by Kim Foster
My throat constricted in a painful lump. The honor had been all mine. One day I would find a way to tell him that.
I folded the envelope and put it on the tray beside my hospital bed. I turned to Felix. I wanted to ask him about Ethan, where he was, why he hadn’t come . . . but I was afraid of what he’d tell me. I grasped at a different subject.
“Templeton mentioned the sheriff,” I said. “Is he pissed about the truth about Robin Hood? That he was a Yorkshireman?”
“Well, it’s not so simple. The fact is, he was both. He was born in Nottingham, and died in Yorkshire. They both have a claim to him. At any rate, it’s an area of ongoing research and controversy.”
I was happy to let the academics duke this one out. As for my little secret about my own connection to Robin Hood . . . well, I wasn’t quite ready to share it yet. Someday, perhaps.
“So what happens to the Gifts, now? And the Lionheart Ring?”
“The DOA obtained the Fabergé from the gala, and the Lionheart from Atworthy,” he said. “They will soon be installed in a permanent place in the British Museum.”
“On display?” It didn’t sound like a good idea. They would just be stolen again.
“Their replicas, sure.”
“And where will the originals be kept?”
“Well, let’s just say . . . you know that warehouse they show at the end of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark? Well, think of that. And then double it.”
I smiled. It was a fitting end.
Atworthy was finished. He’d be locked up for a long time, after shooting Hendrickx and all the conspiracies and organized crime they’d be able to pin on him. And Interpol was busy rounding up the rest of Caliga.
I, for one, was happy to let it all go. It was time to move on.
Felix was quiet a moment and then he pulled out his phone. “Cat, there’s someone else who wants to talk to you.” He held the phone out to me, then slipped out of the room to give me privacy.
I held the phone to my ear. “Montgomery? How are you feeling? Are you okay?” My heart skittered at the sound of Ethan’s voice.
“Ethan, it’s . . . good to hear your voice,” I said, then cleared my throat. “I’m getting better. They’re going to let me out of here in another day or so.”
There was a pause. “I heard about everything,” he said quietly. “And I wanted to be there. It’s . . . there’s something I have to deal with here.”
I swallowed. His voice sounded tense, worried for me. But distracted, somehow. “Where are you?” I asked.
“I—I’m still in Singapore.”
Something was wrong.
“Montgomery, I have to tell you something. Not all of us made it out of the prison escape okay.”
My stomach dropped. Ethan was in trouble. He was hurt. Or he’d been caught. I tried to ask, but I couldn’t form the words.
“It’s Brooke,” he said. “She didn’t make it.”
Didn’t make it? Was she stuck in prison, or . . . did he mean something worse?
My mouth went dry as Ethan described in a few brief, agonizing sentences, what had happened. She’d been shot. Ethan had gotten to her, and they had managed to escape. But it had been too late. Brooke was dead.
I let out an anguished cry. The truth slammed into me. She had sacrificed herself so Templeton could get away.
Brooke, who had always looked out for number one, had always taken care of herself—in the end, she’d been the true hero. It was more than I could stand. I gripped the phone in my fist and squeezed my eyes tight. And then, anguish mixed with guilt. I realized part of me felt relieved that it wasn’t Ethan who was hurt.
“I have to stay here,” Ethan said, “to take care of getting Brooke’s body back home. It’s tricky, but I’ve managed to get an alternate identity . . .”
“Of course,” I said hoarsely, nodding. He was staying to do the right thing. He wasn’t leaving her behind.
I glanced out the hospital window. The Hudson River sparkled, reflecting the brilliant July sun. I thought—Brooke will never see that again. She’ll never see anything again.
“It’s my fault,” I said, barely a whisper.
“If you think of it like that, then you are detracting from Brooke’s final act,” Ethan said. “You are taking the burden—and the glory—of her sacrifice away from her. She chose to help, she chose to be part of the team, she chose to make that one final decision that ensured our getaway. It was her choice, completely.”
I hoped someday I could fully believe those words. They had a core of truth to them.
There was silence on the line for several seconds. I took a deep breath. There was something I needed to tell him. I knew the timing was all wrong, but I couldn’t hold it in.
“Ethan, I want you to know . . . it’s over with Jack. For good.”
He was quiet. “Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I realized, at last, that my future isn’t with him. It’s . . . with you.” I swallowed. “If that’s what you want, too,” I added.
He said nothing for a moment, during which time my chest began to ache. “Montgomery, I really can’t talk about this right now.” His voice sounded distant. “I have to go and handle things with Brooke. I’ll call you when I get back home. Okay?”
“Sure. Okay, I understand,” I managed to say.
I disconnected the call and placed Felix’s phone on my bedside tray. It was over with Ethan. His silence at my declaration confirmed that. There would be no future for us. My insides felt hollow. Somehow, I was going to have to find a way of accepting I had lost him for good.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
The next morning, my parents walked into my room just as the nurse was about to disconnect my IV. “All ready?” my mother said brightly, bustling in and sweeping open the curtains. “It’s a gorgeous day out there, maybe we can enjoy it before heading home. Go out for lunch, perhaps?”
They had arrived late last night, and were here to collect me when the hospital discharged me. We would head home together tomorrow as planned, as long as the doctors said I was okay to fly.
I squinted against the sunlight that streamed into the room. The very last thing I felt like doing was going out for lunch with my parents. My mother turned from the window and glanced down at me in the bed. I winced as the nurse briskly removed the IV from my hand and pressed a cotton swab against my stinging skin.
“Or perhaps we should go back to the hotel,” my mother said, her voice softer, her face gazing at me with concern. “You can rest, Catherine. We’ll take care of everything.”
The nurse made a note on a clipboard and then walked out, shoes squeaking faintly on the polished floor.
My dad came to stand beside me. “Feeling a little better, Kit Kat?”
I shrugged. “A little.” Truth was, my shoulder was healing well, and I was regaining my strength. But it wasn’t the physical pain that would be a problem.
I turned to him then, finally ready to talk about what I had learned. “Dad, I know about our family’s connection to Robin of Loxley. I know the . . . profession has been in our family for countless generations. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He glanced up at my mother, standing on the opposite side of the bed, then looked at me for a long time before answering, shock and indecision mingling on his face. “I couldn’t, Cat. I was afraid I would lose you further, that you would see it as validation. And you would never stop doing what you were doing.”
“I know about your own father. What he did.”
My mother was watching us carefully. There was no surprise on her face; she’d clearly known his history. But I could see she was worried about his reaction to all this. He nodded. “It tore our family apart. It’s why I had so much difficulty with your, um, career choice.”
I understood. And I didn’t blame him. None of us mentioned my sister Penny. But she was, and always would be, in all our thoughts.
I took a deep breath. The air in the
hospital smelled of bleach and freshly starched sheets, with a faint odor of breakfast being served down the hall. “Well, I have news. Good news,” I added, seeing my mother’s expression. “I’ve been recruited . . . and I’ve chosen to go to the right side of the law. I can’t tell you exactly what it means—you don’t have the security clearance for that,” I said with a wry grin. “But you can be assured I’m telling you the truth when I say I’m not a criminal anymore.”
My father stared at me and his eyes grew glassy. He said nothing, but I knew what this news meant to him. He had always been a man of few words. My mother, on the other hand, had plenty of words. She peppered me with questions about job security, work conditions, maternity pay . . .
I deflected it all. I was finally getting good at that.
One thing she said was a little trickier to deflect, though. “I’m happy for you, Cat. It sounds like an exciting move. And I’m glad you won’t be in quite so much danger.” I wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t say anything. “But I must confess, I’m still waiting for you to find someone you can share your life with.” A wistful expression crossed her face. “I want grandbabies, damn it,” she added with a teasing tone. But there was heartfelt sincerity under her teasing.
Though it had taken me awhile to realize it, this was my wish, too. Before I could stop myself, I thought back to my conversation yesterday with Ethan, and my wounded emotions throbbed again, raw and fresh.
At last, my father found the words he wanted to say. “Penny would be happy, Cat. And she’d be proud of you. Like I am.”
I managed a smile. Although my love life was in tatters, at least this was something I could find comfort in. A feeling of peace curled around my heart at his words.
I glanced at my mother. She looked more content than I’d seen her in a long time. She’d obviously recovered well from her own stint in the hospital. And although I couldn’t erase the fact that she’d been shot, my decision to leave the criminal world went a long way to soothing my guilt over her injury.
That evening, after I’d been discharged from the hospital, I decided a walk around the city was in order. My parents had protested my request to go alone, but I’d assured them I’d be okay. I couldn’t sit still at the hotel any longer, watching television and killing time before the doctor cleared me for our flight tomorrow. Too many thoughts swirled around in my head. I needed to keep moving.
The day had been gorgeous and sunshiny, the heat of the city wrapping around me like a favorite sweater, but it was growing later now. The sun slipped lower and the full heat settled a bit. My thoughts kept drifting to Brooke. It was going to take some time to come to terms with what had happened to her. It was going to take time to come to terms with everything, actually.
I grabbed a coffee at Dean & DeLuca and hopped in a cab down to the Brooklyn Bridge. When I’d lived in New York, this was one of my favorite places to watch the sun set over the city.
I was in the cab when my phone rang. “Hello, darling,” my mom said when I answered. “I was just checking us in to our flight tomorrow. Would you like a window or aisle seat?”
I sighed. It was a thinly veiled excuse. I could hear the worry and the unspoken questions in her voice. “Window,” I said. “And, Mom? I’m fine.”
She gave a short laugh. “Of course you are. So . . . where are you, anyway?”
“On my way to the Brooklyn Bridge. I’m going to watch the sunset with my coffee. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Oh. Well, that sounds nice. Catherine, will you please call if you need anything?”
“Sure,” I said. “But don’t worry, Mom. I’m okay.”
As I said the words, I realized I meant it.
Several minutes later, the cabbie dropped me at the Brooklyn Bridge. As the sun began to dip low toward the horizon, filling the sky with a golden glow, I made my way along the pedestrian walkway to a spot near the center. While traffic roared beneath me and suspension ropes soared overhead, I leaned on the railing and took a deep breath.
A few tourists strolled behind me, snapping photographs, sighing over the sight of the sun setting through the stone archways of the bridge. I lost track of the passage of time. I lifted my coffee cup to my lips and took a sip—ugh. Stone-cold. Oh well.
I fiddled with the paper cup, and looked out over the water. It was fitting, really, for me to be alone. I had chosen an unconventional path, and a journey like that was always destined to be taken alone.
Someone cleared his throat beside me.
“Need a warm-up on that coffee? I can help with that.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
I turned my head to see Ethan standing a few paces away, holding a coffee cup in each hand.
It was a miracle just to see him. There had been a moment when I didn’t think I ever would. He didn’t need to offer me anything more than a coffee. My heart expanded at the sight of him.
“Ethan—”
He strolled toward me and handed me one of the coffees. He was wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and Ray-Ban sunglasses that suited him so perfectly, he looked like he’d been born wearing them. A characteristic crooked smile played on his face. It was the best thing I’d seen all week.
I was suddenly flooded with emotion. “Thank you,” I blurted out. “For the coffee . . . and for Templeton. Everything,” I said breathlessly, stumbling over my words, sounding like an idiot. My face flushed and I took a deep breath. “I mean, how can I ever thank you enough?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure we can come up with something.”
I turned to him with a mock look of shock on my face. “Mr. Jones, I’m not sure I like the suggestion in your voice.”
He grinned. “I’m pretty sure you do.”
He put his coffee down on the railing. I took a sip of mine and placed it on the railing beside his. He turned to face me, more serious now. “How are you feeling, Montgomery? I mean—are you okay?” He looked me over carefully, his brow creasing with worry.
I nodded. “I’m okay. No permanent damage.”
He tried to smile through a pained expression. “That’s good.”
Then something occurred to me and I raised an eyebrow. “How did you know I was here, anyway?”
“Your mother,” he said, with a guilty expression.
Ah. So that had been the purpose of her call. She must have sent him to check up on me. We stood in silence a little while, watching the sun melt down below the horizon. I thought of the last sunset we had shared—the one on the beach in Bali. My face flushed at the memory.
We’d had fun on that beach. But the truth was, I wanted more than that. I needed Ethan in my future. I wanted . . . everything with him. But my head filled with the echo of his last words on the phone when I’d asked him to rescue Templeton. I can’t do this anymore, he’d said. There won’t be any more us.
“I guess we won’t be working together anymore,” I said. “It was a good last job.” I tried hard to keep my voice upbeat.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“I’m not?” Hope bubbled up inside me.
“Didn’t Felix tell you? He offered me a position with the League, also.”
My eyebrows lifted. It was good news. A twinge of disappointment told me it wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped he was going to say. But it was still good news. “That’s wonderful, Ethan. Are you going to take it?” Of course, if we were working together, maybe there would be a chance to rekindle things again, someday . . .
“I need a little time to think about it,” he said, shrugging. “But I gotta say, doing the mission in Singapore—the black op to help Templeton—it made me realize that my skills could really make a difference. I could make the world a better place. I’ve never thought about that before.”
I knew exactly what he meant. I lifted my coffee and took another sip; it was still hot. No matter what happened, I would always remember drinking this coffee with Ethan on this bridge.
“I heard you gave your mon
ey to your NGO, Global Life,” I said, smiling. At least some genuine good would come out of this whole mess.
He nodded. “I did. I guess I’ve already started on my do-gooding.”
“They’re lucky to have you,” I said.
“You know, if I accept Felix’s offer, we’ll be working closely together again,” he said. He watched me carefully, gauging my response to this. Was he worried our history would mess with our ability to work together? Would he want to keep things professional?
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said. I tried to read the expression on his face, but it was impossible. “You know I’ve always been content with the idea of being a bachelor forever,” he began.
I looked away. This had the sound of a breakup speech. But he’d already told me it was over—did he really think I needed to hear it again? I took a deep breath and struggled to gather my emotions. I stared at the sunset, barely hearing his words, trying to keep my breathing even and stop the tears from coming.
“. . . the fact is, you have changed my life in ways I can hardly put into words. I never imagined meeting anyone like you. I thought I wanted to be the lone wolf. Nobody to pin me down. But you changed all that. Freedom means nothing if it means I can’t be with you.”
Wait—what was he saying? I turned then, to see Ethan down on one knee.
“Catherine Montgomery, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And . . . I’m hoping, with every fiber in me, that you want the same thing.”
He held a ring in his hand. “It’s not the Lionheart,” he said, “and it’s not the Hope Diamond, but I’m hoping you like it all the same.”
I stared at the ring. It was the exact one I’d described when we had been on the Orient Express: a red diamond surrounded by a halo of tiny white diamonds.
“How did you . . . ?”
He winked. “I have skills, Montgomery.”
