Born in Death (In Death 23)

Mavis stalled at six centimeters as Tandy hit ten and was cleared to push.

The suite filled up, thanks to the ’link tree. It was full of voices and bodies. Doctor Mira and her husband, Louise DiMatto and Charles, Feeney, Nadine, the huge bulk of Crack who’d come straight from his club, the Down and Dirty.

“It’s like a real wedding. I’m so happy. How do I look?”

Leonardo kissed Mavis’s fingers. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Oh, my sweet puppy. Let’s do it! We’ve got everything, right? Flowers.” She clitched the little nosegay of violets Roarke had brought her. “Music, friends. Matron of honor.” She sighed at Eve. “Best man.” And at Roarke.

“Everything.” Then Leonardo’s eyes widened. “A ring. I don’t have a ring for you.”

“Oh.” Her bottom lip trembled again, and was heroically firmed. “Oh, well, that’s no big, baby doll. Rings, um, they’re not always the deal anyway.”

Summerset moved forward. From under his stiffly starched shirt he drew a chain. “If you’ll accept something borrowed, I’d be pleased if you used this until you have your own. It was my wife’s.”

Tears trembled on Mavis’s lashes. “I’d be so completely honored, thank you. Would you mind giving me away? Would that be okay?”

He took the ring from the chain, passed it to Leonardo. Eve heard him quietly clear his throat. “I’d be so completely honored.”

When he shifted back, Eve met his eyes. “Well done,” she said.

It was perfect, Eve thought. Perfectly Mavis to make her vows and promises—with a couple of pauses for contractions—in the swanky birthing room surrounded by friends and wearing a silly tiara.

With McNab memorializing it all on his police recorder.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room, including her own, when Leonardo’s big hands slipped the borrowed ring on Mavis’s dainty finger.

After the applause, the kisses, the champagne Roarke smuggled in—you could always count on him—the midwife swung through the door.

“Congratulations, best wishes, and I’m pleased to announce a new life has begun. Tandy and Aaron have a son. Eight pounds three ounces of perfection. Mavis, I’m to tell you Tandy’s sending her energy to you now. And Dallas? She’d like to see you for a moment.”

“Me? Why?”

“I’m just the messenger. All right, Mommy, let’s see how you’re doing.”

“You’re coming with me,” Eve said and gripped Roarke’s hand.

“She didn’t ask for me.”

“I’m not going in there alone.” She pulled him with her.

In the other suite, Tandy looked pale, sweaty, and a little glassy-eyed, as did the new father. She held a small bundle wrapped in blue.

“Everything okay in here?”

“Everything’s brilliant. Isn’t he beautiful?” Tandy turned the baby, so snugly wrapped it put Eve in mind of a blue sausage with a round, alien face.

“Beautiful,” she agreed, knowing what was expected. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, thrilled, madly in love with both my men. But I wanted to introduce you, especially, to Quentin Dallas Applebee.”

“Who?”

“The new addition, Lieutenant.” Roarke gave her a little nudge forward.

“It’s all right, isn’t it?” Tandy asked her. “We wanted him to honor your name. He wouldn’t be with us if it wasn’t for you.”

Surprised, touched, Eve pushed her hands into her pockets and smiled. “That’s nice. Really nice. That’s a lot of name for a little guy.”