by Shandi Boyes
“Very well.” The judge sits low in his leather chair before making a tee-pee with his index fingers. “I extensively read the reports drafted by both Ms. Gregg and the District Attorney’s Office over the weekend, so I feel confident in issuing a sentence now if neither party objects.”
“We’re happy with that, Your Honor,” assures Madden’s lawyer.
After popping his glasses onto his face, the judge shifts his eyes to Melody. “And what says the prosecution, Ms. Gregg?”
“We’re also happy for sentencing to occur now, Your Honor,” Melody replies, her tone equally shocked and pleased.
“Good.” The judge’s glasses notch down his nose when he glares at Madden. “I must say, your crimes are both extensive and sickening, Mr. McGee. You lack humility, and you treated your victims as worthless commodities. Not once in my thirty-nine years of office have I read such demoralizing, heartless, and downright nauseating claims. You used your privileged life to escape conviction and seek new victims at every turn without once showing remorse.”
He peers down at a stack of papers in front of him to check the extent of Madden’s charges before continuing, “Your crimes are too broad to offer you the mercy you’re seeking, Mr. McGee. So, in saying that, I sentence Madden Vincent McGee to ninety-nine consecutive years behind bars with parole not eligible for the first sixty. Three years for each victim.” After banging down his gavel to quieten the sobs of joy breaking across the chambers, the judge says, “You’ll be ninety before parole will be considered. Hopefully, by then, you would have matured enough to reflect true sorrow for what you have done.”
“All rise,” the bailiff requests when the judge stands to his feet.
When the judge breaks through the mahogany stained door at the back of the podium, it’s the fight of my life not to throw my fist into the air. I wouldn’t hesitate if the faintest buzz of my cell phone in my pocket wasn’t stealing my focus. I told Grayson I’d update him as soon as the verdict was handed down. Even he must be growing impatient.
“He got ninety-nine years,” I laugh down the line, my words choked by a sob.
“About fucking time,” Grayson replies, breathing out in relief. “You did it, punk. You brought the bad guy to justice. How does it feel?”
“It feels good.” It takes me a little longer to reply than I care to admit. I’m glad justice has been finally served, but I also understand the judge’s stern ruling. Madden pled guilty, but he’s yet to express an ounce of remorse for what he has done. He truly doesn’t understand what his victims went through because he’s never been victimized.
“Hey, Grayson, can I call you back? There’s someone I need to talk to.”
He makes kissy noises. “Give your girl a kiss for me.”
I hang up before his laughter hackles half my nerves. I wasn’t referencing Melody when I said there was someone I needed to speak with. It’s the man seated in the back of an almost tank-like SUV. It’s the same SUV I approached weeks ago when I realized the only way I could get Madden to take blame for what he had done was by scaring him as he had scared his victims.
The Mob has arrived in Saugerties.
As I gallop down the stairs of the courthouse, Henry slides down the heavily-tinted window of his bulletproof ride. He doesn’t ask what the verdict was. His face shows he already knows. “Are you happy?”
I shrug, truly unsure how I feel.
I do know one thing, though. I have more power than Madden has ever had, and that is thanks to both Liam and his daughter.
Henry’s gleaming smile competes with the midday sun when I ask, “You wouldn’t happen to have any influence on who inmates are housed with, would you?”
“Perhaps. Why? Do you have a request?”
As Mr. Gregg’s words ring in my head on repeat, I mutter, “Big Papa seemed a little lonely last month. Perhaps Madden could keep him entertained during his transition from citizen to inmate. It may be the only way he’ll truly learn from his mistakes.”
Henry’s smile is as evil as the man he wants you to believe he is. “I’ll have Kwan collect earbuds on the way home from his shift this evening. He’ll need them by tomorrow afternoon.” When the quickest flare of hesitation darts through my eyes, he adds, “It’s okay to tiptoe onto the wrong side of the law as long—”
“As I find my way back,” I interrupt. Feeling lighter and freer than I’ve ever felt, I get cheeky. “Have you ever considered taking your brother’s advice, Henry?”
His chuckles are as dark as his hair coloring. “Are you sure I haven’t already, Brandon James McGee?” After nudging his head behind my shoulder, he commences winding up his window. “Look after her. I don’t want to be forced to tie up more loose ends.”
I discover who Henry is referencing when Melody’s reflection beams off the tinted window of his SUV. She’s racing down the stairs as quickly as I did earlier, her face glowing with excitement.
I assume her eagerness to reach me stems from Madden’s sentencing, so you can imagine my surprise when she asks, “Why don’t you ever answer your phone? Bobby is on his way. He’s coming here tonight.”
I take a step back, shocked. “Tonight?”
“Yes! Tonight. He’s at the airport with Phillipa. She’s been calling you nonstop.” With my mind shut down, Melody slips her hand around mine before stepping onto the curb to hail a taxi. Our cars are both here, but her eagerness to get to Bobby is too high to contain.
We’ve been waiting for this day for weeks. Although Ophelia played nice with authorities, she wasn’t as amicable with me. She knew Bobby was her only bargaining chip, so she extorted him for all his worth. I doubt any of the child support I’ve paid the past year has gone toward Bobby’s well-being, but when nothing but the care for your child is on your mind, you hand over any amount requested.
“What changed between now and last week?”
Melody shrugs. “I don’t know. I was so eager to find you, I hung up on Phillipa.” Her grimace is cute as hell. She and Phillipa are friends, but they’ll never be best friends. Melody thinks they’re too alike for that ever to happen. I kind of agree with her. “Should I call her back?”
When I nod, Melody slides her cell phone out of her pocket and hits the last call on her recently called list, then activates the speaker mode.
Phillipa answers two seconds later. “Did you find him?”
“I’m here. How did you achieve this? I thought custody was months away?”
We have a bad line, but nothing can take away from what Phillipa says next, “Ophelia is being extradited to Italy on undisclosed charges. Bobby is a US citizen. She can’t take him with her. We made an agreement that she’d award full custody of Bobby to you on the condition she conducts the handover. She doesn’t want Bobby to know she’s being arrested.”
My gut gurgles more in unease than happiness. “That doesn’t sound right, Phillipa. She’s being too reasonable. You can’t trust her.”
“I know, BJ.” Her tone isn’t as harsh as mine, somewhat understanding. “But I also know what I’m doing. Bobby will never leave my sight, and he’ll never be in any danger. I promise you that.”
Her response all but confirms my worries.
They’re hoping to use Bobby for a sting.
“I’m not okay with this, Phillipa. I will not have my son used more than he already has been.”
“BJ—”
“No, Phillipa,” I interrupt, shouting. “I will not change my mind about this. If you want to know who Ophelia is working with, you’ll have to find a way to do that without using an innocent child as bait.”
With Phillipa and me at a stalemate, Melody jumps into the conversation. “Can you change the location of the drop? Henry’s men have full coverage of the Upper West Side. Even if Ophelia has arrangements in place, they’ll never get through Henry’s men.” Feeling my unease, Melody drifts her eyes to mine. “Henry values family ties. Bobby is like a son to me, so Henry will keep him safe.” She grips my balled hand wit
h the one not clutching her phone. “This may be our only way to free Bobby from his mother’s clutches, BJ, so we have to consider all possibilities. If she flees the country with him, we may never get him back.”
My knee bobs out my agitation as I contemplate. I don’t want Bobby close to harm, but I guess, just like what happened to Melody, I’m too late. He’s already in danger.
That doesn’t mean I can’t protect him from hereon out, though.
A sigh vibrates Phillipa’s lips when I say, “We do this my way or not at all.”
“Okay,” she agrees rather quickly, relieved.
Four hours and fifty-five minutes later, I’m standing on a cold and windy corner, praying my good fortune of late doesn’t come tumbling down. I’ve worked hard for this. I’ve put in years of dedicated service, decades of training, and just as many hours of love. You’ll never call me cocky, and you’ll never see me fanning out peacock feathers and strutting, but I hope you think I’m deserving of happiness.
Bobby is the final piece of the puzzle I’ve been striving to complete the past year. If today’s sting backfires, my life will never be complete. I missed the first five years of Bobby’s life, but that doesn’t mean I love him any less. Our connection was as immediate as it was when my eyes locked on Melody for the first time. He was weary standing across from the stranger claiming to be his father, but like all five-year-olds, curiosity soon overtook his anxiety.
He asked if I had any other children, if I had ever been to Disney World, and if I lived in a house or an apartment. He was disappointed when I answered no to his first two questions, but his curiosity piqued when I told him about the ranch I grew up on. Unlike Melody, he has a fondness for horses. Although I hadn’t lived on the ranch for many years, hours flew by as we talked about all the different adventures he could have on a farm.
Then, out of the blue, he asked if he could visit the ranch one day. I told him I’d love nothing more than for him to visit Saugerties with me. Tonight, I might be able to keep the promise we made that day.
“Breathe out those nerves, punk. You’re going to be this boy’s hero, so show him that,” Grayson mutters in my ear when my nerves almost have me wanting to bend in two.
After breathing out my nerves as suggested, I ask, “Any visual?”
“They’ve left the hotel on foot. ETA is five minutes.”
I lift my chin, aware Grayson would have eyes on me as well. “What about the Sicilian’s Henry’s men contained earlier today.”
“Still holed up in Customs.” An ill-timed grin raises my cheeks when he adds, “Those fuckers will be walking funny by the time they’re released, Ophelia will be on her way to Milan, and your boy will be heading home with you and your girl.” Keys being stroked sound down the line before Grayson mutters, “What the fuck is he doing here?”
“Who?”
Grayson waits a beat before answering, “No one for you to worry about. Focus on your boy. They’re moving faster than anticipated, ETA is less than two minutes.”
As the click of him changing radio frequency dongs into my ear, I discover the cause for his worry. Isaac and Isabelle Holt are briskly walking down the sidewalk. This is the first time I’ve seen either of them since they paired with Grayson’s team to take down Kirill’s Hopeton operation. Half of me believes they deserve an apology for the things I said in anger that day, but the other half thinks Isaac deserved my wrath.
Bobby isn’t his son, but if he were, imagine what his reaction would have been to me placing money into his son’s trust fund every month? Even if he were being helpful, he stepped over a line he would have decimated any other men for.
If that isn’t a sign of a narcissistic personality, I don’t know what is.
My eyes drift from Isaac and Isabelle when Grayson’s gruff tone rumbles down the line. “Expect visual in five… four… three… two…” Just as my eyes lock with Bobby’s on the other side of the street, Grayson announces to the agents on the end of our feed to prepare for evacuation. Just because members of the Sicilian mob are holed up at Customs doesn’t mean we can get sloppy. Tobias taught us better than that.
When Bobby spots my inconspicuous wave for him to run to me, he slips his hand out of Ophelia’s grasp and dashes my way. “Daddy!” he shouts at the same time Grayson mutters in my ear, “Move in to secure target, mark removed. Do it quietly.”
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Bobby continues to shout as overwhelmed as me. We haven’t been in the same room for months, and I’ve missed him so much, I’m not ashamed to say tears are burning my eyes.
While Bobby sidesteps a frozen and stunned Isaac and Isabelle halfway down the sidewalk, Phillipa and Harvey slap a piece of duct tape over Ophelia’s mouth, throw cuffs on her wrists, then toss a black hood over her head.
“Hey, buddy. Come here. Good job.” I pull Bobby in close to my chest before twisting him away from the direction he sprinted to ensure he doesn’t witness his mother being placed into the back of a white van mounted at the curb.
As I walk Bobby in the direction of the hotel Melody is waiting for us at, Grayson’s deep tone vibrates my eardrum. “Target contained, commencing direct route to LaGuardia.” The familiar click of him switching radio signals is heard before he says, “Enjoy your vacation, punk. I’ll see you when you get back.”
Stealing my chance to thank him for his help, he disconnects our feed just as the white van holding Ophelia darts by us. I can’t see anything through the super dark tint, but I can imagine Phillipa’s smile. It’s as big as mine.
“Mellowy.” Bobby breaks away from me when we enter the hotel lobby, eager to reach Melody who’s nervously pacing the marble tiles. I’m pleased to say Bobby can’t pronounce his D’s any better than I did when I was his age.
“Hi, Bobby,” Melody signs and speaks at the same time before she bobs down to return his friendly greeting with a big hug. They’ve only met once and FaceTimed a handful of times, but I’m confident Bobby is as smitten with Melody as I am. “I can’t believe you have finally come to live with us.”
I run my fingers through Bobby’s dark locks when he curls his arm around my thigh before taking in the elaborate foyer. “Is this where you live?” he stutters out with a lisp.
“No,” Melody answers on our behalf. “When your daddy told me you love animals, we moved into a house with lots of paddocks.” Bobby’s pupils expand to the size of saucers when Melody discloses, “We have pigs, horses, cows, and a dozen chickens. Would you like to go see them?”
Bobby nods so quickly, I’m certain his brain is rattled. “Please, Mellowy.”
Melody’s heart melts when he purposely mispronounces her name while signing it as taught, then it completely stops when I join her at Bobby’s level. I’m not squatting, though. I’m down on one knee, proposing to a woman who loves my son simply because he’s mine.
Furthermore, the ring box has been burning a hole in my pocket all day. I can’t wait a second longer.
Bobby slaps a hand over his mouth to hide his smile when I ask, “Mellowy, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Then he full-heartedly laughs when Melody lifts her hand in the air to wiggle her eaten candy pop ring around. “Too late.” After tickling Bobby’s belly, making him chuckle more, she cups my scruff-covered jaw in her hands, lowers her mouth to mine, then whispers against my lips, “But I’d love to make it official.”
Prologue
Brandon
One year later…
“What do you think, B? Peanut butter makes it so much better, doesn’t it?”
Bobby drags a hand over his peanut-butter-chocolate-milkshake stained lips before nodding. “Mommy was right. It’s good to try new things.”
Melody is quick to wipe away the tear Bobby’s reply dribbled down her cheek, but she isn’t quick enough for me to miss it. The first two weeks Bobby was with us flew by without a single hiccup. Regretfully, he started missing his mother shortly after that. He couldn’t understand why
he couldn’t ring her or why she never accepted his invitations to visit when he wrote to her like Melody suggested.
Although dislike never flared through his eyes when he took his anger out on the wrong person, I felt Melody’s struggles when he told her she wasn’t his mother and that he never wanted her to be.
Mercifully, that stage of his anguish only lasted a few weeks. Melody was kind, open, and honest with Bobby. She never lied to him when he asked her questions, and she said she understood his pain. She had lost her parents, so she truly knew what he was going through.
Around three months after we moved Bobby into Melody’s old childhood bedroom, Bobby asked Melody if they could paint his room. A fresh coat of paint soon turned into a mini-renovation. His bunk bed now resembles a jungle-gym, and the hand-painted decals Melody and Bobby painted on the walls glow in the dark when you switch off the light.
Although things were still a little awkward the weeks following the makeover, Melody never gave up on Bobby. She showed him how to mount Socks even with her being scared shitless to do it herself, and they’ve been witnessed many times having bounce competitions on Bobby’s springless trampoline he got from Santa. She’s even taught him how to sign.
Her efforts have paid off. Today wasn’t the first time Bobby has called her mommy. He’s dropped it a handful of times the past month like he’s testing out how it feels in preparation for when his sister joins our family in just over three months time.
Melody is beautiful as she is, but the glow of her face during pregnancy is better than I could have ever imagined. She truly is brave and so very very pretty.
I stop halfway down the sidewalk of Mary’s Café when Bobby’s hand suddenly slips out of my hold. When he darts down the cracked concrete as quickly as he did a year ago, he sends my mind into a tailspin.
I have no reason to panic. He’s not sprinting for his mother, he’s racing for a tiny stuffed rabbit that looks in bad need of repair.
