End Game

by Lisa Renee Jones

  She pales, looking exceedingly uncomfortable, before repeating, “I drank from that cup.”

  “I know,” I say, offering it back to her. “Try another drink.”

  She takes the cup and sets it on the counter. “I can’t drink that. And you can’t either.” She points to the hole on top, now smudged in pink. “My lipstick is all over it, and I really hate to tell you this, but it’s all over you too and…” She laughs, a soft, sexy sound, her hands settling on her slender but curvy hips, accented by a fitted black skirt. “Sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but it’s not a good shade for you.”

  I laugh now too, officially and impossibly charmed by this woman in spite of being in the middle of what feels like World War III. “Seems you know how to make a lasting impression.”

  “Thankfully it’s not lasting,” she says. “It’ll wipe right off. And thank you for being such a good sport. I really am sorry again for all of this.”

  “Apologize by getting it off me.”

  Confusion puckers her brow. “What?”

  “You put it on me.” I grab a napkin from the counter and offer it to her. “You get it off.”

  “I put it on the cup,” she says, clearly recovering her quick wit. “You put it on you.”

  “I assure you, that had I put it on me, we both would have enjoyed it much more than we are now.” I glance at the napkin. “Are you going to help me?”

  Her cheeks flush and she hugs herself, her sudden shyness an intriguing contrast to her confident banter. “I’ll let you know if you don’t get it all.”

  My apparently lipstick-stained lips curve at her quick wit, but I take the napkin and wipe my mouth, arching a questioning brow when I’m done. She points to the corner of my mouth. “A little more on the left.”

  I hand her the napkin. “You do it.”

  She inhales, as if for courage, but takes the napkin. “Fine,” she says, stepping closer, that wicked sweet scent of hers teasing my nostrils. Wasting no time, she reaches for my mouth, her body swaying in my direction while my hand itches to settle at her waist. I want this woman and I’m not letting her get away.

  “There,” she says, her arm lowering.

  Not about to let her escape, I capture her hand, holding it and the napkin between us.

  Those gorgeous pale blue eyes of hers dart to mine, wide with surprise, the connection sparking an unmistakable charge between us, which I feel with an unexpected but not unwelcome jolt. “Thank you,” I say, softening the hard demand in my tone that long ago became natural.

  I blink back to the present, with the certainty that I’d fallen in love with her right then, right at that moment. It had been the way she was nervous yet brave. Daring and yet shy. The combination of those things had hinted at the depth of her spirit, the beauty of her character that is so much deeper than the surface beauty, impossible to miss. I glance at the steadiness of the monitor, then at her lowered lashes, and I’d give anything to look into those blue eyes of hers now. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whisper. “I should have gotten you out of here. I should have gotten us out of here.” I think of my promise to Derek to save the company, but he needs to survive and save it. He will. I won’t. “We’re going to leave,” I promise Emily. “We’re going to New York. And I’m going to make every second of every day count.”

  And it won’t matter that Derek can’t handle Martina on his own. Martina will be dead.

  The thought of killing Martina delivers not anger, not agitation, not pain. It delivers a sense of peace to me that I welcome. It also gives me a sense of control. A sense of direction and focus. I kiss Emily’s hand, then kiss her cheek. Then do both again, before I push to my feet and start to pace, plotting the many ways I could, can, and will destroy Martina. The gloves are off. The rules no longer apply. Time ticks by, and I alternate pacing with standing beside Emily, caressing her cheek, checking her monitors. The cycle starts and ends two times before I call the nurse for an update on Derek, which she doesn’t have. Another four cycles repeat, and the door to the room buzzes open.

  In a rush of energy, Jessica is in the room, hurrying toward me, her newly extended long blonde hair a rumpled mess. “Shane,” she breathes out, the lines of her heart-shaped face strained with worry. “Where is she? How is she?” She stops dead in her tracks and stares at the bed. “Oh God.” Her hand goes to her head. “Oh God.”

  I step to her side. “That’s how she is.”

  “Oh God,” she says again. “I did this.”

  “You were drugged.”

  “Not that badly or I’d be in here like Cody. I was still functioning. I should have followed her to the bathroom when she was sick.”

  “I should have protected her.”

  At the sound of Emily’s bodyguard’s voice, I rotate to find Cody Rodriguez, moving toward us, obviously having entered with Jessica, and while he’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his broad shoulders are slumped, his dark complexion pale. “I did this,” he repeats, and he is suddenly on a knee.

  “Cody!” Jessica shouts, rushing toward him. “You crazy man,” she hisses, settling on her jean-clad knee beside him. “You are supposed to be in a hospital bed.” She looks at me. “The kidnappers gave him enough of that drug to put down an elephant.”

  I move to help him, kneeling to take his arm. “Why are you here?”

  “She was my responsibility,” he says. “I’m her bodyguard.”

  “You didn’t do this,” I say. “You need to get back to bed.”

  “No,” he says, shoving to his feet while Jessica and I both follow him, holding on to his arms. “I’m staying with her,” he insists. “You don’t have to pay me.” He pulls away from Jessica and me and walks to the couch beside the bed, where he sits. “I’m staying.”

  I close the space between us, towering over him. “You need to go get well, Cody.”

  “I’ve been worse off than I am now,” he assures me, “and I still killed the other guy like I should have tonight.” His eyes lock with mine. “I’m your reminder.”

  My brow furrows with the odd comment. “Reminder?”

  “You haven’t punched me yet or kicked me out, which means you aren’t blaming me. You don’t own this, but you think you do. And believe me, man. I know how it feels to want to own it. I know that guilt.”

  I don’t blink. I don’t react. He doesn’t know me and I don’t appreciate his attempt to get inside my head, but the very fact that he’s here, facing me in his condition when I could blame him, says he’s honorable. I’m not sure when this is over if I’ll ever be honorable again. I don’t feel apologetic for that fact, and I wonder if that’s how a person like Martina becomes a person like Martina. Whatever the case, knowing that could well be my path, it doesn’t change how much I want and need Emily, who is as pure as snow. Maybe the bad in me just made me selfish, because I have no desire to do right by her and leave her. I just want her. Now. Always. Without the fear of Martina or anyone from her past coming for her. They all have to go. Every last one of them.

  “Shane Brandon,” Cody says softly, jolting me back to the present, and the moment I refocus on him, he adds, “whatever you think you want to do now, wait a month before you do it. A month gives you time to see it clearly, which you don’t right now, I promise you.”

  I’m not sure if his moral compass is a good thing or a bad thing right about now, and I don’t get to make that decision in the moment. The buzzer on the door sounds, and I’ve instantly dismissed his far too insightful comment, adrenaline roaring through me with the anticipation of news I might not want. Turning toward the door, I find Seth entering the room, accompanied by a short, burly man in scrubs.

  “I’m Dr. Ryland,” the man announces, offering me his hand, which I accept, noting the salt and pepper of his thick, neatly trimmed hair, which I hope speaks of experience. “I’m the surgeon who operated on your brother.”

  Jessica quickly joins us. “How is he?”

  “There was a lot of damage to his heart
,” he says. “But it was also easy to locate and repair, thus why we’re already done.”

  “Which means he’ll recover?” I ask cautiously, not yet ready to allow myself hope.

  “The next few hours are critical,” he says.

  “Critical,” I repeat. “Meaning he could die at any moment.”

  “I won’t mince words,” the doctor says. “Yes. He could die at any time.”

  Derek could die at any moment. I feel the doctor’s announcement like yet another blade cutting through my heart. “And if he makes it through tonight?” I ask. “Then he’s out of danger?”

  “Really the next few days,” the doctor states. “I did my part, but now it’s up to his body to do the rest. I’ll be in the hospital all night. If he needs me, I’ll respond.” His phone buzzes, and he pulls it from his pocket to read a message and then glances at me. “He’s being rolled into the connecting room now. His wife is already in the room. And I apologize, but I need to respond to another patient in need. I’ll check in on him once he’s fully settled.” He turns to leave, and Seth’s brow furrows.

  “Wife?” Jessica asks, clearly voicing what Seth and I are both thinking.

  “Teresa,” I murmur, already turning and walking to the adjoining door, where the next Martina game awaits for me to end, like I plan to end Adrian.

  I step into my brother’s room, a duplicate of Emily’s, and find an empty spot where his bed should be but has yet to arrive. At the entrance, a familiar dark-haired woman standing at the window with her back to the room rotates on a sob, confirming I was right in my assumption of her identity. The “wife” the doctor spoke of is indeed Martina’s sister, Teresa.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her face swollen from the overflow of tears. “I did this. I knew Ramon was a monster. I should have left sooner. I should have stayed away from Derek.”

  “You can’t be here,” I say. “I can’t, and won’t, have your brother—”

  “I forbid him to come here,” she says vehemently. “I told him I’d kill him if he came, and I will. I will kill him. He’s why any of this could happen. He is why it all happens. He killed my brother. Now. Now … now he might have killed—”

  “No,” I say sharply. “Derek is not going to die.”

  “Do you know something?” she asks hopefully. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s not okay,” I say. “But he is out of surgery. He’ll be here any moment.”

  “Please don’t make me leave. I love him,” she sobs. “I’m begging you.”

  I’m thrust back to the memory of being in that ambulance, Derek pleading with me to tell her he loves her. “You can stay.”

  It’s in that moment that a bed is rolled into the room. Seth steps to my side, and Teresa hovers on the other side of the room. In a matter of sixty seconds my brother is the centerpiece of the room, lying in the bed, a tube in his mouth.

  “You need to call your parents,” Seth says.

  “Not yet,” I say.

  “Shane—”

  “Not yet,” I bite out. “Not until he wakes up.”

  And I refuse to believe he won’t.

  “Shane—”

  “When he wakes up,” I repeat, refusing to believe he won’t. Refusing to accept any outcome but him and Emily walking out of this hospital alive and well. And I don’t give Seth time to argue my decision as I step farther into my brother’s room to talk to the nurse. From there it’s like I’m back in the restaurant, in a tunnel. I watch and listen as she gives me and Teresa, his “wife,” instructions. When the nurse leaves, I don’t give Teresa time or consideration. I claim a seat next to my brother and I sit down. I talk to him as if he can hear me, when there is nothing to indicate that he can. And finally I stand and face Teresa, wordlessly sizing her up.

  “I love him,” she repeats, her voice vibrating with emotion. “I’m not leaving without a fight.”

  I believe her, just as I believe my brother loves her. And he needs a reason to live. Maybe that’s her, and for that reason, I can’t send her away. That doesn’t, however, mean I trust her. She’s a Martina who chose to live, work, and exist within the reach of the family business. I can’t dismiss that as the problem it represents or the loyalty to a criminal organization it suggests. It’s not even like my brother thought otherwise. He wanted to be part of the Martina operation. He accepted being with her as being part of her family. Ultimately that makes her the devil’s sister, but I accept her version of evil as tolerable for the moment.

  I walk to the door, where Seth waits, or rather, stands guard. At my approach, he disappears into the next room, and I pause in the archway between the adjoining rooms, speaking to Teresa without turning to face her. “Leave the door open,” I order, and I don’t wait for an answer.

  I enter Emily’s room, and I swear a knot of emotion forms in my chest with the familiar scent in the room that is her. Every part of me wants to turn to her, to go to her, but I know with absoluteness that if I look at her right now, some part of me will shatter, and I don’t know how and where those pieces will land. With Herculean effort, I instead hone in on Cody, who is now on the opposite side of the room, sprawled out on the couch in the living area, a gun on the coffee table beside him, his hand on it.

  “Does his medical staff know he’s here?” I ask as Seth steps in front of me.

  “I’ll make sure they do.”

  “What can I do?” Jessica asks, joining us.

  “Go home and rest,” I say, unwilling to answer the questions I know she’ll soon ask.

  “I’m staying,” she says.

  “You’re not staying,” I reply.

  “Emily’s my friend. You’re my friend.”

  “I’m your boss,” I amend. “Go home.”

  “Shane—”

  “You’re a smart woman, Jessica,” I say. “You know there are things going on here that don’t exactly smell good. And thus, you have to know you could be in one of these beds tonight. Don’t argue and don’t ask questions I’m not going to answer.”

  “I can handle this,” she says. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

  “I don’t want you to handle it,” I reply. “I want you to go home.”

  Her expression tightens, that stubbornness I know in her brimming from her eyes. “People are going to ask me questions.”

  “Send them to me,” Seth offers.

  She looks like she wants to argue, but she manages a tight-lipped “fine” in reply. “I’ll leave. I’ll dodge and weave questions. For now. But I’m involved. I want answers, and I’ll be back early with a change of clothes for you, and for Emily, when she wakes up.” She turns and walks away, Seth on her heels, while my mind is on her reference to questions she might ask, on top of Seth’s reference to my parents. I need answers of my own. I fish my phone from my pocket and key in Martina’s number.

  Martina’s line rings at the same moment the door slams shut with Jessica’s departure. He answers in one ring with, “I understand my sister is there.”

  “Alive and well,” I say, “unlike my brother and my woman. How well is this situation contained?”

  “Completely,” he states. “Derek and Emily had a car accident while being driven by a car service, and the driver will back that story up fully. Details are in a folder being delivered to your man Seth. Coincidentally, there was a break-in at my restaurant tonight that ended in tragedy.”

  “What happened to the jealous lover story?”

  “It places them at my restaurant.”

  “And what’s going to hit the press?”

  “The robbery,” he states. “The car accident is fully suppressed. When and how you tell people your situation is on you.”

  I don’t ask how he’s coordinated this with medical and law enforcement involved. I end the call at the same moment Seth returns. “The press isn’t an issue,” I say, relaying the call details.

  “I’ll look at the information he sends us and confirm we’re covered,” Seth replies when I’ve fi
nished. “And if it checks out, you have some time with the stockholders, and your parents, but you don’t have a lot of time here, Shane.”

  “We hired Nick and his team for a reason,” I say. “They need to make sure I have whatever time I decide I need. Including containing Agent Dennis.”

  He gives me a several-second unreadable stare before he says, “I’ll handle it,” and then changes the subject. “What do you want to do about your unexpected visitor?”

  Understanding his meaning, I glance at Cody, who still lies dead to the world on the living room couch—but that hand of his remains on his gun, ready to act. “Leave him,” I say. “He can sit with Teresa when he’s well.”

  Cody sits up, swaying and a little green, to announce, “I’ll do it now” before standing up and, with remarkable speed, considering how drugged and violently ill he was only hours before, walks toward us and I watch as he continues on to my brother’s room.

  “You don’t blame him, or Nick’s team, for Emily’s kidnapping,” Seth says.

  “Blaming other people is an escape we give ourselves, which I don’t want, or need, right now.”

  He narrows his eyes on me, looking beneath the surface of my answer, and while I have no idea what it is he finds, the slight darkening of his eyes tells me he doesn’t like it. But to his credit, and good sense, he leaves it alone. “I’ll get to work on our cover story, and should it check out, ensure everyone, Jessica included, is using it. Consider it done, unless you hear otherwise.” At my nod, he adds, “I’ll be in the building,” before he turns and starts walking toward the door.

  I stand there, listening to his footsteps, inhaling the sweet, floral scent of Emily that not even blood and bullets has erased. She is sweetness. She is perfection. She is the light in the darkness that I can find nowhere else. The door opens and shuts, and finally I am alone with the woman I love, and every hole this night has created and every emotion it’s stirred have had time to settle into those now hollow places.

  Inhaling again, I rotate, walking to the end of Emily’s hospital bed. My gaze lands on her face, that damn tube in her mouth. My eyes lower and I’m back in another memory: