Page 29 of A Trident Christmas Baby

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, smiling despite the chaos.

“Where are you?” she asked, and he could hear her trying to hold it together.

“I’m in Richmond. Our plane just landed.” He kept the rental car disaster to himself.

“I’m holding on for you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly before a sharp hiss cut through.

His chest tightened. “Alex?”

“Contraction,” she panted. “I’m fine. Just hurry, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too. Hang in there,” he said, his voice breaking.

The line shuffled again as Derek came back on. “What is your ETA?”

“Well, that depends on when I get a vehicle,” Ace admitted.

“What do you mean when you get a vehicle? I reserved a van for you.”

“I know you did, but the rental car company mistakenly gave it to someone else. And being that it is Christmas Eve. They don’t have anything else. The guys are checking some of the other rental car agencies.”

“You better figure this out fast, Ace. She’s not going to be able to hold that baby in much longer.”

“I know. I’m working on it,” Ace replied, his tone grim.

Derek sighed. “Once you guys figure out something, call me back so I know.”

“Will do.”

Hanging up, Ace felt the weight of the situation pressing harder. His fists clenched as he fought off the helplessness gnawing at him.

Moments later, Irish and Stitch reappeared, both looking slightly sheepish but wearing nervous grins.

“We’ve got a ride,” Irish said, his voice too chipper for Ace’s liking.

Ace narrowed his eyes. “What kind of ride?”

“Just grab your gear and follow us,” Stitch said, clearly suppressing a laugh.

Suspicion prickled at the back of Ace’s neck, but he had no choice. He gestured for the rest of the team to follow as they headed outside to the lot where all the vehicles were parked.

What met them made Ace stop in his tracks.

A box truck and a van were parked side by side, and surrounding them were five little people dressed as elves—pointed ears, green and red outfits, and all.

Ace turned to Irish, his expression demanding an explanation.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice low and incredulous.

One of the elves, a man barely taller than Ace’s waist, stepped forward. “Name’s Sparky,” he said, holding out a hand.

Ace stared at the hand, then at Sparky, then back at Irish.

“Shake his hand, Ace,” Irish said, his grin widening.

Biting back a groan, Ace extended his hand, engulfing Sparky’s smaller one.

Sparky grinned. “Your friends here said you were in a pickle and that you needed a ride. We’re heading toward Norfolk. We have a delivery of toys for a children’s center. We have room for you and your buddies, but we have to make our stop first.”

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