Mark nodded and grabbed my wrist and elbow. "This is going to hurt, but we can get it checked out later if you want," he said. "Grab onto something with your free hand, and try not to scream or pass out. This place isn't soundproofed, and there are people in the area almost all the time."
It actually wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I mean sure, Mark rotating my arm as he pulled was about as pleasant as chewing glass, but he didn't have to yank too hard. Instead, after rotating, he lifted and twisted. My shoulder popped back into place with a muffled clunk and an almost orgasmic wave of relief came over me.
"All right," I said, slowly moving my arm around. It was going to be stiff, but it worked. "Let's get changed, and get to the clinic. Let's go meet your daughter."
Chapter Two
Tabby
When Sophie told me that she was going into labor, the first thought that crossed my mind was that fate could not have picked a worse time for it to happen. I mean, my fiancée had just been kidnapped by a criminal element that was most likely one of the strongest left in the city. The man I considered my brother was mounting a vigilante rescue mission, and my sister was still nearly three weeks before her due date.
"Grab a towel and help me get these pants off. You're probably going to end up delivering your goddaughter," Sophie told me when her water broke. I was glad that the carpet in the room was Scotchguarded, although I figured we'd still end up renting one of those steam cleaners by the end of the weekend. But that was the least of my worries.
First things first. Rushing out of the room, I clutched my wireless headset to my ear as I ran to the hallway closet, grabbing three of the big fluffy Egyptian cotton towels that Mark bought for the house, along with the first aid kit just in case. I loved the fine texture and material of the towels, and was glad our finances meant there was no regret in using them. If I was going to deliver my goddaughter, I was going to swaddle that baby in as much comfort as I could. I carried everything back into the entertainment room, where Sophie was already gritting her teeth and bearing down as another contraction hit. They were coming a lot faster than I'd expected, this little girl was in a rush to get out and say hello to the world.
"How's it going?" I asked as I arranged one of the towels in front of Sophie. She used my arm for support as she worked her way onto the towel, leaning against the small bean bag chair she'd been using.
"Glad that I chose this chair instead of the big one," she said, her face already flushed with effort. "How about Mark?"
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I said simply. Mark had gone radio silent, which I knew from what Sophie had told me meant he was focused and intense. "Just watch the monitor, you'll be able to see when he does his thing. Focus on that and the baby. Come on, you know he's a one man ass-kicking crew, it'll be better than watching a movie while giving birth. Not that I know anything about giving birth."
Sophie grinned and put on a fake Southern accent. "Why, I don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' no babies!" she said, imitating the line from Gone With The Wind. It was nice to see that she still had a sense of humor.
Switching back to her normal voice, she chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll coach you though the tough parts. Most of it is sitting around waiting for the baby to crown. I see you grabbed the first aid kit. Nice job."
"Don't I need to go boil water or something?" I asked. "Whenever I see this done on TV, the doctor sends someone to go boil water."
"The water's to wash your hands," Sophie replied, then smiled. "And I think it gives the fathers a job to do too. Just when I tell you, put on some gloves from the kit and wash down with a damp cloth soaked in peroxide, it'll do just fine. Other than that, right now I need you to hold my hand during the contractions. I need something to bear down on."
I sat down next to Sophie, my attention torn between the monitors and the woman next to me. Taking her hand in my left, I tapped my microphone with my right. "Okay Mark, where are you?"
"You can't see me?"
"No. The traffic cameras aren't pointed in the right direction to catch you, and the satellite imagery isn't refined enough to pick you out against the shadows," I said. I grabbed the wireless keyboard and took it over next to Sophie, waiting for Mark's reply.
"I'm across the street, looking at the two men you told me about. No other movement visible. Inside, I can see through the windows. Three gunmen, a woman who I can assume is Melinda Pressman, and Patrick. He's alive, tied to an office chair. He seems to be doing what he does best."
"What's that?" I asked.
Mark's light chuckle told me more than his words. He was feeling confident. "He's talking. I swear, that boy never does know when to shut up sometimes. Alright, I'm going radio silent, time to go to work."