“Chantal, you are going to let Kyle take you to our medical unit. I want one of my staff to examine you. And check the baby,” Hunt ordered.
“But Harper,” she cried.
“Honey, we can put you next to her room. She wouldn’t want something to happen to her niece,” Kyle said.
“Chantal, please, for me too,” Kip pleaded.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“Kyle, go now.” Hunt ended the call, and then spoke again, “Call Casey Reynolds.”
“Kip, what’s up?” Casey answered.
“It’s me. Kyle Cooper is bringing Chantal back up to you.”
“Hunt, she wouldn’t let me near her.”
“I know. Her BP 190/104.”
“Hold on,” Casey said.
“Hunt, can’t a man get settled before you make him work?” the soft Texas drawl filtered into the car.
“Tucker Hanlon, aren’t you a voice for sore ears. Who sent you?” Tuck asked.
Kip smiled at the sound of Tucker Hanlon’s voice. He’d put out a call to all the branch medical facilities for extra help.
“Santa Claus,” he snickered. “Kip called last night when that nursing home blew up. We couldn’t lose Shepard and Reynolds before they started. O’Reilly came in with me. Seton stayed in San Diego, but he’s sending Holland, and Brady is in the air too.”
Kip’s own anxiety was ebbing, knowing help was arriving.
“I’ve got a critical patient coming your way. Thirty-one-year-old who is thirty-one weeks. Her chart is in the center on one. Pre-eclampsia that’s progressing. She’s coming to you from upstairs with Coop,” Hunt advised Tuck.
Kip’s anxiety rose again, worrying if something happened to Chantal and the baby, Harper would become inconsolable. If it happened, he needed to figure out a way to make her feel better quickly. What was wrong with him? He could run a company, but to calm a beautiful woman, he was useless.
“Got it. I’ll update you as soon as I know. And spiffy center,” Tuck said.
Hunt leaned back in the seat. “Kip, thanks.”
“Anytime.” Kip meant it.
“We’re here,” Josh called from the front.
* * *
The Creole cottagelocated in the Gentilly District was painted in shades of white. Flower boxes hung from the front windows. The group disembarked from their cars and headed up the path centered in a well-manicured lawn.
The lead detective knocked on the door. “Mr. Gabriel Matin, I’m Detective Allemande from the New Orleans Police Department; may we come in?”
The man looked at the nurse with them. “Brig?”
She shook her head and sniffed. “Gabe, there was an accident. Addy, she’s gone.”
The man stepped back into the house, his knees weakening. “What happened?” he whimpered.
The detectives each supported him and helped him sit. “Gabe, where are the girls?” Brigitte asked.
“I let Babette and Desirée take a late nap. Addy hates when I do that. We went to the park today. What happened?” he asked again.
