel felt little comfort in its beauty. Instead, her focus narrowed to the pain that rippled through her with alarming frequency.

“Let’s get moving,” Brad murmured. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

They hopped into Brad’s truck, and he navigated the roads that twisted like veins through Appleman’s Gap. The prospect of a hospital stay drew nearer, but lurking under the surface was a sense of dread about leaving the safety of Maureen’s home.
“I can’t help but think about The Cradler …” Laurel whispered, a hint of fear creeping into her voice.

“We’ll deal with that later. Right now, our priority is getting this baby out safely,” Brad reassured her. "Unfortunately, The Cradler probably isn't going anywhere. There will be time to deal with him later."

“What's the latest?” she asked.

“I only saw a few highlights today,” he replied, his tone casual but his grip on the steering wheel betraying his unease. “I spent most of my day trying to stretch the department's budget to cover ongoing disaster recovery. Things are tense. FEMA hasn't approved our most recent request for assistance yet.”

"What’s the latest related to The Cradler?"

He sighed. "We suspect that some remnants of the syndicate are still active around here, and our department is spread thin as it is. But we’re not paying that any mind tonight. We’re focusing on you.”

Silence fell between them, punctuated only by the rhythmic thrum of the tires against the pavement. With each breath Laurel took, she felt the weight of responsibility grow heavier. Her life as a mother was only beginning, yet she was still facing something dark and sinister that didn’t seem to want to let go.

“What if we’re not safe, Brad? What if they were to make a move while I’m … in labor?”

He glanced at her, determination flaring in his eyes. “No one knows we’re going to the doctor's office—or the hospital, if we end up there—just like no one knows where we are most of the time. You’re not giving them any ammunition, if that's what you're getting at.”

Laurel nodded, attempting to swallow the lump of dread lodged in her throat. “I know. Everything has felt so fragile since the tornado. I mean, it was fragile before, but the tornado made me feel completely unable to control what happens to us. I don't like the feeling.”

“Focus on your breathing,” he instructed gently. “We’ll control what we can. That's all we can do."

As they pulled up in front of the modest clinic, Laurel began to relax. The sign outside blinked: “Women's Health and Fertility Center.” It was a reminder that while life scaffolded beneath them, they were surrounded by capable hands, eager to help.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Brad asked suddenly, concern flashing across his face as he shifted into park.

Laughter bubbled up in spite of herself. “As if I’m some kind of medieval princess? No, just help me out.”

He opened the truck door and offered his hand, and they maneuvered together around the front of the vehicle. Each step sent a sharp sting through Laurel’s abdomen. She pressed her other hand to her belly instinctively, willing the baby to cooperate.

“Easy now.” Brad steadied her, wearing a gentle smile.

The entrance to the clinic loomed ahead, and a sudden wave of fear washed over Laurel. She paused. “What if Dr. Stewart takes one look and tells me I’m not ready? That we can’t go to the hospital yet?”

"Then we’ll take it as it comes,” he asserted, squeezing her hand.

“It’s okay to feel scared. Remember all those breathing exercises we practiced.”

“I could really use a distraction right now,” Laurel admitted, glancing around the nearly empty parking lot. "I'm not usually anxious like this."

“What do you want to talk about? Movies? Your favorite candy? The worst outfits you’ve ever worn?” Brad offered, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Well, if we're talking about outfits, we can revisit the terrible taste I had in high school. I swear, I thought bell-bottom jeans were the height of fashion,” Laurel chuckled, though it quickly turned into a grimace as another contraction hit her like a freight train.

“Okay, so no talking about embarrassing clothes,” he said, quickly moving where he hoped to guide her thoughts elsewhere. “What about baby names? Once this little guy or girl is here, we'll need a name."

Laurel raised her brows and nodded. “True. We’ve waited until the last minute, haven’t we?”

Brad chuckled but then paused, turning serious. “No pressure, though, right? I mean, what if this baby comes out and we're both staring at each other like deer in headlights?"

“Or worse,” Laurel added, her voice light despite the tension in her stomach. “What if we get a Blinny or a Tarzan? I mean, there are some names out there that just shouldn't make the cut.”

“Tarzan? You can do better than that, babe,” he grinned, nudging her shoulder as they stepped closer to the entrance.

“But seriously,” she said, her forehead creasing with thought, “I've been leaning more towards names that have some kind of meaning or connection to family. Perhaps something from my side, like a name after Grandpa Chester. He was such a remarkable man. He founded our little town, you know?”

“True. Or your mom could be the inspiration,” Brad countered playfully. “Maureen wouldn't complain about being a namesake, I’m sure.”

Laurel shook her head, laughing a little, but there was sincerity to her words. “While I love my mom, it might be better to avoid naming our child after the woman who is keeping me sleeping in her childhood bedroom.”

“Oh, come on, this is no time for sass. Remember, we’re focusing on positivity,” he reminded her. “Keeping our mind off of the contractions. Besides, it’s a tradition. Family names carry weight. I wouldn’t mind a little Brad Jr. running around.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said with a laugh. “But really, what if we decide to go completely rogue and call the baby some off-the-wall name? Like … Velvet or something?”

Brad chuckled loudly, shaking his head. “Okay, unfair. That’s a terrible idea. When they’re older, they’d never forgive us.”

“Guess we stick with the classics then,” Laurel mused, taking a deep breath as they stepped inside. The waiting area was bright, the air filled with the scent of antiseptic mixed with something floral. They approached the reception desk, a calm party to their whirlwind.

“Hey, we’re here for Dr. Stewart,” Brad said, glancing around. “Laurel might be in labor.”

"Might be?" Laurel snapped.

“Okay, probably is,” he amended, giving her an apologetic look.
The receptionist smiled warmly, her hands poised over the keyboard. “Take a seat. We’ll get you checked in shortly.”

Laurel nodded, her eyes darting toward the rows of chairs. With the next contraction tightening around her, she clenched Brad’s hand, fighting back a wave of frustration. “I don’t think I can sit,” she gasped, feeling another surge.

“Then let’s walk,” he suggested, guiding her toward an open space near the wall. “Breathe with me, okay? In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

They began to move in slow circles, the rhythm helping to take some of the edge off the pain.

“It’s going to be okay,” Brad whispered, his voice low and steady. “Just picture our baby in your arms.”

“Right, with the perfect name and all,” she replied, trying to keep the mood light even as the next contraction hit her like electrified waves, making her momentarily freeze in place.

Brad chuckled softly. “That sounds like a couple’s activity for after the birth, right? Maybe a post-labor celebration with cocktails? When you can properly put your feet up and relax, and I can wrangle food from the cafeteria.”

Laurel forced out a small laugh, though the discomfort still loomed large. “Maybe something a little more nutritious? I'll be breastfeeding, remember? No alcohol.”

“You’re right—think protein,” he said. “Besides, I saw an article the other day about how hospitals haven’t quite figured out the ideal food balance for new parents. I’m going to fight tooth and nail for something better than jello. I promise.”

“Great, I’ll hold you to that,” she breathed, her eyes rolling with the exertion.

Just then, they heard a loud bang from somewhere in the back. They looked at each other, knowing the sound all too well.

“Was that … a gunshot?”