by Pam Godwin
More gunfire erupted, booming through the side street.
The next few seconds slowed to a crawl.
As she hit the ground beneath the weight of her attacker, PaulVer froze. His shoulder kicked back as if punched by an invisible fist. He staggered. His eyes bulged, locked on her. He reached for his chest, then his arm, and pulled his hand away, smeared in blood.
He was shot.
Oh, God, he was shot.
No, no, no!
A guttural sound barreled from her throat, and her stomach rolled in violent waves. Trapped in the cage of unbending steel arms, she could only watch in horror as PaulVer crumpled to the ground a few feet away. Lifeless.
She twisted her neck, her lungs screaming for oxygen, and found Cole stretched out atop her like a shield of flesh-and-bone armor. He’d saved her life again, but with that realization spiked a blood-chilling fear for his life. While she lay safely beneath him, his entire body was exposed to the bullets whizzing past her head.
All around her, the team returned gunfire. The deadly exchange of lead lasted a long, agonizing minute. Then the street fell quiet.
“All clear,” Matias shouted.
“Cole?” She whimpered, panicking. “Cole, are you-?”
“Not hit.” He dropped a kiss on her temple and rolled off her back.
Three dead bodies scattered the sidewalk behind her. Vincent’s men.
She stumbled to her feet, frantically scanning the side street before her. The team had taken cover during the gunfight. Were any of them hit?
The wrath of a million bees swarmed her bloodstream as Cole shouted, “Report in!”
One by one, each person on the team responded with “Not hit.”
As she exhaled some of her tension, the blare of sirens broke out in the distance.
“Move out!” Cole crouched beside PaulVer’s body and tossed the kid over his shoulder.
She raced ahead, leading him to the SUV with Tiago and Kate.
“Is he alive?” Kate asked from the backseat.
“He’s breathing.” Cole fell into the seat beside Kate and dumped the kid between them.
Lydia jumped in the front passenger seat next to Tiago, and before she got the door closed, Tiago hit the gas, shooting forward.
The other four teammates sped down the street in the second SUV. Tiago followed closely behind, skidding around turns and running through stop signs.
“Is he alive?” Blood thrashed in her ears as she twisted to face the backseat.
“Yes.” Kate bent over the kid’s body, eyes narrowed on his shoulder while Cole held a small flashlight on the wound. “It’s a graze. Not deep enough to need stitches.” She laughed, coughed against the back of her hand, and laughed again. “He passed out from a scratch.”
Cole’s face broke out in a grin, and within seconds, everyone in the vehicle was laughing, including Tiago as he tore through the streets, outrunning the Romanian Police.
“Search his pockets,” Lydia said. “See if there’s an ID.”
Cole rummaged through PaulVer’s clothing in the dark. “No, ID. But this was in his satchel.” Cole held up a slim laptop.
His eyes, chocolaty and warm, latched onto hers. They stared at each other, letting the moment sink in.
“You did it,” he whispered, setting aside the laptop.
“We did it.”
Now they just needed PaulVer to do the rest.
Cole inched forward and gripped her neck, bringing their mouths together. He kissed her softly, adoringly, humming his happiness. She returned the kiss, sharing in his joy, her soul swelling and reaching for his.
“It’s almost over.” He smiled against her mouth.
“Doesn’t feel real.”
The trailing sound of sirens faded. Then disappeared completely. They’d lost the police, but Tiago didn’t slow. He flew down the sleepy Romanian streets, keeping pace with their friends in the other SUV.
“He’s waking,” Kate whispered, taping up the bandage.
Cole leaned back, letting Lydia bend toward the backseat.
“Hey, there,” she said softly. “Remember me?”
A heavy rasp pushed past PaulVer’s teeth, his thick black eyebrows twitching as he dragged open his eyes.
His dark brown gaze struggled to focus, his eyelashes blinking rapidly, until finally, he centered his sight on her.
“You’re my angel,” he said dazedly. “My beautiful, perfect angel. Do you like the egg?”
“I love it. Thank you for giving it to me. I’ve been trying to earn one of your gifts for over a year.”
“You…” He was sprawled in the backseat between Cole and Kate, seemingly unaware of where he was. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Lydia. “You knew about the Easter eggs?”
“I know it’s your calling card, and each night you go out, you give one to your favorite dancer. It’s very mysterious. You like that, don’t you? You like leaving a trail of mysterious eggs that no one will ever figure out.”
His boyish smile appeared out of place with the sexual heat simmering in his foggy gaze. The kid was certainly unconventional and strange. But eccentricity was often associated with intellectual giftedness. As the most notorious hacker in the world, he was undoubtedly a genius.
“How did you find…?” His face paled, eyes widening as he shot up and gripped his bandaged arm. “Oh my God! I got shot!”
“The bullet grazed you. You’re fine.”
He didn’t seem to hear her as he wildly looked around the car, taking in the other passengers.
“Who are you?” He pulled his feet up onto the seat, gasping and scrambling to get away with nowhere to go.
Cole gently held him in place as she reached out a hand, touching the kid’s knee, trying to soothe him.
“We didn’t shoot you, PaulVer. We’re a vigilante team.” She met his terrified gaze. “The shooters were assassins hired by Vincent Barrington. The President-elect is trying to kill me and anyone involved in exposing his crimes.”
He stilled, his expression awash with disbelief. Then his breathing sped up, his voice rising in volume and urgency. “Let me out. Stop the car. Let me out of the fucking car!”
Everyone in the civilized world knew who Vincent Barrington was. She couldn’t expect him to believe her fantastical claim, and at this point, there was no calming him down.
Matias drove the other SUV, leading them to the rendezvous point. In the meantime, she just needed to tell PaulVer her story and hope he wasn’t too scared out of his mind to listen.
“Twelve years ago, Vincent Barrington killed my father in a Russian hotel room. My father was NSA, and the murder was recorded. That recording is in the hands of the Romanian mafia. I need you to get that video file.”
He shook his head rapidly, but the pace of his breaths lost momentum. He was listening, despite his fear. He was listening because he was too smart not to pay attention.
She started over from the beginning, filling in details about her dad, her ruse as a swallow in Vincent’s employment, Mike’s death, her fourteen-month hunt for his Easter eggs, and his ability to bring justice for all of it.
“You’re vigilantes.” He swallowed, eying Cole with suspicion. “Like…you kill people?”
“We killed the fuckers who shot you.” Tiago jerked the wheel, deliberately causing PaulVer to tumble into Cole.
She exchanged a look with Cole, attempting to borrow some of his composed patience.
“We’re part of a vigilante team that eliminates evil people.” She reached up and pulled off her blue wig, letting him see her natural red hair, her identity. “Human sex traffickers, pedophiles, and greedy, corrupt politicians.” She sighed. “Look, I’m only asking if you can hack into the Romanian mafia’s network and steal the recording, watch the video, and decide for yourself.”
“You won’t kill me?”
“Do you traffic women and sell children to predators?”
“No!” He made a horrified face.
�
�Do you murder innocent people?”
“No. I’ve never killed anyone. I steal from monopolized corporations and give the money to people who need it.” He rolled his lips. “And I like pretty dancers. But I don’t…I would never hurt a woman. I just like to give them my painted eggs.”
Her chest swelled with hope, but she felt the tension in the car. Everyone was on edge, holding their breaths. There was so much at stake, hinging on an eccentric, fearful teenage boy.
He lowered his feet to the floorboard and leaned toward her, bracing his elbows on his knees.
“I found a back door last year.” He raised his dark eyes to her, his accent thickening. “I’m already inside the mafia’s network.”
Her pulse took off, dancing through her veins. She was so strung out, so anxious and overjoyed she thought she might puke.
“Help us.” She lifted a trembling hand to his hairless jaw and let him see the tears welling in her eyes. “Please.”
“What will you do with the video?”
“Twelve years ago, it was turned into the NSA. I don’t know who saw the footage, but they did nothing. They covered it up and let it fall into the hands of the mafia. I’m reluctant to trust anyone in the government, especially now that Vincent Barrington is five days from becoming our President.” She drew a breath. “I was hoping you could disperse it, broadcast it all over the Internet, make it impossible to cover up. Americans need to know who they voted into office.”
He leaned back and stared out the window, watching buildings and street signs blur by. “Turn left here and head north. There’s a Starbucks up the road. They have a strong WIFI signal.”
As Tiago veered left and followed PaulVer’s directions, Cole called Matias and told him where to go.
“Thank you.” Her ribs expanded with the unstoppable release of years of pent-up emotion.
A tear escaped, running down her cheek, and Cole moved in, gripping the back of her head and kissing away the salty river.
“I’m sorry.” She laughed uncomfortably. “It’s a long time coming, and I’m emotional.”
“A moment I don’t want to miss.” He touched his forehead to hers.
Tiago pulled into the vacant parking lot of Starbucks and parked behind the building. Matias pulled in beside him.
There, PaulVer sat in the SUV with his laptop and dug through the mafia’s network files. She’d given him her father’s name and every keyword she could conjure, which he loaded into his software program to scan the mafia’s metadata.
Then they waited on pins and needles.
Most of them stood outside the vehicles behind the building. Out of view of the street, they watched and listened for the Romanian police.
The sirens never came.
Three hours later, PaulVer stepped out of the SUV and handed her the laptop. “I think this is it.”
She stared down at the paused video, her stomach twisting in knots. “Did you watch it?”
“Yes.” He frowned, his face appearing older somehow. “It’s bloody. Definitely Vincent Barrington committing murder.”
“You don’t have to watch it.” Cole cupped her jaw, pulling her gaze to his. “Once you see it, you’ll carry the image with you for the rest of your life.”
“My imagination can’t be much better.” She pressed play and clutched Cole’s strong hand.
On the screen, her dad walked through a hotel room and opened the door. Vincent stepped in as her dad shook his head, speaking rapidly.
“There’s no sound?” Her voice shook.
“No,” PaulVer said.
Her dad looked calm, albeit a little surprised and annoyed to see Vincent. When the door shut behind Vincent, it happened fast. Vincent pulled a knife from behind him and slashed it across her dad’s throat. A clean cut, deep and fast.
He hadn’t seen it coming, which meant he trusted the man.
If she had to guess, her dad had set up the video recording because he was expecting a visitor. Possibly the Russian informant he was supposed to meet. When Vincent showed up, he probably didn’t want him there because he was expecting someone else.
He wasn’t expecting to die. Richard Pictam had taught her everything she knew about combat fighting, weaponry, and self-defense. No one could get the drop on him. Unless he trusted them.
Regardless, the video quality was perfect, the identities on the footage irrefutable.
“That’s him.” Tears quivered through her voice. “Give it to the world.”
Cole wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her tight as PaulVer switched screens on the laptop and hit a button on one of his software programs.
“It’s sending now.” He bounced a little on his toes. “It’s hitting social media platforms, major news networks, and government agencies all over the world. Inboxes everywhere are receiving the file. It’s done.”
“Thank you.” She pulled away from Cole and flung her arms around PaulVer’s neck. “Thank you so damn much.”
When she pulled away, the kid blushed and stared at his feet.
She turned back to Cole, and he was right there, waiting, smiling with two gorgeous, irresistible dimples.
“It’s over,” she whispered.
“It’s only just begun.” He caught her nape and hauled her in, taking her mouth with pure and vulnerable passion.
In his kiss was heartbreak and risk and choice and chance and a million dreams all condensed into a moment.
A moment hard-won.
In his kiss, she won love.
Dublin, Ireland
Two weeks later
Lydia visited the house in Dublin 22 one more time. She thought she needed the closure, but now she didn’t know. Her heart was a mess.
“I don’t know why I’m here.” She paced through the small kitchen, looking around for anything she might want to keep.
“Do you want to go through his clothes?” Cole sat at the table, watching her steadily.
She and Mike didn’t own anything. No pictures. No clothes worth keeping. Nothing of value. Instead of collecting material objects, she’d collected tattoos. Her memories of him were inked on her body. She had the egg Mike painted, and she kept the image of his lopsided smile safely in her mind. That was all she needed.
There hadn’t been a funeral service. No big send-off. After she had him cremated, she and Cole flew to London, stood on the Westminster Bridge in the moonlight, and poured Mike’s ashes in the River Thames.
She let her brother go.
“I’m still trying to come to terms with it all.”
“There’s no hurry, Lydia. Take your time, and I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”
He hadn’t left her side since the night they released the video. PaulVer had done exactly what he’d said. The video went viral, and within twenty-four hours, Vincent Barrington was arrested for murder.
She and Cole had been glued to the news stations for the past two weeks, watching the drama unfold as Vincent was handcuffed and hauled away. The trial would make history. Those in the NSA who covered up his crimes would be named and charged, too.
Vincent Barrington would never see daylight again.
Cole had asked her if she wanted more justice than that. He said he couldn’t make promises, but he would find a way to have Vincent murdered in prison.
She didn’t want that. Death would be too easy. For a man who had lived so extravagantly off the rewards of his corruption, a concrete cell and penal labor would be the worst kind of hell.
Let him rot behind bars.
She treaded to the window and pulled back the curtain, gazing out at the dead lawn and the quiet street beyond. The snow had long melted, taking the trail of blood with it.
“There’s nothing left here but haunting memories,” she murmured.
“Then you need a reminder of the good ones.”
The chair squeaked as Cole stood, drawing her attention. He tapped on the screen of his phone and set it on the table. A moment later, a femi
nine Irish voice sang from the speaker.
Doo doo doo do, doo doo doo do.
Her sinuses flooded with searing, sticky emotion. Her vision blurred. Gasps rose and fell from her chest. By the time the first tear fell, he was in her arms, holding her, rocking slowly as he sang along with “Ode To My Family” by The Cranberries.
He kissed her softly as she sobbed out the agonies of her heart. He danced with her in the living room where Mike had slept without complaint. He swayed with her in the kitchen where Shannon had made her magical stew. Then he made love to her in the bed where he’d given himself to her completely and irrevocably on Christmas Eve.
He stared into her eyes as he entered her body as if it were the first time. No regrets passed between them as he stroked inside her, taking his pleasure and giving it back with the devotion of his lips.
He would never leave her. Never let her go. She felt that promise as he looked into her eyes, fucked her achingly slow, and said, “I love you.”
“I love you, Cole. Thank you for taking the risk with me.”
“You were worth the risk, Lydia. You made me whole again.”
He made her whole, too.
She’d lost her family, and though they could never be replaced, he’d given her a new one.
They shared a complicated history, but love was their magic ingredient. With a kiss, it annihilated twelve years of revenge and eight years of loneliness. If that wasn’t magic, she didn’t know what was.
Cayman Islands
Two years later
Today was the day. Nervousness might have been a natural response in Cole’s position, but he lived for this shit—the tremor of looming danger, the rush of adrenaline, and the thrill in fighting for something meaningful.
It didn’t get more meaningful than this.
White-crested waves rolled in from the sun-bleached horizon, lapping at his sandaled feet. He strolled along the beach, hands resting in the pockets of his swim shorts as his eyes moved from sand to sunbathers, from cobblestone pathways to crowded beach-side bars.
The panorama captured the essence of a laid-back paradise along with the elegance of a luxury resort. But he wasn’t here to work on his tan.
