Page 96 of The Best Shot

The light was turning, gold sliding across the ridge, spilling over the tall grass and catching the edges of the rocks until they glowed.

I dropped into a crouch, camera to my face.

The hawk had been circling for the last three minutes, riding the updraft off the valley. Waiting. Same as me.

Click.

The sound barely registered anymore. It lived in my hands, in the small pressure of the shutter beneath my finger and the way my breath slowed when the frame lined up like I wanted it.

Click.

The wind shifted the grass in a long ripple down the slope.

I adjusted my angle, turning a fraction to follow the bird as it banked.

Click.

The phone in my back pocket buzzed.

I ignored it.

Wind. Grass. Bird.

Light.

A second buzz came a few seconds later.

The hawk tilted its wings and dropped lower toward the ridge and I rose halfway from my crouch to keep it in frame.

Click.

The light had maybe twelve minutes before it flattened, less if the clouds rolled in.

The phone buzzed again, longer this time.

The hawk slipped behind the ridge before I could catch it.

Dammit.

I lowered the camera and pulled out my phone, already irritated with myself for losing the shot.

Seven missed calls.

CeeCee.

I hit call immediately. She picked up on the first ring.

“Yasmine.” Her voice was tight and thin with panic.

“I’m here. What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong with the baby.”

“Wait, CeeCee. What⁠—”

“I don’t—I’ve been having these pains and they keep coming back and I don’t know if⁠—”

She broke off with a sharp inhale.