Holt watched the Cherokee’s tiny shadow undulate across the landscape, playing hide-and-seek with the shadows. Then watched it fade and disappear as the sun sank below the horizon. He strained to see a pinprick of light, but there was nothing but deepening darkness. It occurred to him it was like a vast ocean of sand and rock, and they were looking for a single tiny lifeboat.
“Let’s try one more pass,” he said. “A little bit more to the north this time.”
The plane droned on toward the north, and the silence inside the plane grew heavier. When the left wingtip dipped into a sharp bank, Holt’s heart sank with it.
“Gotta call it a day, folks—sorry,” Tony said. “Running low on fuel.”
“That’s okay, buddy, you did—” Holt got that far and was interrupted by a sharp gasp.
“Wait! Wait—go back!” Tierney turned to them, her face rapt, her blue eyes bright. She put her hand up to cover her mouth, because she was laughing along with the tears.
The accountant from New Jersey went all-in on a straight draw that didn’t come through for him, and Billie’s table was down to three—Billie, an Internet player from New Zealand who looked about fifteen and a middle-aged guy wearing several gold chains, who chewed constantly on a toothpick and kept staring at Billie’s cleavage. Which was actually okay with her, since she’d gone to some trouble to produce the cleavage by means of an extremely uncomfortable push-up bra she’d bought in a moment of insanity and she almost never wore.
Most of the other tables were done, or down to their last two players. Billie had been playing conservatively, biding her time, trying to hold on as long as possible. But inevitably, her pile of chips had shrunk, and it was clear her two remaining opponents were running equally low on patience. The looks Toothpick Guy sent her now were more annoyed than lascivious.
On the next hand, Billie drew pocket tens. The wonder kid from New Zealand, the chip leader, folded. Toothpick Guy checked, but looked a little too smug about it. Billie checked, too.
The Flop was ten, deuce, three. Billie stared at the cards, confident her glasses would keep her eyes from betraying her. She waited as long as she could get away with, then bet a thousand. Toothpick Guy promptly saw her bet. Exuding confidence, but not too much.
The Turn card shot onto the table. Another deuce. Again Billie stalled. A full house wasn’t a sure thing, but she was almost out of chips. This hand was probably as good as it was going to get, and besides, what choice did she really have?
She went all-in.
Toothpick Guy’s smug smile faded when he saw her full house. He had pocket queens, both red. Two pair, queen high.
Time really did seem to stand still. She knew she was holding her breath, and even her heartbeat seemed to have been suspended.
In slow motion, the dealer dealt the final card—The River. It was the queen of spades.
Toothpick Guy let out a gusty breath and leaped from his chair, hands clapped to the sides of his head in joy and relief. Billie sat motionless.
It’s over.
There was a shimmery noise inside her head that blocked out all other sounds: Her own voice saying the right things as she rose from the table and extended her hand to the two surviving players. The New Zealander, saying something sympathetic to go along with his rather sweet smile. Toothpick Guy, all teeth and graciousness now that he’d won. She felt people patting her on the back as she turned, no doubt wishing her well, and she didn’t hear that, either.
I failed, Holt. I couldn’t do it. Hannah Grace, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…
Blind and deaf, somehow she wove her way through the ballroom—through the casino, through the rows of slots with their garish lights and dinging bells and avid, oblivious worshipers…through the vast and crowded lobby, noisy with people enjoying the glitz, glamour and excitement of Vegas. Cold air slapped her in the face, and she came to with a start, realizing she was on the sidewalk apron just outside the main entrance, under the portico where limos and taxicabs deliver their passengers. She hesitated, shivering, then began walking rapidly, not knowing or caring where she was going.
“Billie!”
Somewhere, lost in the shimmering noise inside her head, she heard someone calling. Calling her? Or was it her imagination? Didn’t matter, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, or see anyone. She kept walking.
“Billie—wait!”
That voice. The voice she’d been both hoping and dreading to hear. She turned, quaking inside, holding on to her self-control by a gossamer thread. And saw Holt farther down the drive, making his way toward her, dodging around people, pushing past some. She started toward him, then halted, unable to make her legs take another step.
Then he was there, reaching for her, but she put out her hand to stop him from pulling her into his arms.
“I’m out,” she said, words coming rapidly in a hoarse voice, blunt and unforgiving. “I couldn’t do it. I tried, but I lost. I didn’t—”
“Billie—listen to me.” He was shaking his head, gripping her arms. And smiling.
None of that registered. “I’m sorry, Kincaid. I couldn’t—”
He gave her a little shake. “Billie, it doesn’t matter. Don’t you understand? It’s okay. We’ve got her.”
In that instant, time and space did strange and impossible things. Time stopped. The universe shrank down to the tiny space that included only herself and the man holding on to her…holding her up…holding her together. She stared at him and heard a distant voice asking, “She’s okay?”
And Holt’s lips moved and formed the words, “Yeah…she’s okay. She’s with her parents. Hannah’s fine, Billie. She’s fine.”
The bubble popped. Sound rushed in. Sound and movement and thought. “What about Miley?” she asked. “Did they get him?”
“He’s in custody.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
She asked it in a hard voice, but there was something about the way she held herself…Holt stared down at her dark lenses, reflecting bits of light from the neon circus of the Strip, then reached up and gently took them off. Her eyes gazed back at him, dark and defensive, and he marveled that someone with a heart so battered and bruised could still find room in it for a rat like Miley Todd.
“You care about him,” he said softly.
She hitched a shoulder. “I don’t want—I mean, he did save my life.”
Holt slipped an arm around her and tucked her against him as he started walking along the hotel drive. “I think the guy was actually glad to see the cops show up. Probably thinking, better them than the guys he owed money to. Anyway, he’s probably going to be talking to the feds about witness protection in exchange for telling them about the guys he was in hock to. Turns out they’re part of a pretty big organized crime syndicate the feds have been trying to bring down for a long time. Don’t worry about Miley Todd—I have a feeling he’s going to land on his feet.”
She drew a long, shaky breath. “I can’t believe it’s all turned out okay.” She hesitated, then craned to look at him. “She’s really all right? She must have been so scared. You’re sure—”
“See for yourself.” And while she stared at him uncomprehendingly, he lifted his arm and signaled to the LVPD squad car parked in a fire lane a little farther along the drive. The car door opened. “Billie,” he said gently, “there’s someone here I think you should meet.”
Billie froze, seemed to become rooted to the concrete sidewalk. “No.” Her voice was a terrified whisper. “No, no—I can’t…”
A little girl was getting out of the squad car, still clutching the teddy bear they’d given her at the police station while they were waiting for her parents to arrive.
Billie was silent, although he could feel her shaking. She lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips to her lips.
He watched the girl’s parents get out of the car. These were two very decent, ordinary people—not young and a little dowdy, maybe—the kind of people you’d expect to find at PTA
meetings and on the sidelines at soccer games. The mom first—and she was the kind of mom you’d feel good about coming home to if you were a kid, Holt thought, because you’d know there was going to be something good to eat waiting for you in the kitchen, and a hug to go with it. Then the dad—the kind of dad you knew would be there to catch your bicycle when it wobbled, and who would tell you no when you asked if you could do something you knew in your heart was stupid and dangerous. The kind of people his own parents could have been. Would have been.
“They must hate me so much,” Billie whispered.
He looked down at her and smiled. “I don’t think these people are capable of hating.”
But she went on standing there, looking at the couple standing with their hands on their daughter’s shoulders, both protecting and encouraging. She seemed incapable of taking a step. She looked up at Holt, and the longing in her eyes squeezed his heart.
He gave her a nudge and, in a gruff-sounding voice he didn’t entirely trust, said, “Go on—go meet your daughter.”
Still she hesitated. “She…she knows who I am?”
He nodded. “Her mom said she’s been asking about her birth mother. She wants to meet you.”
“And…it’s okay with them? Her mom and dad?” She sounded both disbelieving and hopeful.
“Yes,” he said softly, “it’s okay.”
He took her hand, then, as if she were a child afraid of the dark. Guided her a few steps closer to the three people waiting beside the police car, then experimentally let go of her hand. She looked up at him and he smiled and nodded, then watched her walk on alone to meet her daughter. His face felt stiff, his throat tight and achy, and he folded his arms and straightened, making himself taller, sturdier, as if that would make him feel less alone.
Then he wasn’t alone, as Wade came from one side to clap a firm hand on his shoulder, Tierney from the other to slip her arm around his waist.
“Look at her—not a tear,” Wade said. He nodded toward his wife, who was openly weeping. “Tee’s a basket case.”
“Billie doesn’t cry,” Holt said. His arm was around Tierney’s shoulders, and he gave her a squeeze. “Hey, I thought you could block.”
She sniffled happily. “Who wants to block emotions like these? They’re the good stuff. They feed my soul.”
Holt didn’t answer her; he never got the chance. Because just then two things happened, almost simultaneously.
A taxicab came barreling up the drive and zipped into the space just ahead of the police car and right next to Billie and the Bachman family.
And Tierney stiffened, clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, “Oh, God.”
Instantly concerned for his wife, Wade said, “You okay, babe? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” she replied, laughing as new tears slid down her already wet cheeks. “Wait—just wait.”
The taxi’s back door flew open and a woman climbed out—a tall, blond, beautiful woman—followed closely by Tony Whitehall. Billie looked up and turned to face the newcomers, her face frozen in a puzzled frown. And Holt felt as if he was watching a tableau, all its players poised in the moment just before the scene’s dramatic climax.
Then…there was sound, and motion.
Brooke Fallon Grant marched up to her twin sister and said furiously, “Well, dammit, Brenna, you wouldn’t come home, so I’ve come to get you!”
And Holt watched in shock as Billie—or Brenna—burst into tears.
The tidal wave of emotion that swept over him then was more than he knew what to do with—and definitely more than he wanted anyone to witness. He spun around, hands lifted, chest heaving, searching blindly for a private place, a hole to crawl into, a shelter where he could be alone and find a way to deal with the upheaval within him. But instead of aloneness, once again he found himself surrounded, arms wrapped around him, a strong hand gripping his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Tierney whispered, hugging him tightly. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That’s family.”
And Wade said brusquely, “Well, Holt, my friend, looks like your job here is done.” He paused while Holt coughed, cleared his throat, looked up at the lights and tried to laugh. “Have you told Cory and Sam yet?”
“Ah,” Holt said, and cleared his throat some more. “Got a call in to them. Expect they’ll be here soon.” He hauled in a chestful of air and wondered why the achievement of something he’d been working toward for so many months didn’t make him feel happier.
Tony came wandering up just then, his pit-bull face looking like it didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He shook Wade’s hand with the two-handed grip that passed for hugging between guys, nodded toward Holt, sniffed and said, “Boy…this is something else, huh?” Then the three men stood silently and a little apart, arms folded on their chests, watching the two sisters. The two women had their arms around each other, heads close together, laughing, nodding, wiping eyes, laughing again…crying.
Tierney moved to stand close to Holt’s side, and he thought it was strange that he didn’t feel any need to widen the distance between them. There was something about her that he found comforting. Maybe, he thought, because he knew he couldn’t hide his feelings from her anyway, so why worry about it.
“Does she know how you feel about her?” she asked quietly after a while.
He gave a soft huff of laughter. “No, I’m sure she doesn’t. And I intend to keep it that way.”
“Why?” She waited for him to answer, and when he didn’t, she said, “If it makes a difference, she loves you, too.” He still didn’t reply, and he heard a sharp little intake of breath. “But it isn’t that, is it? I think…for you that almost makes it…harder.”
When she paused, his mind flashed back to the night before, in Billie’s bathtub, with her all slippery and weightless on his chest, the weight all inside, where his heart should be.
Life’s just one big poker game…
You don’t get any say in what cards you’re dealt, it’s all about how you play your hand.
You have to know when to walk away, when to run.
“It’s too big a gamble for you, isn’t it? Loving someone…”
He threw her a look he knew she didn’t deserve—hard and mean and born out of the darkness he could feel starting to close in around him. “If you mean, am I willing to risk losing somebody I love, the way I lost my parents—yeah, it’s too big a gamble.” I can’t do it.
It just hurts too much.
“Oh, Holt, this is Vegas,” Tierney said, and her voice was tender—not only the voice he heard with his ears, but the one he felt, deep inside his mind. “Don’t you know…the greater the risk, the greater the reward? And sometimes the reward far outweighs the risk.”
He could only shake his head, unable to speak.
Just then Billie looked up. Still flanked by and holding on tightly to her sister, she lifted her head and looked straight at him, and her tear-streaked face broke into a radiant smile. It was simply the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life, more beautiful than any sunrise. Could even the Grand Canyon be more amazing?
If I could just wake up to that smile every day, he thought, it might be worth the risk…
What the hell. He held out his hand and she let go of her sister and came to him in a blind rush. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face into her hair…took a deep breath, closed his eyes…and went all-in.
Epilogue
“P
earse, could there be a more perfect day for a wedding?” This was, of course, a rhetorical question, which Sam’s husband knew better than to answer. He smiled at her, and she settled back in her folding chair as she added with a sigh, “Or a more perfect spot for one. This was a brilliant idea, havin’ it in the Portland Rose Garden. I’ve got to hand it to Wade and Tee for comin’ up with it.”
“It was a good choice,” Cory agreed. “A good compromise.”
Sam snorted. “What compromise? The brides’ h
ometown down in Texas has bad memories for both Brooke and Billie—I’m never gonna be able to call her Brenna, Pearse, I’m sorry—and Las Vegas just seems a little bit tacky, if you know what I mean. So where were they gonna go? I think this is perfect. Not only is it the most gorgeous place I’ve ever seen, but it’s where it all started, sort of.” She knew she was chattering, but couldn’t seem to help it. Her emotions were all over the place these days. “Well, not where it started, I suppose that would’ve been back home at Mama’s house in Georgia, but it’s where you first laid eyes on Wade. He was the first brother you found, and you first met him right here in this rose garden. And now…here we all are. Together.”
She reached over and took her husband’s hand and squeezed it, then sniffed. “Tell me the truth, Pearse—did you really think this day would come?”
Cory lifted her hand to his lips. “Never doubted it.”
“Oh, come on, Pearse, don’t lie to me. Don’t you sit there and tell me there weren’t a few bad moments. Like right here in Portland, when Wade mistook you for a serial killer and almost shot you?”
Cory rubbed ruefully at the back of his neck. “Yeah, that was a bad moment, all right. Especially when the real killer took that opportunity to take Tee hostage, and then shot Wade. For a while there I thought I’d found him only to lose him for good.”
“And,” Sam pressed on, “how about that day in the Kern River Canyon, when that woman almost ran us off the road, trying to kill Matt—”
“But she didn’t,” Cory pointed out, “and as a result, he and Alex found each other again.”
“Finding your little brother in a wheelchair,” Sam said softly. “That wasn’t your best moment, either, Pearse.”
“No…” He took a breath and smiled. “But that little brother of mine has taught me an awful lot about courage and inner strength. Like you did, Sammie June.”
She nodded, and for a moment was silent. A soft breeze stirred through the evergreens that encompassed the rose garden and carried the sweet scent of the blossoms with it. Recorded chamber music floated on the warm spring air and the sun was gentle on her skin. Everything was beautiful, and in spite of that, she shivered.
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