She held up a hand before he got too excited and she caved and did what she wanted to do, which was yank that chain from around his neck and slide the ring on her finger without asking the smart questions or thinking it through.
“I need some time, Mike. I need to, I don’t know—”
“Make sure I don’t bail on you again?”
She shrugged. Nodded.
“Yeah, okay.” Smiling now, he took her hands and held them to his chest, where his heart pounded. Then he pulled them to his mouth, one by one, so he could press lingering kisses to her palms. “You can have whatever you need. As long as it takes.”
“Really? What’s gotten into you?”
His smile turned wry. “As long as you don’t cut me loose? I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
That made her laugh. She was still grinning when he leaned in to kiss her breathless.
When he pulled back, his gaze was searching and vulnerable. “Do you love me, sweetheart?”
Something inside her seized up.
Staring at him and seeing his need made her want to give it all to him now—her love and soul to go along with her body. The pull of him was too powerful to refuse when she was in his arms.
The truth was, he already owned every part of her.
She just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
So she pulled back and turned her head away, catching an agonizing glimpse of his pain when she did. “I can’t—”
“It’s okay.” His shoulders drooped but he kept his voice upbeat, as though the only thing she couldn’t commit to was what kind of pizza to have for dinner. “I’m not going to pressure you. I’m going to show you.”
“‘Show me’?”
“That I’m not going anywhere. That you can count on me. That it’s safe for you to love me. One of these days you’ll have to believe me, right?”
The only answer she trusted herself to give was a kiss pressed gently to his mouth.
“I’d better go,” she said, grabbing her jacket when she pulled back.
He nodded, looking grim, and unlocked the door for her before swinging it open. “I want to see you before you go home for Christmas.”
The night air was frigid, but she paused to glance over her shoulder and raise her brows at him as she started down the steps. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“When it comes to you? No.”
“Try,” she said, laughing.
“Dinner? Tomorrow?”
“I’ll see what I can—oh, my God!”
A hulking man, silent as the moon’s rays, slid out of the shadows by the metal trash cans a few feet away and pointed a gun at her. A dark hoodie obscured his face until he pushed it off like he wanted to make sure he got full credit for what he was about to do. The porch light hit him just right.
It was Johnson.
Dara gasped, staring at him. There was no sign of the charming womanizer. His eyes looked chalkboard flat, as though no light could penetrate or escape those soulless pupils. If she’d had any modicum of doubt that he was a murderer, seeing him now killed it.
Just as, she instinctively knew, he was here to kill Mike. Unless she warned him.
“Mike!” she shrieked.
But Mike was already on the job, racing off the steps toward her. “Dara, get down!”
Pop!
Mike knocked her to the ground and was on his feet again in an instant, lunging for Johnson. The men struggled with the gun while Dara frantically grabbed a trash can lid so she could smash Johnson over the head.
Another pop, followed immediately by the instantaneous and sickening thud of three hundred pounds of flesh hitting the ground. She spun back around to see what had happened.
Unmoving, Johnson lay on his back and stared up at the sky, a bullet through the middle of his chest.
“Oh, my God,” she said into the sudden silence. “Mike?”
Swaying on his feet, Johnson’s gun dangling from his hand, Mike looked to her. He blinked hard, as though he needed to clear his vision, then staggered back a step.
She noticed there was a strange smudge on his shirt.
“Mike?”
Without warning, he dropped to his knees, fell to his side and settled on his back.
“Mike!”
Disbelieving, even when she saw the stain bloom, dark and wet, across his side, she sprinted over and hit the ground beside him.
He couldn’t have been shot. Not Mike.
He stirred, moving his hand weakly.
Automatic pilot kicked in, telling her what to do.
She kept her face blank as she covered him with her jacket and pressed down hard on the wound.
Mike yelled with pain.
“Sorry,” she told him. “I have to.”
His chest labored for breath. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Pressing her lips together, she struggled not to cry. “Am I okay? You’re the one who’s been shot.”
“Better me than you,” he said, his eyes rolling closed as he slipped away from her.
“Let’s talk in here.”
The grim-faced surgeon pulled off his sweat-soaked green cap and ushered Dara and Mrs. Baldwin into one of the tiny conference rooms adjacent to the waiting area, where they sat at a small table. Mrs. Baldwin, looking suddenly much older and haggard, leaned heavily on Dara’s arm. Despite her own exhaustion and fear, Dara had spent the last several hours hovering over her—that, and trying to reach Sean, who wasn’t answering his cell—determined that nothing would happen to Mike’s mother on her watch.
“He came out of surgery about as well as we could have expected,” he said.
Gasping, Mrs. Baldwin grabbed Dara’s hand and squeezed tightly.
Dara nodded dully. One persistent thought penetrated her numbness: I didn’t tell him I love him.
“The bullet nicked his pulmonary artery,” the surgeon continued. “That’s why he had such a massive bleed. We had to give him four units.”
Why didn’t I tell him I love him?
“He’s in the ICU. You can see him there.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Mrs. Baldwin asked tearfully.
The surgeon hesitated, which was answer enough.
And all Dara could think was that she’d foolishly and hurtfully refused to tell Mike she loved him when she had the chance.
Now he could die and she’d never get the chance. If he did, she’d have to live with that crippling regret for the rest of her life, when she could barely breathe with it now.
She’d also have to live with the image of him voluntarily taking a bullet to protect her mere seconds after she’d said she didn’t know if she could count on him.
“We need to see how he does in the next several hours,” the surgeon said. “He’s young and strong, so that’s good.”
I have to tell him I love him.
Toward dawn of the longest night of Dara’s life, the nurse let them see Mike in one of the dimly lit, glass-encased rooms of the ICU.
The sight of him released the sob that’d been lodged in her throat for hours, forcing her to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle it. She was not going to fall apart. She was not going to add to Mrs. Baldwin’s burden now. She was not going to risk letting Mike hear her.
With God’s grace and the sheer force of her will, she swallowed her emotions and got it together by the time she made it to his bedside.
There didn’t seem to be much Mike left under all the stark white linens and medical equipment, and what was there looked awful. His skin had turned a ghostly brown from blood loss. A tube that looked like it rightfully belonged to a set of scuba gear was taped to the side of his slightly open mouth. The IV lines taped to his arms made it almost impossible for her to believe those same arms had lifted and held her so easily last night. Various monitors and pumps hummed and beeped. Kindly nurses bustled in and out.
He didn’t move. Mrs. Baldwin sat on the other side of his bed. Dara pulled up a chair, sat and stared at his closed
eyelids, willing them to flicker, to show some slight sign that Mike was still in there somewhere.
They didn’t.
She took his hand. It was cool. Unresponsive.
In the predawn quiet, some of her most damaging thoughts began to break through the protective wall of shock she’d hidden behind all night.
He’d almost gotten himself killed—could still die—protecting her.
And she’d questioned his love for her?
Dara put her head down and tried to sleep.
But sleep gave her the finger, leaving her with gritty eyes, a fuzzy brain and sickening guilt.
Mike had risked his life for her, and she knew that if she could somehow wake him up and ask, he’d tell her he’d do it all over again. Because he loved her.
They sat there for hours. From a great distance, Dara noticed that the sun had come up and the shift of nurses had changed.
“Dara?”
Hadn’t she always known he loved her, even when he’d refused to admit it? Deep inside, hadn’t she always known? But she’d been so hurt and angry, she’d wanted to punish him for what he’d put her through. Some shameful part of her psyche had wanted to make him suffer the way she’d suffered.
Well, he’s suffering now, isn’t he, you vindictive bitch?
“Dara?”
Dara started and looked up, still clutching Mike’s hand.
“I’m going to try calling Sean again. Of all the times for him to have a boys’ weekend out of town.” Shaking her head, Mrs. Baldwin grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “Then I think I’ll walk down the hall and stretch my legs a little. I’ll bring back some coffee.”
Nodding, Dara watched miserably over her shoulder as she left. Would Mrs. Baldwin be so nice to her if she knew how she’d rejected Mike last night?
She turned back to Mike.
“I love you,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you last night.”
His lids fluttered. The sight of his long lashes brushing against his cheek made her heartbeat stall. She squeezed his hand, desperate for a response.
“Mike? Can you wake up for me? Mike?”
She waited, but ...nothing.
Bitterly disappointed, she pressed her face into the blanket near where his hand lay, unmoving, on the bed, muffled her sobs as best she could and cried until there was nothing left inside her but regret.
Finally, she drifted off into a troubled sleep.
“Ahhh.”
Dara winced, groaning, because her neck hurt. Turning her head on the unfamiliar surface, she tried to find a comfortable position.
“Ahhh.”
Dara woke suddenly, bolting upright in the chair. Something had latched on to her hand and she couldn’t shake it off. She looked wildly around, trying to figure out where she was.
Then she saw Mike. Staring at her.
“Ahhh,” he said again, his free hand going to the tubing still taped to his mouth.
Crying out, Dara leapt from her chair, overjoyed to see those amber eyes again, even if his lids drooped heavily over them.
“You’re awake!”
She wheeled away from the bed, intending to run to the door and call the nurse in to take that stupid tube out so he could talk, but his hand tightened around hers, hanging on for dear life.
She raised that precious hand to her lips and kissed it. It was warmer now. Alive again, with his thumb running over her knuckles.
“I need to get the nurse, Mike. So she can take out your breathing tube so you can talk.”
He stared at her, his lids sagging, and shook his head in a firm no.
She pursed her lips, but had to smile through her relieved tears. It wasn’t like she wanted to leave him, anyway.
“God, you’re so stubborn,” she muttered, fumbling around under his blankets to find the call button. “I should just let the tube stay in. That would serve you right, wouldn’t it?”
His lips curved.
The nurse appeared in the doorway. “Well, look at you,” she cried, smiling at Mike. “We didn’t expect to see your pretty eyes for a while yet. Can you breathe okay, do you think? Let’s see.”
Mike grunted, then submitted while she peeled the tape away from his face and carefully withdrew the long tube.
“Cough for me,” she instructed.
Mike coughed and winced, clutching his side. His breathing remained steady and even.
“I’ll get you some ice water and page the doctor,” the nurse said briskly, already on her way out again. “He’ll want to see you right away.”
Dara wiped her tears and frowned down at Mike, who struggled to keep his eyes open.
“I—If you ever pull another stunt like that, I’ll kill you myself! Do you understand me?”
One of his brows went up in that familiar sardonic expression.
“Be . . .” he began hoarsely, then broke off, coughing again, his face twisting with pain. “Believe me ...now?”
Sitting on the edge of his bed, she leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead. When she drew back, he stared up at her.
“I believe you.” Her voice cracked. “And I love you. So much. So much.”
A faint smile drifted across his face before his eyes fluttered closed.
“I . . .” His chest heaved. “I know.”
She laughed. Of course he did. Typical.
“Still arrogant, I see.”
She kissed his lips, then tried to sit up again.
Mike’s eyes opened. “Anything ...else?” he asked, his voice mostly gone now.
Laughing again—she should’ve known a gunshot wound wouldn’t stop him from being satisfied until he won every point—she reached into her pocket and pulled out his gold necklace, with her engagement ring still attached. The EMTs had given her his belongings for safekeeping when they took him to the hospital. She held it up for him to see.
“And if you promise not to die, I’d like to marry you—if you’ll still have me.”
Mike smiled tiredly, a wide, glorious smile that was more beautiful than ever.
“Not dying, angel.”
He reached for the ring.
Laughing and crying with relief, Dara hurried to undo the clasp for him so he could slip it on her finger.
* * *
Epilogue
Seven Years Later
Mike ducked into the back of the courtroom and slipped into the last row of seats in the crowded gallery just as the jury was returning with the verdict. The palpable tension intensified, probably because the deliberations hadn’t lasted longer than the average action movie, which was a surprise in a homicide trial that had gone five days. There were cameramen from the local news stations standing in the corners, trying to stay out of the way. Their corresponding reporters in the front row all sat up straighter as the bailiff called everyone to order and the spectators shushed each other.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” said the judge, sliding on her reading glasses as the bailiff handed her the verdict form, “have you reached a verdict?”
“We have,” said the foreman from the jury box.
The judge made a production out of unfolding the verdict and reading it, reminding Mike of one of those ridiculously dramatic reality show pauses: See the thrilling conclusion to tonight’s episode ...riiiight after this commercial break.
Not that it mattered. Having sat in for much of the testimony, Mike knew what this jury was going to decide. All the spectacle was just a formality.
He looked at Dara, who was sitting up at the defense table with her arm around her client, a woman accused of killing her husband after years of abuse. Dara leaned in to whisper something in the woman’s ear while patting her back reassuringly. Then she glanced at the gallery and saw Mike.
Their gazes held long enough for him to see the strain around her mouth and eyes, the nerves behind the cool cucumber exterior. He winked and shot her a tiny it’ll be okay, sweetheart smile.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded and faced the bench for the verdict.
“On the charge of voluntary manslaughter,” the judge said, “the jury finds the defendant ...not guilty.”
Mike stifled his triumphant whoop and fist pump, but it was a close call. The defendant collapsed into Dara’s arms, sobbing with relief. Her family and the press crowded in to hug her and thank Dara as the judge dismissed the jury. The victim’s family filed out, looking angry. The prosecutor threw down his pen and began jamming items back into his briefcase, his jaw hard.
Mike sat back and watched it all unfold, a shit-eating grin on his face because his wife had blossomed into the fine lawyer he’d always known she’d become.
Eventually the judge disappeared into his chambers, the defendant left with her family and everyone else cleared out except for Dara and the prosecutor.
The prosecutor headed for the back doors, saw Mike—they were friendly acquaintances—and paused to give him a grim smile.
“Your wife kicked my ass, man,” he complained.
Mike’s grin widened as he stood, shook the man’s hand and clapped him on the back. “Better your ass than mine, Ron.”
Ron snorted. “Drink Friday?”
“Yeah,” Mike said, his attention shifting to Dara as she walked his way, briefcase in hand. “We’ll call you.”
“What’re you two plotting about?” Dara asked, grinning.
Mike, who could never wait to get his hands on her, even after all these years, slung his arm around her waist and scooped her in so he could kiss her forehead. She smelled good. Felt like home. And he couldn’t love her any harder if he tried.
“I was just telling Mike you’re a damn fine lawyer,” Ron said ruefully, shaking her hand. “Nice job.”
“You, too,” Dara said. “I mean it.”
“Great.” Ron continued on his way, waving a lazy good-bye as he went. “I’ll be sure to tell my boss you think so. If I can get a word in edgewise. Which I probably won’t, because he’ll be so busy chewing my ass out for losing the case and disgracing the office. But, hey, you two kids have fun, you hear?”
They were still laughing when the door swung shut behind him, leaving them alone in the courtroom. Mike pulled her all the way into his arms and hung on tight.
Trouble Page 26
