DD Warren 00 - The 7th Month

your unborn child. Abruptly, the muscles around her stomach spasmed harder, as if feeling her tension. Her eyes widened at the unexpected pain, then she forced herself to breathe deeply. Relax. Be cool, calm, in control.
    “
Gun,
” Natalie yelled.
    Reluctantly, D.D. handed it over. The blonde took it, then turned to Alex. “You, too.”
    “Lab geek,” he tried, still playing to his cover. “No gun.”
    Natalie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Take off your coat,” she ordered.
    “But I’m cold.”
    Natalie pulled the trigger. A bullet flew within an inch of Alex’s shoulder and added new ventilation to the trailer. Behind D.D., Donnie Bilger made a low, moaning sound which would probably precede a fainting spell. D.D. didn’t spare him a glance. She kept her hands on her clenching stomach, and her eyes on the homicidal blonde.
    Alex calmly opened his jacket to reveal a gunless torso.
    “Not an active-duty officer,” he said, which, as an academy professor, was the truth. “I don’t carry a weapon.”
    Natalie grunted, finally seeming to relax a fraction. She kept the gun pointed at D.D., as she chewed her lower lip and seemed to contemplate next steps.
    “Samuel promised to help me,” she said bitterly. “Teach me some cop tricks. I could take over the female lead. Why not? I’m good enough! Samuel said he would help, put in a good word, assist with
private
lessons. Men,” Natalie spat angrily. “Always only want one thing, especially from blondes.”
    “I hear you,” D.D. muttered, gesturing to her swollen, achy belly.
    “Shut up. You’re a cop. Men respect you.”
    “Oh, honey—”
    “Shut up!”
    D.D. gave up trying to play the sister card, thinning her lips as her belly contracted again. Long. Hard. She panted lightly. Alex glanced back, gaze clearly questioning. She did her best to summon a reassuring smile.
    Then it occurred to her: Her lower back pain all day, lack of appetite, on-again, off-again stomachache. Just over seven months. Twenty-nine weeks. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
    “I arrived this afternoon at Samuel’s place for more
rehearsal
,” Natalie was exclaiming. As her agitation grew, a faint accent colored her words. Eastern European, D.D. thought. Perhaps Russian. “Except this time, Samuel was all, I know who you are, I know who your boyfriend is, how you got your job. He was all . . . big cop. Big man around town. He’d do me a
favor
. All I had to do was sleep with him, and he’d keep my ‘casting couch’ a secret.
    “
Pulll-eeze
,” the woman stated, holding herself further erect in her black widow’s costume. “I am Andréas Chernkoff’s girlfriend. Like I need some retired beat cop for protection. Andréas, he likes me for a reason. I’m not afraid of blood. And I can handle my own dirty work. Plus,” the actress added, “I do a Google search: How to kill a man. Find a most excellent website. Everything you need to know. So of course, I go out, buy a baseball bat, show Samuel I am already diva material.”
    “How’d you get the drop on a cop?” D.D. couldn’t help but ask. The bands of her stomach muscles were tightening again. A slow, definitive ache. In the way true partners could, Alex was on to her discomfort. Slowly but surely, he was nudging her farther and farther behind him. Parenthood, D.D. was discovering, happened way before birth. She was keenly aware that both she and Alex were in jeopardy. And already, stubbornly, resiliently, she was plotting ways for her child to live. They were expendable. The baby,
no
.
    “Vodka,” Natalie said. “He nodded off. I picked up the bat, went to work. It’s not so hard, almost like breaking a watermelon. Oh, I have an alibi,” the aspiring actress finished brightly. “I was at home, watching
M*A*S*H
. That silly Hawkeye.”
    D.D. peered out at the woman from behind Alex’s shoulder. Natalie seemed genuinely pleased with herself. She had killed a cop, and she was proud of it. D.D. made a mental note never to work as a film consultant ever again. Then she held on to her stomach, as the bands tightened impossibly hard, and a shooting pain raced up her spine.
    Oh, yeah. Definitely in trouble. Right now.
    In front of her, Alex tensed, as if preparing for action. She wanted to grab his coat. She wanted to yell
No, I can’t do this without you
. But the iron bands of her stomach had squeezed the breath from her lungs and she couldn’t talk, couldn’t speak. She panted, like a cow calving, she thought