by Laura Kaye
Marz then walked Chen through everything else they’d accumulated on Church, WCE, and Kaine—from his own research, from Merritt’s microchip, from Seneka, and from Wexler. Marz left out any mention of Kat sharing documents from the Justice investigation, and Beckett was relieved at that on her behalf. She’d been forced to sacrifice enough, thank you very much.
It was an impressive body of work, and an even more impressive collection of evidence. The question was . . .
“So, is this enough?” Nick asked. “To nail Kaine? To clear our names? To bring this whole conspiracy crashing down once and for all?”
Chen stared at Nick a long minute, then gave a single nod. “This is exactly what is needed to accomplish every one of those objectives. But there’s a catch.”
Beckett’s stomach dropped. What now?
“And that is?” Nick asked warily.
“Your team deserves the credit for busting all of this wide open. But the Company’s going to claim it. Just telling you that straight up. How big a problem is that for you?”
Nick’s gaze roamed the room, and each man said his peace.
“Fine by me,” Easy said.
“Hell, I don’t want to be explaining to anyone how we got half this information,” Marz said, and that perspective struck a chord deep inside Beckett. Because they hadn’t exactly stayed on the right side of the law in all of this, had they?
“As far as I’m concerned,” Shane said, hugging Sara in front of him, “it was never about any kind of recognition. So that doesn’t bother me any.”
Beckett nodded, grimacing as he shifted in the chair. “I don’t want credit. I want justice. However you can best serve it up.”
Nick held out his hands. “There you go. I think it’s safe to say that we’d be happy with you keeping our names out of it as much as possible.”
Chen rose from his seat. “Well, then, let’s get busy. I want a full digital archive of all of this as quick as we can. Because I know exactly what I need to do.”
OH, GOD, EVERYTHING hurts.
Sounds. Smells. Sensations. These all slowly returned to Kat as she broke through the surface of consciousness. Her eyelids were stuck together, her lips were dry and sore, her mouth was a desert. She swallowed and . . . there was something in her throat.
She moaned and sluggishly lifted a hand to her face.
“No, no, hon,” someone said. “Gotta leave that in for now. Come on and wake up for me, Katherine. Can you open your eyes?”
It was like lifting a hundred pounds, but she finally did it. Pale green walls. Darkness at the window. Twin bed with rails on the sides. A nurse?
It all came rushing back.
The funeral. The shooting. Cole.
Oh, my God. What happened? What happened?
“Whoa, hon. Settle down,” the young, blond-haired nurse said. “I’m sure you have lots of questions and we’ll get them all answered. But you’ve been through a lot and you’ve gotta try to stay calm. Okay?”
Blinking away tears, Kat nodded. Been through a lot? Was that why she hurt so bad? Because her chest was on fire.
The nurse—Carrie, her name tag read—dabbed away the wetness with a tissue. As she monitored all her vitals, Carrie explained that she’d been shot in the chest and had undergone surgery to repair damage to her heart and right lung. “Everything’s looking good so far,” she said. “We’re going to take you down to CT in a few minutes to check on the fluid around your lung.”
Kat tried to speak and it came out a moan, and she was so frustrated that she couldn’t communicate.
“Here,” Carrie said, handing her a thick pad of yellow Post-it notes and a pencil. “Do you think you can write?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. It was messy as hell, but she managed to get down her question. Were any of my family or friends hurt?
Kat saw the answer on Carrie’s face the moment she finished reading the question—and she also saw the woman’s hesitation to answer.
Fumbling the pad, Kat lowered it to write: Plz tell me.
Carrie’s expression filled with sympathy. “Okay. Your brother’s in the next unit. Suffered a brain injury but is expected to do fine.”
Oh, God.
Name? she wrote with a shaking hand.
“Uh, Jeremy, I think.”
Kat lost it. Maybe it was the pain or the grief or the meds they’d given her, but the thought of her happy, playful, sweet brother suffering a brain injury was the most sickening thing she’d ever heard.
And then, mercifully, a cold stinging sensation threaded through her arm and made her drift away . . .
The next time Kat surfaced, sunlight streamed into the room. She was all alone. Where was everybody?
Piercing pain radiating from her chest chased the question away. The intubation tube kept her from bending her neck enough to try to see her wound, but she ran her fingers over her chest and felt the thick bandages that must lay beneath her gown. Probably just as well, since movement hurt and exhausted her in equal measure. She sighed and closed her eyes.
You sing, too, now. A, B, C . . .
Beckett. The memory of him singing to her—trying to get her to sing with him—popped into her head. And despite the sheer silliness of the song, the man could sing. Big, strong, hard-ass Beckett. A singer. Who would’ve thought?
God, she missed him. How many days had it been since the funeral? For some reason, it felt like ages. Ages since she’d last seen Beckett, felt his touch, received his kiss.
It was so quiet in the hospital room. Like a tomb. Kat’s skin broke out in goose bumps at the thought. She grasped the black remote tethered to the bed rail and turned on the wall-mounted television.
Cartoons. Sports. Reruns of some old reality TV show. A History Channel documentary on D-Day. Cable news. Blech.
She was about to flip back to the documentary when the moving ticker at the bottom of the news program caught her eye.
BREAKING NEWS: Decorated U.S. Army General Landon Kaine at Center of International Conspiracy.
Wait. What? She turned up the volume on the talking heads at the news desk.
“Breaking news now,” an older male anchor said. “Two-star Army General Landon Kaine, one of the top names circulated to become the president’s next National Security Advisor, has been accused of running a long-standing, international narcotics ring involving the theft and smuggling of Afghan heroin confiscated by the Army and slated for destruction. A Washington Post article today published a damning exposé showing how Kaine, for his own personal profit, conspired to ship that heroin to the United States for distribution at the hands of Baltimore’s Church Gang, believed to be the biggest distributor of heroin on the East Coast . . .”
How in the world had this happened? How long had she been asleep?
“In addition,” the anchor continued, “the Post article lays out the very disturbing story of an Army Special Forces A-team assigned to counternarcotics missions in Afghanistan that Kaine sought to destroy when its commander learned of his involvement in the theft. Colonel Frank Merritt was a highly decorated soldier who died in a checkpoint ambush last year along with six other Green Berets from his team. As the commanding officer of their base, Kaine then brought charges against the five survivors of the ambush and oversaw their discharges from the Army. The Post withheld the names of those dishonored service members, and the Army has not yet issued a statement . . .”
Was this . . . was this really happening? But how? What the heck had she missed?
Kat stayed glued to the news for the next half hour, but didn’t learn anything new. A nurse—male this time, apparently the shifts had changed since she’d last been awake—came in to take her vitals and inform her that they were going to be extubating her airway tube.
She was thrilled. Until the procedure itself, which left her throat raw and achy after she gagged the tube out. Her voice sounded like it belonged to a seventy-year-old lifelong smoker. Awesome.
The nurse also told her that mo
st of the fluid had drained from her chest cavity, which meant she’d probably only need to have the chest tube in for another day or two. She couldn’t wait.
Kat drifted in and out of sleep, awakened by the pain in her chest, strange, scary nightmares, and nurses checking her vitals. Each time she opened her eyes, she hoped she’d find someone sitting by her side, but instead found the room empty. A sign under the wall-mounted clock across from her bed announced that visiting hours started at noon. Maybe someone would come then?
At 11:59 a smiling African-American nurse came through the door. “I have something I think might cheer you up,” she said, then leaned in and whispered, “Girl, they’ve been waiting for hours to come see you. Mmm-mmm.”
Then Nick and Beckett walked through the door.
Kat had never been happier to see other people in her life. She clapped a hand over her mouth as a sob climbed into her sore throat.
Nick rushed to her side and leaned in for a hug. Her chest hurt too much to lift her arms very high, so she clung to him awkwardly, but neither of them cared.
“How is Jeremy?” she rasped.
Bracing his arms on the rails, Nick said, “Charlie texted earlier to say he was awake and that Jeremy recognized him right away. He’s apparently annoyed as shit at the airway tube.” Nick smiled, and it was so good to see. And so . . . unusual, too. Even Nick’s eyes seemed brighter, happier. “I’m gonna go visit him next.”
Her gaze slid over Nick’s shoulder to where Beckett hung back by the door. God, it was good to see him. Although, his face was beat all the hell up. “Come in,” she said, waving her hand. “What happened to you?”
He moved like an old man, like it was more than just his face that had taken a beating.
“It’s a long story,” he said, coming around the side of her bed, one hand behind his back.
Kat glanced between the two men—two of the three about whom she cared most in the whole world. “Oh, I saw the news. What the heck happened?”
Nick grinned at Beckett. “Aw, hell. Ruined our surprise.” Then he produced a newspaper from behind his back. The Washington Post.
One of the page-one headlines read: Landon Kaine at Center of International Smuggling Conspiracy.
“And look at this,” Nick said, flipping through the A section. He turned the paper toward her, and she saw a photo of an older man who bore a striking resemblance to Charlie. It was Charlie and Becca’s father, and the team’s commander, Frank Merritt. A headline read: New Evidence Comes to Light in Deaths of Seven Green Berets.
Kat’s eyes scanned the story, and it was—finally—the beginning of the end of this whole nightmare for them. According to an off-the-record source at the Pentagon, there was going to be a new investigation into the circumstances of the ambush and the surviving members’ other-than-honorable discharges.
Her gaze cut to Nick’s. “You’re going to be cleared. All of you. I’m so happy for you,” she said, more damn tears leaking from her eyes. It was like she was a waterworks today.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Kat. I want you to know that. You made so many damn sacrifices,” Nick said.
She shook her head. “No, I did exactly what I had to do. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“I would definitely change this,” he said, his hand waving over her body in the hospital bed. Beckett nodded, his expression serious.
But this hadn’t happened because of the situation with Nick’s team. This had happened because she had made too many excuses for someone who hadn’t deserved even one. “Me laying in this bed isn’t your fault, Nick,” Kat said. “And I know it’s not really mine either, but I could’ve taken more steps to make sure something like this didn’t happen.” She blew out a breath, wincing at a zing of pain from beneath her ribs, and calmed her breathing. “I’m sorry.”
“Cole’s dead, and it’s over now. Let’s talk about it later,” Nick said. Kat’s gut filled with surprise and sad relief. She never thought it would come to all this. “The only important thing right now is getting you better. How are you feeling?”
She grimaced. “Like somebody cut open my chest, stirred some things around, and sewed me back up again.” He arched his brow, and it made her smile. “I hurt. And I’m exhausted. But I’m going to be okay.”
Nick nodded. “Yes, you are.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Listen, I’m gonna let you and Beckett visit. I’ll go see Jeremy.”
“Okay,” Kat said. “Tell him I love him.” Nick agreed, and left.
And then it was just her and Beckett . . .
She scooted her legs to the side as much as she could, gritting her teeth against the pain. “Sit down—”
“No, that’s okay—”
“Beckett, don’t be stubborn. Sit with me.”
He chuckled and grimaced, then sat his hip on the edge of the mattress. “You’re ordering me around from your hospital bed. Do you realize this?”
She smiled and nodded. “You love it.”
His face went serious and he nodded. “I do. Oh, I, uh, brought you something.” He revealed a stuffed animal from behind his back. The sweetest gray and pink stuffed elephant she’d ever seen. Well, except for the one she’d had as a very small kid. Whatever happened to that guy?
“Aw, Beckett. This is so cute. Thank you.” She hugged it against her face, and it was silky soft. “He’ll be my constant companion.”
Beckett grasped her hand and scooted closer. “Actually, I, uh . . .”
Was his hand shaking? “What? Are you okay?” she asked.
“Uh.” He chuckled nervously. “Well, yeah, it’s just that . . . um . . . I’m sorta hoping that I could be that, instead.”
Kat blinked. “Be what?”
Those incredible blue eyes looked deep into hers, and she’d never seen them more open and vulnerable. “Your constant companion.”
Her heart panged and her eyes prickled. “I . . . I’d like that.”
“Wait,” he said. “I’m screwing this up.”
“No you’re not—”
“I am,” he said. “Because what I really want to say is, Kat, I love you. I am in love with you. And I want a chance to be the man who gets the honor and privilege of standing by your side.”
She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth because, damnit, she was going to start crying again. “You . . . love me?”
He blew out a shaky breath. “Uh, yeah?”
“Well, that’s really good, because I love you, too, Beckett.”
It was, without question, the first time she ever saw unrestrained joy on the man’s face. And even with all the bruises and nicks and cuts he had, it made him absolutely gorgeous.
Keeping his weight off her body, he leaned as close as he could and kissed her cheek. “I really want to kiss you and hold you, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
Kat cupped his handsome face in her hands. “I’m kinda afraid I’ll hurt you if I hug you, too.” She gave him a soft kiss. “So I’ll just tell you again and again. I love you. So much.”
Beckett’s eyes got glassy, she would’ve sworn it. He blinked fast and leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ve never been the kind of man who believed in dreams, Kat. That wasn’t the hand I got dealt. So I sure as hell never spent any time chasing them.” He swallowed hard and nodded. “But meeting you . . . if I could’ve dreamed, if I’d have even known what to dream of, it would’ve been of you.”
Now Kat was the one blinking fast. She stroked her fingers down his face. “That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re such a good man, Beckett, and you deserve to have dreams. And I would love to be the one who helps you make them come true.”
“Was so scared I lost you,” he said, lowering his head to her shoulder. His big shoulders shook, and it broke her heart.
“Aw, no. You didn’t. I’m right here with you, Beckett.” She stroked his shoulders, his neck, the back of his head . . . where he had a big knot. “Wh
at happened to you?”
He heaved a deep breath and swiped at his eyes before he looked at her. “The short version is, I got shot and blown up.”
Kat’s eyes went wide as she raked her gaze over him. “Uh, I think maybe I’d better have the long version.”
Beckett told her everything. Kat was equal parts horrified, amazed, and proud. What an incredibly strong, brave man she had.
“And now, finally, you have everything you deserve,” she said, pointing at the paper still covering her lap. “I’m so happy for you. For all of you. God, I wish I wasn’t in here so I could celebrate with you.”
“Me too,” he said. “But you’ll be out in a few days and then we’ll celebrate. Jeremy, too.”
She nodded. “Do you think you’ll see this Chen guy again?”
Beckett’s eyes narrowed and he finally nodded. “For some reason, yeah. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him. But who knows. He’s done everything he said he’d do for us, and probably bigger and better than we could’ve done it ourselves.”
The news anchor mentioned Kaine’s name, and Kat pointed to the TV. “Oh, look. It’s your story again. Come sit on this side so you can see,” she said.
Eyes on the TV, Beckett rounded the bed.
Kat scooted over and patted the mattress. “Think you can fit?”
He chuckled. “I don’t want to jostle you.”
“What if I want you to jostle me?” She waggled her eyebrows.
He barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure either of us is going to be up to jostling for a few days, do you?”
Grinning, Kat patted the bed again. “Well, then, squeeze in with me. No matter what, being with you will make me feel better.”
He just managed to fit along the side, and she’d been right. His warmth and his scent and his touch . . . Beckett made everything better.
A male anchor looked into the camera. “This story involving Army General Landon Kaine just keeps getting bigger and bigger today. The D.C. police have confirmed that they found Kaine dead at his home of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound just an hour ago.”
