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TWO MINUTES LATER, THEambulance squealed around the corner of Lexington and headed south, lights flashing and sirens wailing.
On a gurney in the back, Salazar panted through a contraction while an EMT named Phoebe Cartwright put a fetal monitor on her belly. Bree sat on the opposite side, holding the detective’s hand.
“Oh God,” Salazar groaned. “There it is.”
“There what is?” Bree asked.
“Just like last time.”
Cartwright, the EMT, said, “Like what last time?”
“Fast.” She gasped. “My labor. The contractions, they come—”
A contraction doubled her up. She squeezed Bree’s hand so hard, Bree thought bones might break.
The fetal monitor beeped quicker and quicker.
From the front, the driver yelled, “How are we doing?”
Cartwright said, “This baby’s coming fast. And could be in some distress. I’m seeing a nonreassuring pattern on the monitor here.”
“Inbound to Mount Sinai Beth Israel. ETA six minutes.”
The contraction ended. Salazar panted and then yelled, “Negative on Mount Sinai! My doc is at NYU. That’s where she and my family are headed!”
Cartwright said, “I don’t know if we’ll get to NYU.”
“We’ll get there if I have to tie my legs shut,” Salazar said.
“How do your doc and family know?” Bree asked.
“App on my phone. First contraction, I knew. I just pressed a button, and they were all texted and—”
Another contraction began. Salazar surfed the pain like a pro for that contraction and the six that followed as the ambulance weaved through evening traffic south and east toward NYU Medical Center.
An accident at Third and Thirty-Fourth slowed them.
Salazar moaned. “Are we there yet?”
“ETA two minutes,” the driver said, finally getting around the smashed cars.
“Hold on a little longer, Rosella,” Bree said.
“That’s out of my control, Chief.” She grunted. “Just like with his sister. Once my kids start coming, there’s no stopping them.”
“You’re not fully dilated yet,” Cartwright said.
“Gimme a minute, maybe two,” Salazar said. Another contraction hit.
Just as that contraction subsided, they pulled up in front of the emergency department. Four people were standing outside the ambulance when its doors opened.
“Rosella!” cried a rugged and worried man dressed in denim.
“He’s coming, Debo!” Salazar said, beaming. “Our boy is coming!”
Two nurses appeared. Bree climbed out. The nurses got in to manage the various monitors attached to the detective while the driver and Cartwright lifted Salazar and her gurney from the ambulance.
A fit older woman in yoga tights and a hoodie stepped up, fingered Salazar’s gown, and looked at the sneakers. “This is how you dress to have a child, Rosella?”
