by RC Boldt
I take another sip. “So, what can you tell me about her?”
He appears to think it over before shrugging. “I never asked any questions. It was just physical between us, and sporadic at that.” He takes another pull from his beer. “I knew she was hiding something, but it was never something I felt put me in danger.”
Lowering his voice, he turns slightly to face me. “Look, there are a lot of bad people who went to jail because of her. Because she had the evidence to put them behind bars for what they did to children.
“But”—he glances around, and I’m thankful the bar is mostly empty on our end—“if you take the time to dig into the few cases that weren’t guilty verdicts, you’d see the assholes still got punished in the end, if you get my meaning.”
We sit in silence for a beat.
“Tell me something,” he says suddenly. “Are you here trying to track her down because you’re convinced she’s guilty of knocking off evil motherfuckers?” With the briefest pause, his eyes bore into me as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. “Or did you realize none of it matters because she loves you?”
My breath suspends painfully in my chest, and it seizes my ability to speak.
He lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah, man. She loves you. I saw it that day.”
And I told her to go.
I said goodbye.
“Fuck,” I breathe out.
He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well, there’s still time to salvage it.” He drums his fingers on the bar. “You do love her, right?”
“Yeah. I do,” I force out from a bone-dry throat. I fucking love her so goddamn much.
His eyes crease at the edges with good-natured humor. “Then get the fuck out of here, man.”
It figures that he’s in my living room waiting for me. Sprawled in an armchair facing the door, he waits until I lock up before speaking.
“Figured I’d better come to you since you’re a busy man these days.”
Former FBI Director Javoris Gasden eyes me sharply. Like always, he reminds me of a taller, thinner version of Samuel L. Jackson. Not just physically but in the way he speaks, as well.
“That was quite the party the other night. I expected you’d keep better tabs on the Vice President.”
I shrug off my coat and drape it over the back of the couch. “I did, but he…ended up being more elusive than I anticipated.”
“Uh-huh.” He cocks his head to the side, eyeing me skeptically. “You know, Agent Lattimer, your ties to the VP were the one thing that had me questioning your loyalty. Whether you could be trusted or not.
“I must admit, you had me worried for a while there. Even though I had my suspicions, I thought to myself, This man can help expose what they’ve been trying to hide for years.” With a squinty-eyed stare, he adds, “But you did the right thing in the end.”
“How do you figure?”
He doesn’t answer but continues. “You know what I find most interesting? These politicians, the mayor’s secretary, and the VP’s wife all died of either suicide or random heart failure.”
He eyes me closely. “Most of them had an unfortunate and disturbing fascination with the Vice President’s daughter.” With a pause, he adds pointedly, “His biological daughter. The one who disappeared years ago and was pronounced dead. Do you think that’s a coincidence, Lattimer?”
I swallow hard. “That sounds pretty damn crazy.”
“Yeah, it sounds pretty damn crazy to me, too.” He studies me for a beat. “So, what the hell are you doing, hanging around here?”
I rear back in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Lattimer. When you warn kids away from something they really want or really like, it usually doesn’t work. It only drives them closer to it.”
I frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”
His smug grin says it all. “You and the doc. The more I warned you away from her, the closer you got.”
My eyes go squinty. What the hell? “So, you did that on purpose?”
He shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I don’t profess to know much about love. We all know I’m a confirmed bachelor. Have been for years. But sometimes”—he taps a finger to his temple—“I get an idea that just won’t let go.” He drops his hand. “And I’m always right.”
“You warned me away from her because you’ve been…playing matchmaker?” I stare at him incredulously. “But she’s—” I stop myself in the nick of time. Because I never breathed a word to anyone about Kennedy—aside from Mom.
“She’s…?” He raises an eyebrow. “She’s, what? Gone now?” With a shrug, he says, “Can’t really blame her, can you? After all, the investigation on the mayor is donezo, not to mention this city’s experienced more untimely deaths lately among those connected to politics.” He makes a derisive sound. “I’d rather be somewhere else, too.”
“You’re a damn liar, Gasden. You love stirring shit up.”
He tips his head back on a laugh. “Ah, that I do. And it’s finally paid off.” He falls silent for a beat. “Sure wish I knew who the hell to thank for the stellar cleanup. Now, maybe this city will be able to have leaders who aren’t nasty little fucks. And at least a little less corrupt.”
We share a sardonic smile, knowing nearly everyone in politics answers to someone else—and usually with deep pockets.
He rises and drapes his coat over his arm, crossing to the door. His hand drops to the handle, and he pauses but doesn’t turn around. “Oh, and, Agent Lattimer?”
“Yeah?”
His voice drops to something that sounds almost…affectionate. “If you happen to see her, tell her Javoris said hi…and that I meant what I said in that hospital.”
Confusion has me frowning, but before I can pose the question, he says, “Also, I have it on good authority that Playa Dominical is nice this time of year for those who want to…get away.”
Without another word, he exits, pulling the door closed behind him.
Chapter 85
Kennedy
December 24th
Playa Dominical, Costa Rica
Removing my surfboard leash, I set my board down on the sand, grateful for the beach’s deserted state. The moon casts its bright glow over the Pacific, the sound of the waves rhythmically rolling toward the shore having little calming effect on me.
From my periphery, I catch movement. Another lone wolf, I suppose, coming to the beach in an attempt to calm their mind. A tall man with dark scruff and untamed hair. Unarmed. His casual pace and the way his hands are tucked in the pockets of his board shorts in an unassuming manner have me dismissing him.
I mostly tune out his soft footfalls knowing that if my assessment is incorrect, I can more than handle myself. Although I’ve lost some weight, I’ve gained it back in muscle. Surfing day and night and running have helped with that.
If only it helped cure this incessant churning in the pit of my stomach when I remember the look on Landon’s face that night.
It’s been two weeks since I left D.C., and I haven’t been able to shake off this funk clinging to me, no matter how hard I’ve tried.
I’ve killed two other assholes who deserved it, and it didn’t bring me even remote satisfaction. I’m still wallowing in self-pity, which is fucking ridiculous. If he really loved me, he’d be able to see that what I do isn’t truly evil.
He’d be able to see that I’m doing all that I can to help other kids escape their nightmares.
Staring blindly at the water reaching the shoreline and lapping at my feet, I shake my head. “Guess he really didn’t love me after all.”
“You’re wrong. He does.”
My entire body stiffens in alarm because that voice… I know that voice. It’s one I’ve dreamt of from the moment I left D.C.
Slowly, ever so cautiously, I turn, half expecting this to be a figment of my imagination.
Standing before me is a stranger with the eyes of the man I love. Hair that I kn
ow is longer than usual Bureau regulation and dark brown scruff covering his handsome face, his cheekbones appear more chiseled, as if he, too, has lost weight in my absence.
Somehow, I find my voice. “He does?”
Expression somber, he nods slowly. “Yeah, Doc. I do. And I owe you an apology.”
When I part my lips to protest, he shakes his head and presses on. “I judged you, and I had no right. I didn’t give myself time to think about what you’ve been through and what you’re really doing. I was wrong.” He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”
Silence hangs between us as I absorb his words. The fact that he’s here, standing in front of me. “How did you find me?”
An edge of his mouth quirks up. “Javoris.”
Of course.
He draws a hand from his pocket and rakes it through his hair in a manner that strikes me as nervous and unsure. His words come out rushed. “Look, I know it’s been a few weeks, and hell, you’ve probably moved on, but I haven’t.”
Shaking his head, he glances down at our feet before meeting my eyes. “I don’t want to be without you, Doc. I left the FBI because I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. And I have this idea of starting a nonprofit where we work together to rescue these kids and give them what they need afterward to recover. It’s probably presumptuous, but—”
“You still love me?” I interrupt suddenly.
He doesn’t even miss a beat. Brown eyes gentle, acting as their own unique caress over me. “Fuck yes. I never stopped, and I don’t plan to—”
Lifting to my toes, I fuse my lips to his, and he doesn’t hesitate. Snaking an arm around my waist, he tugs me to him.
This kiss feels as if I’ve finally found my home. My haven with a man who will accept me for what I am—for who I am.
I’m a murderer. I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. But with Landon, I’m a woman who is worthy of love. Not in spite of what I am, but because it makes me who I am.
When we break our kiss, I say the words I’ve longed to say to his face. “I love you, Landon.”
A smile spreads across his handsome face, and I trace a finger along the border of his scruff that outlines the edges of his lips. “Say it again,” he demands in a husky murmur.
“I love you.” My lips curve into a smile, and his reaction tells me everything. The way his eyes soften and the love pouring from him is a commitment all its own.
He captures my mouth in another quick but searing kiss. “Now, take me home, Doc, before I lose control, and we get sand in all sorts of orifices.”
What trails after us as we exit the beach is the one thing that never used to come freely.
My laughter.
Chapter 86
Landon
Years Later
Costa Rica
With a kiss to his forehead, I quietly pull his bedroom door closed behind me. Then I pad silently over the hardwood floors and step out onto the deck.
As I lean against the railing, the moon’s glow highlights the rolling jungle leading to the ocean below. The breeze rifles past, ruffling the leaves of the nearby mango trees. Drawing in a deep breath, I exhale slowly and tip my head back, letting my eyes fall closed.
Damn, I miss her. Hell, so does he. It’s tough sometimes, but that’s the way it has to be.
My ears perk at the sound of a vehicle making its way up our dead-end road, and I snap to attention but relax once I recognize the familiar purr of the motor as it slows and pulls into the driveway. Tires crunch on the gravel before the driver parks and kills the engine, allowing the peaceful silence to take hold once again.
A few minutes later, the sliding door opens behind me, and two slim arms slide around my middle hugging me tight. Feeling her body against mine, I can breathe easier again because she came back safely. But most importantly, she came back home to me.
To me and our ten-year-old son. The boy she once rescued from a nightmare similar to her own when he was only five. Joaquin is ours now, and he’s so damn smart and kind-hearted. And he idolizes his mother, as he should, because she’s been through hell and back and still fights for others.
“Hey, handsome,” she murmurs softly, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. She lets out a sigh. “I missed my boys.”
“We missed you, too.” Placing my hand over one of hers, I link our fingers. “Tonight was a success?” I ask quietly.
“Mm,” she replies tiredly. “A definite success.”
We work together to rescue and recover children from horrific situations worldwide. I work mainly from home, helping with the research and strategizing.
She serves as one of the main extractors alongside our friends, Rudy and Tim, but continues to consult, of course, because that’s one of her passions. All in all, she’s still a badass like she’s always been. Maybe even more.
And she’s one hell of a mom. She didn’t think she had it in her, but I’m used to my woman underestimating herself. I knew the moment she brought me with her to check on Joaquin that there was a special connection between them.
His entire face lit up the instant he saw her. Even though it had been a few months since she’d rescued him, and they’d only interacted briefly, he ran to her and hugged her like he’d known her his entire life. “Have you come to take me with you?”
When he’d asked this, her eyes had met mine, and I knew at that moment what we needed to do. What we were meant to do.
What we were meant to be: a family.
Within an hour, we headed to our new home with him in tow and, as they say, the rest is history.
Not only does Joaquin have a loving home now, but he has parents who will literally kill anything or anyone who poses a threat to him.
She loosens her arms, and I turn to face her, smoothing back the stray strands of her hair. She doesn’t even give me a chance to tell her I love her because she lifts up on her toes to fuse her mouth to mine in a kiss I’ve been waiting for.
Starved for me like I am for her, our kiss is filled with love and everything I used to think she wouldn’t give me in return.
She’s shown me that a woman can be faithful and love me in spite of my sometimes overbearing tendencies. She’s shown me that justice isn’t always black and white. That a person can operate outside the system’s lines and still be a purveyor of good.
I showed her that love exists. That she’s worthy. That she’s good enough, through and through, heart and soul.
Because when you find love—the real kind—you realize it takes firm hold of you. It fills your veins and seeps deep into your bones.
It’s forever.
Real love peels away the blinders that cover your eyes and soul. It’s multidimensional and can never be extinguished.
Most of all, we know for certain that it can never be silenced.
But if someone dares to try, we won’t hesitate to ensure they’re the ones who are silenced.
Forever.
Chapter 87
Joaquin
Years Later
I always look at the photo before I go anywhere. It grounds me, serving as a reminder of what I hold dear.
Those who will love you unconditionally, fight for you without a second thought, and remain in your corner during all the trials and tribulations of life aren’t always blood related.
If anyone can attest to this, it’s me.
My family is made up of a handful of individuals most people would judge as unworthy or evil. It consists of those who skated the line of justice to see that wrongs are righted.
As I peer at the photo of them—a family who chose me—the familiar sense of belonging courses through me.
Uncle Rudy and Uncle Tim, both former military, assisted in helping our cause and getting kids to safety. In that environment, they were some of the most intimidating individuals, but in this photo, they smile from ear to ear, both looking my way with pride.
Uncle Rudy taught me how to hunt and do recon. Uncle Tim taught me skills from when he’d been a s
niper.
My mouth curves up in a hint of a smile as I recall how they’d competed—hilariously so—for who could teach me the best method to tying my shoes and for riding a bike.
My father taught me the importance of seeing the bigger picture and analyzing situations and perspectives from all possible angles.
My mother taught me to never let my abuse define me or prevent me from living a full and happy life.
Dad and Mom continued to liberate children from horrific situations. Pictured here at eleven years old, I have an arm around Mom’s waist, and Dad’s hand is at my back. I’m not sure I realized the relevance back then—at least not fully.
I clung to my mother because she embodied an angel who’d rescued me from the depths of hell. In the photo, her hand covers the one I have at her hip, her smile wide and happy, her long hair tousled from the ocean breeze that day.
My father’s hand at my back was a constant—always protective and supportive of me. His own smile is proud and filled with affection.
Never did a day go by that I didn’t feel loved or worthy of love.
The foundation they pieced together years ago is now in my hands. It’s my legacy, and one that I take pride in and cherish.
I chose to follow in their footsteps because I don’t want to lose sight of where I came from. I don’t want to forget the horrors those monsters put me through. It fuels me on this mission I’m on, to rescue other children from a nightmare similar to my own.
Now, it’s up to me to show them that there’s more to life than the bastards who drain the innocence and goodness from them.
It’s up to me to show them that people exist in this world who will love them.
Who will kill on their behalf.
Who will rescue them from the darkness that threatens to bleed them dry of humanity.
In the battle between good and evil, there’s a gray area, and that’s where I remain.
