Last Chance (Second Chance Book 3)

by Michelle St. James

  Maybe it was shining a light on the secrets that had been lurking under the surface of their seemingly perfect lives. Maybe it was their conversation in Iceland, seeing things from each other’s perspectives for a change, or the conversation Kate had had with her mom on the lawn.

  Kate didn’t know, but with everything else that was going on, she was relieved her relationship with Beth was one thing that seemed to be improving.

  “Hey, you okay?” Beth asked. “I mean, I know okay might be a lot to ask right now, but you’ve been super quiet.”

  Kate hesitated, then drew in a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  She felt Beth’s eyes on her face. “What? Are you serious?” She continued without waiting for an answer. “That’s… that’s amazing! Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Wait… is this a congratulations kind of thing? Like… are you happy about it?” Beth asked.

  Kate looked at her. “I am. I’m just… still in shock. Actually, I’m not even sure. But… I’m sure. You know?”

  “You haven’t taken a test?” Beth asked.

  “I’ve been under house arrest, remember?”

  “Right,” Beth said. “But you’ve been through this before, so you must know what it feels like.”

  Kate nodded. “I didn’t pick up on it at first. The different food in Iceland, jet lag, stress… I didn’t really put it together until we got home and I started having these crazy food aversions.”

  “Does Declan know?” Beth asked.

  Kate shook her head. “He has enough on his plate right now. It can wait. Besides…”

  “What?” Beth asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m nervous. I’ve never had to tell Declan I was pregnant before. The last time I was just a kid. I was so scared. And then I broke up with him and left town and… well, it wasn’t exactly a happy occasion. Not right away anyway. Obviously I wouldn’t change it. Griff is my everything.”

  “You don’t even have to say that,” Beth said. “I know it’s true, but you’re allowed to love Griff and be excited about a new baby and also be freaked by the history, not to mention the timing.”

  Kate tried to smile. “Not exactly stellar, is it?”

  “Well, I give you points for drama, let’s put it that way.”

  Kate laughed. “Thanks.”

  Beth leaned back in the lounge chair. “It’s about time someone stepped up their game. It was a lot of work being the only drama queen in the family.”

  Kate laughed harder, surprised by how good it felt, surprised it was because of Beth. “You loved it and you know it.”

  Beth grinned. “Sometimes. But don’t tell Mom.”

  A gust of wind blew across the patio, rattling the wind chimes Kate’s mom had strung through the trees. The storm was predicted to hit the next day, and she’d been working with Frank to cover the more sensitive plants on the property.

  Kate couldn’t help feeling like it was a bad omen, one more storm in a string of storms that had prevented them from catching their breath. Things had been quiet during the six months Neil and Beth had been missing, but it had been like being in the eyes of a hurricane: the worst of the storm swirling just outside of view, its destruction inevitable and worse for the fact that you knew it was coming.

  “I just wish things were normal again. I wish my biggest worry was whether to stay late at the office and miss Griff’s story time,” Kate said.

  “I think I’m figuring out that I don’t even know what normal looks like, and I’m also figuring out I have no one to thank for that but myself,” Beth said.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Mom and Dad should have come clean with you, they should have come clean with all of us. I get that they were trying to make our lives normal — whatever that means — but it just made things worse in the end.”

  “Maybe, but no one made me partner with Neil. That was all me. I can learn to live with it, but I’m still figuring out how to live my life without all that resentment. Like… it was a burden, so I feel lighter, but I got used to carrying it, so sometimes it feels almost like something’s missing too.” She shook her head. “That sounds crazy.”

  “No. It just sounds human. And you can always come to work at WMG,” Kate said.

  Beth looked at her. “Really?”

  Kate smiled. “Of course. It’s your company too.”

  “Thanks.” Beth hesitated. “I’ve actually been thinking of going back to school, maybe getting into investigative journalism.”

  Kate thought about Beth’s surprising knack for running down information on Neil. It suddenly made perfect sense. “I think you’d be amazing at it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” Kate said.

  “Thanks.”

  They both turned toward the sound of the door opening onto the terrace. Kate assumed it would be her mom. Instead Declan stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

  “I can’t believe you’re out here. You’re going to blow away in this wind,” he said, coming toward Kate.

  She hadn’t noticed it until he said it, but he was right: the wind had picked up considerably during her conversation with Beth.

  “Yeah, I’m going in,” Beth said, standing. “I’m beat.”

  “Night,” Kate said. “And… thanks.”

  “Night. And you’re welcome.”

  Declan pulled Kate to her feet. She opened the blanket and wrapped her arms around him so that they were both enveloped in its warmth.

  “What was that about?” Declan asked.

  I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. We’re going to do it together this time. You and me. For real.

  The words hovered on her tongue. “Sister stuff.”

  “Sister stuff.” Declan nodded. “That’s nice.”

  Kate smiled. “It actually is. What are you doing here? I figured you’d be late.”

  Declan had spent the last two days at MIS with Ronan and Nick — plus Clay, who would help them circumvent the security system — planning a way into Connor Ferguson’s house. Kate hadn’t seen much of Declan, something she’d expected to continue until MIS made their move the next night.

  That part she tried not to think about.

  “We’re done,” Declan said.

  Kate nodded, fear settling like a boulder in the pit of her stomach. “Is it a good plan?”

  They both knew what she was asking: is it safe? Will you make it out alive?

  But Declan wasn’t a liar, and he wasn’t someone to offer false assurances.

  “It’s as good as any plan can be. We never know until we get inside.” He looked down at her. “Can you live with that?”

  Could she live with it? Not just tomorrow night but for the rest of her life? Could she live with knowing Declan going to work might also mean he went to jail? Or worse, that he wouldn’t come back to her at all?

  The answer was shockingly simple. She could live with it because the alternative was living without him, and that she would never again do.

  “I can live with it.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers, sweeping her lips into a lingering kiss. His tongue was like velvet, skimming over hers as he held her face in his hands. He tipped her head and the kiss grew feverish, his shaft hard against her stomach.

  Heat blossomed between her thighs, the cold outside the blanket nonexistent even as the wind blew through her hair, rushing through the leaves of the trees at the top of the cliffs.

  The storm rolling in from the ocean was nothing compared to the storm that was coming, and she wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, flattening her body against his, wanting to memorize the safety of his arms, the press of his lips.

  He felt like family. Like home. Like the last chance she hadn’t known she’d needed.

  What they had felt fragile, like it could be taken away in a heartbeat.

  She thought of their baby, already growing inside her. She would keep the faith for Griff and the new life they’d cr
eated, for the future that was waiting for them on the other side of tomorrow night.

  Declan’s hands traveled down her neck, across her shoulders, leaving sparks in their wake. A vacuum of need opened up inside her, clamoring for him to fill her the way only he could.

  He broke the kiss and looked down at her, his eyes burning with the promises he wouldn’t make.

  She shook her head and forced a smile. “Don’t say anything, Dec. Just take me to bed.”

  He pulled her close. There was nothing else to say. They’d said it all.

  18

  Declan sat in the passenger seat of the late model Dodge and peered through the windshield, trying to see the brownstone across the street through the pouring rain. The lights had been off in the living room for hours, but they’d agreed to wait until three a.m. to make their way into the house. By then Ferguson would be asleep and the guard who made up his private security detail would have grown complacent.

  That’s what Declan was hoping for anyway.

  “Remember, we’re doing this quiet,” Ronan said from the driver’s seat. “This is Beacon Hill. We have to be a scalpel, not a machete.”

  Declan scowled. “I know the plan.”

  “I’m just making sure. I know how things can get out of hand when the job is personal,” Ronan said.

  “You aren’t kidding,” Nick said from the back seat.

  “You and Nick take the guard. I inject Ferguson with the potassium chloride. We get out before anyone is the wiser,” Declan said.

  Ronan nodded, but he didn’t look satisfied.

  Declan peered through the rain, trying to place the unease that had been gnawing at his bones since they’d pulled up in front of the house. The wind blew hard enough to shake the car, rain pelting its roof from the storm that had made landfall a few hours before.

  He ran down the checklist in his mind: the late model Charger (a favorite of detectives and undercover cops, unlikely to arouse suspicion by passing patrol cars), the security cameras (display disrupted by Clay from afar), the sodium pentathol for the guard (which would knock him out quickly with very little aftereffects), the potassium chloride for Ferguson (quick, deadly, and almost guaranteed to present as a heart attack).

  And worse-case scenario, the gun strapped to Declan’s side, which he wouldn’t hesitate to use in spite of his assurance to Ronan. One way or another, Ferguson was going to die tonight.

  They’d had Reilly casing the place for the past three nights, verifying Ferguson’s routine. Everything was in place. So why did he feel like they were missing something?

  He thought about Kate and Griffin, sleeping at the Marblehead house, the waves crashing below the cliffs.

  Safe.

  That’s all that mattered, and after tonight, they would be safe for good.

  He checked his phone and turned on his comms unit. If all went well, they wouldn’t need it, but there was no way to be sure all would go well. “It’s time.”

  “I’ll text Clay,” Nick said.

  Ronan reached for the door. “Let’s move. It’s raining like a motherfucker.”

  They exited the car and hurried across the street, aiming for an appearance of out-late-partying-and-caught-in-the-rain rather than why-the-fuck-are-you-sneaking-toward-a-multimillion-dollar-brownstone-in-the-middle-of-the-night.

  The last thing they needed was a nosy neighbor calling the cops.

  They passed the front of the house and continued to the narrow side yard. The back door faced one of the quaint cobblestone alleys, complete with old-fashioned street lamps, that was a hallmark of Beacon Hill. It was closed to traffic, but it was still too well-lit to make for a good approach. They needed cover, and they made their way toward the door at the side of the house.

  By the time they reached it, rain was pouring down Declan’s face. He looked up at the camera, glad Clay was in control of the display, and removed the signal jammer from inside his jacket.

  He set it next to the door and activated it while Nick pulled a pick set from his jacket. He tried various picks until he found the right match for the heavy locks on the door while they waited for the jammer to intercept the signal from the door to the control panel of Ferguson’s alarm.

  Less than two minutes later, Nick slipped the pick set back into his pocket. “We’re in.”

  Declan cracked open the door before he could change his mind. There was never any way to know for sure if the jammer had worked until the alarm was shrieking through the house, or in the case of a silent alarm, until the cops showed up.

  The best insurance policy they had was a quick exit.

  The door opened onto a gourmet kitchen, understated but outfitted with gleaming appliances, Carrara marble, and sleek cabinets that stood in contrast to the brownstone’s traditional exterior.

  “Let’s move,” Ronan whispered. “We can’t count on that alarm. Let us know if you run into trouble.”

  He and Nick headed for the first floor bedroom, discovered in the blueprints they’d obtained from the building permit office and a renovation Ferguson had done when he’d bought the place.

  Assumptions sucked, but it made sense that the guard would sleep there. If not, at least there was only one of him. It was a complication they could manage.

  Declan headed for the stairs, sticking to the sides of the treads. Ferguson’s renovation had obviously spared no expense, but Declan had grown up in an old house, and he’d breached his fair share of them since then. The middle of a tread was always more likely to be squeaky.

  The stairs led to a second-floor landing and a wide hall. Patterned carpets that looked like they’d been collected from around the world lined the rich wood floors.

  He passed the first four doors — two bedrooms and two bathrooms according to the blueprints — and continued to the double doors at end of the hall. The building plans showed it as three times the size of the other bedrooms. Plus, it contained a massive en suite bathroom.

  It had to be the master bedroom.

  Turning the knob slowly, he cracked open the door and eased his way inside a sparsely decorated modern room. Glass doors led to one of the neighborhood’s coveted balconies, small but quaint, like so many things in Beacon Hill. There was a smattering of clean-lined furniture: a dresser, a couple of nightstands, a minimalist chair, the bed.

  His gaze snagged on the bed, low to the ground, the wood pale and polished, the mattress… empty.

  His heart hammered in his chest as understanding dawned. He ran for the stairs.

  19

  Kate woke with a start, her heart beating too fast, like she’d been having a bad dream. She’d had crazy weird dreams when she’d been pregnant with Griffin, but that had been late in her pregnancy, when she’d been burdened with the stress and worry of impending motherhood.

  Now she felt like she could almost hear the blood rushing in her veins, every nerve in her body on high alert. Something gnawed at her subconscious, something that told her a nightmare wasn’t the culprit.

  She lay in bed, listening to the wind howl outside the big windows in her room, the roar of the ocean at the base of the cliff like a monster come to life from the pages of one of Griffin’s books.

  A soft whoosh sounded from the first floor, the sound so subtle it might have been lost to the storm except for a lull in the wind. A second later she thought she heard something shuffle across the floor.

  She sat up and looked at her phone. 3:02 a.m.

  It was probably just one of the guards. There were two of them patrolling the grounds. Mostly they stayed outside, but her mother had given them free rein with the house and the food in the kitchen, and every now and then one of them would come in to get something to eat or use the powder room.

  She threw her feet over the side of the bed, and walked barefoot to the door while clutching the phone in her hand. It probably was just one of the guards, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep now, not until she made sure the sound was nothing to fear.

  Cracking the
door, she listened, training her ears to the sound underneath the storm.

  Nothing.

  She stepped into the hall and headed for the stairs, instinctively being quiet, her nerves tingling with potential danger even though her mind told her there couldn’t be anyone in the house, not with the guards stationed at the gate and the ones patrolling the property.

  Besides, Declan was at Connor Ferguson’s house making sure they would never have to worry about him again.

  She reached the top of the stairs, her self-talk almost doing the job of soothing her fear. She had her hand on the banister and was preparing to step onto the first tread when she caught sight of something at the foot of the stairs.

  A black-clad leg splayed across the floor, the booted foot still.

  One of the guards was down at the foot of the stairs.

  Her hand flew to her mouth, her brain working to keep her silent as a scream rose in her throat.

  She backed away from the stairs. She jumped when her phone vibrated in her hand. She looked at the display, glad she always set the phone on silent before bed.

  It was Declan.

  She couldn’t afford to risk answering. Couldn’t afford to do anything except save her son, her family.

  She turned and ran for Griffin’s room.

  Declan pressed harder on the gas, wishing they’d brought the Tesla even though it would have painted a target on their back. He had to peer through the windshield of the Dodge, barely able to see even though the wipers were on the highest setting.

  “Slow down,” Ronan said. “Getting pulled over isn’t going to get us there any faster.”

  “Fuck you,” Declan growled, redialing Kate’s number.

  It went to voice mail.

  Again.

  “Stop calling,” Nick said, from the back seat. “I know it’s hard, but if she can’t answer, you might be doing more harm than good.”

  The unspoken meaning made Declan want to punch something: Kate and Griff might be hiding at the house, might already be in the clutches of Ferguson’s men.

  He shook his head, banishing the thought. They’d already crossed the bridge, had wound their way across the peninsula and were almost to the shoreline where the Walsh house perched over the water.