She looked up at him. “What child?”
He smiled. “We haven’t exactly been careful lately,” he said. “What if there is a child? Don’t you want to be able to take care of him or her? Because I feel a lot better knowing you can do that without worrying.”
She chewed her lip. She and Max had never been very careful. She’d assumed it was out of an implicit understanding that they would be together forever. They didn’t have to have the kinds of conversations other couples had — no big discussions about whether they were exclusive or whether it was serious or where it was all going.
A lifetime of friendship had been leading here all along.
There would never be anyone else for either of them.
It was going to end in a lifetime together — as long as Max made it out of the Tangier alive.
Even still, his mention of a possible baby quickened her heart. Was there anything she wanted more than to carry Max’s child? To build the kind of family she’d always dreamed of having with the one man who lit up her soul?
Max was right. If it were to happen, and he wasn’t there to take care of them, Abby wanted to make sure his child had the kind of security he or she deserved.
“What do I need to know?” she asked.
He tightened his hold on her. No amount of money could ever provide the security of his presence, but she would do this for him.
“Not much really. Just that all my assets go to you — all the money, this house, the car. If there ever is a chid, you can set up a trust as you see fit. You’re more equipped than I am to do that anyway. You’re probably more equipped than Charlie.”
“I doubt that.”
“You shouldn’t feel obligated to spend the money in any way you think I’d want you to spend it. You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep this house or any of the things in it. If something happens, and I’m not here — ”
“It won’t.”
“If it does,” he continued, “you should take the money and live your life exactly as you see fit, and you should know that wherever I am, I’m cheering you on, whatever that may be.”
Tears leaked from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and dropping from her jaw. “None of it will mean anything without you anyway.”
“Don’t say that.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Whatever happens tomorrow, you’ve given me more happiness in the past few months than I had in all the years before I finally stopped being stupid and kissed you.” He smiled. “I’m planning on sticking around to enjoy more of it, but if that’s not in the cards, I’ll go with more happiness than I deserve. And that’s because of you, Abby.”
“Can we be done talking about this?” she asked.
He grinned. “What do you suggest instead?”
“Are you trying to distract me from your possible death by taking me to bed, Max Cartwright?”
“Would you have any objections if I were?” he asked.
She took his face in her hands, pulled him toward her, and touched her lips to his. “Not a single one.”
And she didn’t. No objections. No regrets.
She laughed through her tears as he lifted her into his arms and raced for the stairs.
Twenty-Six
Max waited for Abby to leave the room to strap on the Kevlar brought by Nico and Farrell. Max’s Kevlar had always been government-issued, requiring its return after he left the military. It felt surreal to don it in his living room, far from the sound of military-grade rifles popping on every base he’d been assigned to in Afghanistan.
“Don’t forget this,” Carlos said, handing him a ski mask from a bag full of equipment that included carabiners, loops of cable, and several sets of wheels — everything they would need to connect to the zip-line hanging from the Drew to the Tangier.
Max took the mask and attached it to his belt. He wasn’t sure where Abby had gone, but she wasn’t in the kitchen, which meant she’d probably gone upstairs or out on the terrace to escape the detritus scattered around the living room, evidence that the mission was upon them.
Farrell and Nico conferred quietly with Locke near the island, two semiautomatics gleaming next to several silencers. They’d brought a startling assortment of weaponry, ammo, and other equipment. Not all of it would make it into the mission, but having it on hand while they staged gave them a chance to discuss the merits of each piece.
“Overkill to take a couple of these?” Carlos asked.
Max looked up to see him holding two grenades.
“Not if you can carry them.”
“I can carry them,” Carlos said, “but thanks for the reminder."
As far as Max was concerned, nothing was overkill. Getting Jason meant getting past the guards in the hallway, a complete unknown. They would be moving through a real-life video game, filled with obstacles that would either mete out reward or death.
Max would take everything Nico, Farrell, and Locke had brought with them if not for issue of weight.
And weight was an issue, because anything they brought would have to be carried sixty-eight stories over the streets of Vegas on an aircraft cable smaller than Max’s finger.
The zip-line made him nervous, and not because he was scared. He’d resigned himself to the possibility of death, had made every preparation to make sure Abby would be all right in his absence. It would be a small price to pay to ensure her safety, her peace and happiness in the town she loved.
But fuck if he didn’t hate giving up some of the mission control to someone he didn’t know.
He’d come to like Locke during the days they’d spent planning their assault on the Tangier, and Nico definitely trusted him. Normally it would have been enough for Max, but he wouldn’t normally be counting on someone he barely knew to lay a zip-line hundreds of feet above the pavement, a line that would be the only thing standing between him and a plummet to his death.
If he was going to die, he wanted to do it taking out Jason. The thought of meeting his end before he was able to do that one thing — the one thing that would guarantee Abby’s well-being — made him want to double and triple-check every detail.
Except the zip-line was one detail he couldn’t double or triple-check. He knew fuck all about zip-lines, but apparently, Locke was an expert, and according to him, everything was in place.
Which put Max right back where he’d started — trusting Locke.
“You good?”
Max looked up to find Nico looking at him intently.
Max’s nod was reluctant.
“What’s on your mind?” Nico asked.
Max glanced up, taking in the few feet between them and everyone else in the kitchen.
“Let’s step outside,” Nico said. He turned toward the others. “I’m going to check the bag we left in the car for those smoke grenades. I don’t see them in any of these bags.”
Max walked with Nico down the hall, glancing at the stairs as they passed and wondering what Abby was doing up there, if she was going to be okay. He’d suggested she make plans with Meredith to keep herself busy while he was gone, but she’d just looked at him like he was crazy.
“You want me to, what? Go clubbing? Go to a movie while you’re risking your life?”
He saw her point. As much as he wanted to pretend the mission was no big deal for her sake, if the roles had been reversed and Abby was stepping into danger, the only possible activity for Max would be hitting the heavy bag in the home gym until his hands were bruised.
He stepped outside after Nico and took a breath of clean desert air. It was after ten p.m. and everything was so dark and still around the house it was almost possible for Max to believe it was just another night.
They stepped around to the trunk of the Land Rover Nico and Farrell had used to transport all the equipment.
“If I smoked, this is where I’d ask if you wanted a cigarette,” Nico said.
Max chuckled and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m fucking worried about that zip-line, Nico.”
Nico nodded. “Can’t say that I blame you. It’s not nothing.”
Max leaned against the bumper of the Rover. “How sure are you that you can trust Locke’s setup?”
“There’s never any guarantee,” Nico said. “But if we’re talking just the setup, no unforeseen circumstances, I trust it a hundred percent.”
“What kind of unforeseen circumstances?” Max asked.
“Freak gust of wind, unexpected projectile…”
Max held up his hand to stop Nico from saying more. This wasn’t helping.
“But the rig itself?”
“Hundred percent.” Nico looked at him. “I understand your concern, but I’ve seen Locke land on a roof with a hang glider. I’ve seen him parachute from twelve thousand feet to escape the Feds. I don’t dispute that the guy’s a danger junkie, but he doesn’t have a death wish. In fact, it might help you to know he has someone in California.”
“A woman?”
Nico nodded. “Not too different from your story with Abby, actually. They met in college. Trust me when I say he’s in no hurry to check out.”
Max sighed. “And we’re sure the line is set up on the Tangier?”
“I don’t know how he did it, and I didn’t ask, but he said it’s done. And if he said it’s done, it’s done,” Nico said.
“Then I guess we’re a go,” Max said. “Just covering my bases.”
Nico clapped him on the back. “You’re careful. We have that in common.”
He wasn’t in any hurry to say goodbye to Abby, but the city taunted him in the distance, a reminder that there was only one way to tomorrow’s sunrise — and that was through Jason and his team of mercenaries.
“I guess we should finish staging.”
“Let’s wait a few minutes,” Nico said, his eyes on the lights. “We have time.”
Max wasn’t sure he believed it, but he wanted to.
He thought of Abby, of the way she looked at him when she woke up from a couch nap to find her feet still on his lap, the soft weight of her in his arms when she slept, the sound of her husky laugh in the dark, her naked skin hot against his.
We have time.
He repeated it in his mind until he almost believed it.
Twenty-Seven
Abby was folding clothes in the bedroom, trying in vain to work off her nervous energy while the men loaded themselves up with weapons and equipment that may or may not save their lives when it came time to confront Jason and his guards, when a knock sounded from the open door.
She looked up to see Carlos standing in the doorframe.
She stood. “Hey.”
“I hope I didn’t startle you — or overstep by coming up here.”
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
He rubbed at his chiseled jawline. “We haven’t known each other very long.”
“No.”
In any other context the visit would have set off alarm bells in her head: why was Carlos standing outside the bedroom she shared with Max on the second floor, a place Max held apart as belonging to him and Abby alone?
But she’d always felt comfortable around Carlos, and his nervous expression spoke more of confession than ill-intent.
“It’s not ideal,” he admitted, “going into a situation like this with an underboss you don’t have history with. These things usually happen more… organically.”
She smiled. “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”
“There is, but you usually have time to build to something this big, to a scenario where you’re putting your life in someone else’s hands — or putting the life of the person you love in someone else’s hands.”
She sighed. “I’d be at his back myself if I thought I’d do him any good.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
She sat back down on the bed and looked at her hands. “It’s not ideal for you either, I guess.”
“In what way?” he asked.
“You’re risking your life for someone you don’t have a history with.”
“When DeLuca was running things, I was risking my life for people I didn’t trust, people I didn’t believe in,” he said. “This is better.”
“Because you believe in Max?” she asked, looking up at him.
He nodded slowly, like he’d been considering the answer for a long time. “I do.”
“That’s something,” she said. “That’s a lot.”
His dark eyes found hers through the dim light of the table lamp next to the bed. “I guess I just wanted you to know that you can trust me. I can’t promise nothing will go wrong, but if it goes bad, it won’t because I didn’t have his back.”
She suddenly believed it. Knew it to be true. Felt it in the lightening of the weight she’d been carrying on her shoulders, the lessening of the vise that had been gripping her heart since Max started planning the assault on the Tangier.
“Thank you.”
“I don’t know if it helps, but…”
“It helps,” she said.
He gave her a ghost of a smile just as a shadow moved behind him in the hall.
“What’s going on?” Max asked.
Abby smiled at the suspicion in his voice. Some things never changed.
“I had some questions for Carlos,” she said. “That’s all.”
“What kind of questions?” Max asked, moving around Carlos to get into the room.
She folded one of her T-shirts and set it on a stack of already-folded laundry. “Nothing big. Will you take a bullet for my man… are you prepared to die for him… the usual.”
Max barked out a laugh.
“I’ll see you downstairs,” Carlos said.
“They’re loading the Rover now,” Max said.
Carlos turned away from the doorway and disappeared down the hall. Silence settled over the room, Abby calmly folding laundry, pretending Max wasn’t there to say goodbye.
“Abby.”
Just her name, spoken softly in the half-light of the room.
“I know,” she said.
He held out a hand to her and she finished folding her jeans, setting them neatly on the stack before taking his hand.
He pulled her to her feet and folded her against his body. His arms came around her, tucking her into the safety she’d never found anywhere else.
He stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head. “Jesus christ, I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” she said against his chest.
“Everything will be okay.”
She heard the things he didn’t say.
I’ll be home before you know it.
I’m going to come out of this alive.
We’re going to win.
Max had never been someone who promised things he wasn’t sure he could deliver.
She looked up at him and forced herself to smile. “I know.”
He rubbed her cheek with his thumb, his eyes skipping over her features like he wanted to memorize them.
When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she stood on her tiptoes and touched her lips to his, lingering as long as she dared, doing her own memorizing.
He kissed her hungrily, her head cradled in his hands. When he finally pulled away he looked into her eyes.
“I’ve loved you forever, Abby Sterling. Will love you forever.”
She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “The feeling was always mutual.”
He dropped his hands all at once, her skin cold where his fingers had been just a moment before.
“I’ll text as soon as we’re out,” he said, turning for the door.
He was almost to the hall when he stopped. He didn’t look back as he spoke.
“Stay away from the news until you hear from me.”
His footsteps had already receded when her mind cleared enough to understand his final words: if things went south at the Tangier, it would be all over the news before Max — or Nico — would be able to reach her.
She
dropped onto the bed and reached for one of Max’s shirts in the laundry basket. She didn’t get far folding it before she gave up, burying her face in the soft cotton, finally letting the tears flow.
Twenty-Eight
They parked the Rover at the dark side of the Drew construction site and loaded up with all their gear. Max’s head was clear as they donned ski masks and started toward the unfinished tower.
He’d spent the first ten minutes of the drive into the city thinking about Abby before he’d forced himself to leave her behind. It was new to him, going into battle with something to lose. In Afghanistan he’d been known as dangerous, even reckless. He’d taken no pride in the reputation, knowing it was a result of his utter solitude, his lack of parents and siblings, no woman waiting for him, no one who cared if he lived or died except Abby, his best friend, who would surely be just fine — especially with Jason Draper to look after her — whatever happened to him.
He remembered his brothers-in-arms, their talk of compartmentalizing when they went into battle, of not allowing themselves to think of their wives and kids back home, of struggling to readjust to intimacy when they came back from a tour.
Max had no concerns about that part. He wanted nothing more than to live out his life in peace with Abby, would happily spill his guts to her every night of the week in exchange for the privilege of growing old with her.
It was making it through tonight that was the challenge.
“It’s quiet,” Carlos commented as they made their way through the abandoned construction site.
“And creepy as hell,” Farrell muttered.
“Speaking of creepy,” Max said, “this mask itches like a son of a bitch.”
Someone chuckled, but Max couldn’t tell who it was behind the mask’s tightly-knitted fabric.
They’d timed their path through the site according to recon Locke had done on the patrol schedule of the two guards, and they silently picked their way through the abandoned equipment and materials by the residual glow of the Strip.
Locke kept an eye on the clock along the way, making sure they didn’t stumble onto the guard’s routes or fall behind enough that the guards stumbled on theirs.
Surrender to Sin (Las Vegas Syndicate Book 3) Page 13
