Cigar Time - The Wheelman

“—ABOUT YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S CONDITION, DO YOU?”

Condition. Hmmm.

“We’ve left you something on the couch. Go ahead. Take a look.”

Lennon lowered his left pistol slightly, then looked. There was a white plastic wand resting on top of a pillow. Careful to keep his right hand aimed at the Russian—useless gesture as it was—Lennon tucked his other pistol in his waistband and slowly walked to the couch. He picked up the object. It looked like a thermometer case, with a little plastic window. The space inside the window was white, except for a thin blue line that bisected it.

“It’s not easy, getting a urine sample from an unwilling woman. We had to bring her around again, force her to submit, then render her unconscious for our own safety. Chloroform is a nasty, sloppy chemical. Crude.”

Lennon stared at the blue line, finally realizing.

“Not good for the baby.”

Realizing how stupid he had been.

That explained the secrecy, the weird moods. Of course. She hadn’t wanted to distract him from the bank plans. That was Katie. Anything important always waited until after a job. More connections formed in Lennon’s head. That was why she had insisted on somewhere nice—a resort—even though they had spent most of the winter lazing around. She had wanted the day to be special. An infusion of cash, a beautiful view, sunshine, an announcement.

Pregnant.

But who … ?

Lennon felt the room tip slightly on its axis.