“Ma’am, are you okay?” an officer asked through his tactical gear.
My eyes flew past him and landed on Ryder. He was on the floor, eyes closed, face badly bruised. “Ryder needs help.” I launched myself toward him, but the other officers held me back.
“You don’t look much better,” the first officer insisted.
Paramedics rushed the room and it took on a new form of chaos. Ryder roused easily and was strapped to a stretcher and wheeled out. They tried to do the same for me, but I was determined to walk out on my own accord, though the pain in my abdomen screamed with every step. All I could think was, If it hurts, it means I am alive.
Chapter 25
The street was chaos. Multiple fires had broken out in the building because of Wagnor’s little fail-safe. From the back of my ambulance where paramedics doctored my wounds, I could see Ryder in his, across the din, 20 feet away. Once he was pulled from that room, he had brightened. Likely some of his limpness had been an act, like a hiker who plays dead in a bear attack. He caught my eye and tried to smile, though I could see the pain as he did.
“I think you have some cracked ribs, Miss Johnson,” the paramedic told me. “We need to get you to the hospital.
“In a minute,” I told him as I slipped from the edge of the vehicle.
I made my way toward Ryder, determined to say some of what I had kept locked in case I did not make it. My path was almost immediately blocked by Chief Saunders.
His hound dog jowls shook as he spoke with admiration. “That took a lot of guts, Miss Johnson. When you told me the plan last night, I have to admit I was skeptical. If I would have known your real plan, I would have stopped you in a second. I mean charging in to take on a murderer without a weapon or badge? That’s just reckless, almost suicidal.”
His admiration faded into more jabs to my intelligence and planning skills, but I was not listening. Another police office spoke to Ryder in the distance. I could not hear the words, but Ryder’s face paled tremendously, and his jaw became slack. The officer patted Ryder’s good shoulder and was gone again, leaving my only friend to cope with whatever news he had been delivered.
“Furthermore,” the chief droned on, “if you ever plan on being on my squad, you—”
“Am I a consultant?” I asked abruptly, interrupting him.
My outburst caught him off guard, but his answer had already been decided. “I think with a little time, a lot more therapy and—”
“Excuse me,” I said as I pushed by him. I had better things to do than waste another minute trying to please him.
Ryder was lost in another world as I stepped close, but his eyes brightened as he saw me.
“Hey there, Huckleberry.” I could hear the pain in his graveled voice as he spoke, but he was breathing, and that was what mattered. Sirens blared all around us, but we were alive. Miraculously, we were alive.
“What was that about?” I asked, motioning to the cop who had talked to him.
He appreciated my direct nature. He always had. It meant he could be just as direct with me.
“My father is dead.”
“Fail-safe?” I asked carefully.
“I guess so,” Ryder said, still disconnected from the emotion. “He dropped dead at the hospital about the same time. It was probably an implant or something, designed to eliminate possible traitors.”
I did not know how to react. There was nothing between them, but by the same token, it was his father.
“I’m sorry, Ryder.” The words were not enough, not after what we had been through.
“I found a will on his desk while I was living there. He remade it last week, and it’s valid.” Ryder focused on his hands. “I get everything.” The laugh was a reflex, not happiness. “I guess I don’t have to worry about debt anymore.”
He was not ready to deal with it, so he changed the subject.
“I’m not a very good spy, am I? I was caught pretty fast.”
My smile was weak, dampened by the reality of a crackling fire, breaking glass, and the death of a parent. “You need a little practice maybe.”
“Oh, no. I’m done with all this. You can keep it. I’m staying in my studio from now on.”
I slipped my hand over his bandaged knuckles. “That’s fine. As long as I can visit.”
Hope beamed from his eyes, the kind that you see in children when they still believe in the Easter bunny, hope in something that is impossible and yet wonderful all at once.
“Lindy, I’m going out on a limb here, but I mean, we just survived something huge, and I know you’re scared that you’re going to fall apart on me, but obviously, you could just as easily be buried alive or shot in the head as have a relapse.” With effort and pain, he flipped his hand over and tightened it around mine. “With a gun to my head, all I could think about was our time on the bluff and holding you again. All I am asking is for one date. Just a dinner. No felonies, no masks, just you, me, and some candles.”
I could hear shouting, crashing, engines, and sirens, but we might as well have been back on the bluff outside his lighthouse.
“Ryder I have been thinking about this a lot and—”
He held up his opposite hand to stop me. “Just hold on. Before you answer, remember I have been through a lot, and if you say no, I will survive, but if you say yes and then change your mind…Lindy, I can’t do that. I won’t come back from that.”
The lights from a fire truck illuminated his face red, then blank, then red again. He was serious. I had one shot with him, and this was it. Whatever I chose would brand the rest of our relationship. We would always be friends. Too much had transpired to change that. But something more hung in the balance, and I was not sure how to treat it.
Traffic cleared from beyond our ambulances. Shouts became clearer, and hands urged me backward, breaking the bond between our hands. “The area is unsafe. We need to get you to a hospital. There’s a break in traffic. We need to go now.”
I glanced over my shoulder. One side of Ryder’s doors had been closed, but he leaned far to his right to spot me, to hear my answer. He was right. In a month I had survived more trauma and pain and fought more near-death experiences than I had in five years from my disease. It was worth the chance, I had known since the previous night as he held me in his arms, he was worth the chance.
“Yes!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Yes, Ryder!”
He heard me, and even through the cuts and bruises, I could see his broad smile.
**********
Ryder was in the hospital for almost a week. I was released after one day with strict orders to stay still. For the most part, I was good. I kept to background checks, quiet surveillance, and evening visits to Ryder in the hospital. We agreed that until the date happened, we should remain friends. So we played Go Fish and Old Maid and steered clear of topics such as our possible relationship and his father’s death.
The reality of his wealth was hard for him to grasp, and even more difficult was the knowledge that he had inherited it only because his father believed he would join The Hope Allegiance. The only time I had an inkling of what he planned after the hospital was when Ryder mentioned his desire to stay in the lighthouse despite owning his father’s manor.
The case involving The Hope Allegiance was turned over to the FBI, but Stella’s death as well as the others’ deaths were kept local. The recording I made served to obtain the warrant needed. The church and the Brimley’s home was searched and evidence was found, evidence that had not been part of the fail-safe device. Pharmaco was in ruins. Their drugs and supplements had been pulled from the market. Justice was on the rise, and Uncle Shane had decided to stay on the force in Ferndale.
Most surprisingly, Peter Davidson decided to take over the congregation at the Laurel Community Church. Before his father’s death, and his dance with alcoholism, he had planned to follow in his father’s footsteps and preach the word of God. I was beyond delighted that he was willing to take over, and I even went to his first
service with Ryder at my side. Of course, he liked my dress. I laid a rose on Stella’s grave before I left, and Ryder left one on the ruins of mine.
When I asked about it, he just said, “I’m celebrating the death of your relationship ban.”
We picked an evening for our date, Friday, nearly two weeks after the take down of Richard Wagnor. My bruises had mostly healed, and I could almost laugh without pain again. As I grimaced through my makeup application and curling my hair, I allowed myself to get excited for a moment. But it was cut short by the heartache over Stella’s death. She would be beyond thrilled that I was giving life a chance, and I wished she could see it. A breeze through the open bathroom window tousled my hair, and somehow I knew she was not far.
**********
I strapped on my heels and snatched the clutch that matched my black dress. From inside the clutch, my phone buzzed. I considered leaving it alone, but I worried Ryder might have changed our plans.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Lindy Johnson?” The voice was dark, husky, and old.
“Yes,” I answered warily. “Who is this?”
The name sent a chill down my spine. “St. Anthony. You called about your sister.”
I could barely hold the phone as my hands began to sweat. “Do you know where she is? Where is Jackie?”
“I relocated a lot of children. I don’t know her exact location.”
“Then why are you calling?” I demanded, forgetting my precarious position.
He considered hanging up. I could hear it in the pause that hung between us.
“I’m getting out of the business, and well, call it a crisis of conscience.”
I sank onto the couch, the phone pressed so hard against my ear that beads of sweat dotted my cheek.
“What can you tell me?”
“Nothing,” was the quick reply. “But I have records, hundreds of records. In the morning, I will burn them all and disappear. If you come in time, I will let you burn them yourself.”
“Where are you?” I asked, my voice hesitant.
“Bozeman, Montana. I have sent the coordinates.” My phone beeped and in the next second the line went dead.
“Wait!” I screamed into the phone, but it was too late. He was gone.
Bozeman was at least twelve hours away, and sunrise was less than that. It was now or never. I picked up my clutch and walked in a daze to my car, my mind swimming with choices. There was no guarantee that he had Jackie’s information, no promise that he could even lead me to her. Ryder was a sure thing. He was real, and he was waiting for me. My engine turned over, and my car eased from the driveway, navigating the back roads with a mind of its own. I had two decisions, opposite directions, and two different lives, but no way to choose.
“Ryder is waiting,” I whispered in the stillness of the car. Would he understand? It was my sister. How could I walk away from my sister? I could call him and explain it, but would it be the final straw between us? I was going to meet a human-trafficking mastermind in the middle of nowhere. Surely he would object, or at least try to talk me out of it.
I stopped at a junction and stared right, then left. To the right, there were answers that had been left hidden for decades. A sister that I thought I lost and pain that I could right if I could just find her again. It could heal my rift with my parents, heal my whole family. To my left was Ryder, a future with someone who accepted me as I was and might even love me one day, but if I left now, it was over, he had told me as much.
I looked left and then right, paralyzed by my decision. I let the car roll forward, letting my instinct guide me.
And I turned right.
The End
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