Beautiful Redemption (Maddox Brothers #2)

by Jamie McGuire

  Grove’s eyes glossed over. “I’m dead anyway. Stupid bitch,” he said, aiming his gun again.

  I raised my hand between Thomas’s arm and his torso, and fired my gun. Grove fell to his knees, a red circle darkening the front pocket of his white button-down. He fell onto his side, and then Thomas turned, grunting.

  “How bad is it?” I asked, scrambling to pull up his shirt.

  Blood was pouring from his wound, pushing out thick crimson with every beat of his heart.

  “Fuck,” Thomas said through his teeth.

  I slid my gun into the back of my jeans while Thomas removed his T-shirt. He wadded it up and pressed it against his wound.

  “You should lie down. It’ll slow the bleeding,” I said, dialing 911 on my cell phone.

  The same two men from before peeked around the corner, and once they saw it was safe, they came out. “Are you okay, man?” one of them asked. “We called the cops. They’re on their way.”

  I hung up the phone. “They got the call. They’re coming.”

  As if on cue, sirens wailed from just a few short blocks away.

  I smiled at Thomas. “You’re going to be all right, okay?”

  “Hell yes,” he said, his voice strained. “I finally got you back. One bullet isn’t going to fuck that up.”

  “Here,” the other guy said, taking off his shirt. “You might go into shock, dude.”

  Thomas took a step, reaching for the shirt, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Grove raise his gun, pointing it directly at me.

  “Shit!” one of the guys yelled.

  Before I had time to react, Thomas leaped in front of me, shielding me with his body. We were facing each other when the pop went off, and Thomas jerked again.

  “He’s down again! I think he’s dead!” one of the men said, pointing to Grove.

  I looked around Thomas to see the two guys cautiously approach Grove, and then one kicked his gun away.

  “He’s not breathing!”

  Thomas fell to his knees, a shocked look on his face, and then he dropped to his side. His head hit the sidewalk with a loud knock.

  “Thomas?” I shrieked. “Thomas!” Tears blurred my vision as they welled up in my eyes.

  My hands checked him over. He had a bullet wound on his lower back, three inches from his spine. Blood oozed up through the hole and spilled out onto the sidewalk.

  Thomas whispered something, and I bent down to hear him.

  “What?”

  “Exit wound,” he whispered.

  I pulled him back to look at his front. He had matching gunshot wounds, one on each side of his lower abdomen. One was on his right side from the first time Grove had shot him, and another was on the opposite side.

  “This one’s clean,” I said. “Went straight through.”

  I paused. An exit wound.

  Pain blazed from my midsection, and I looked down. A red stain had spread on my shirt. The bullet had gone straight through Thomas and into me. Yanking at my shirt, I pulled it up to reveal blood oozing steadily from a small hole on my right lower chest, just beneath my ribs.

  My blurry vision hadn’t been from tears but from blood loss. I slumped next to Thomas, still keeping pressure on his wound with one hand and on mine with the other.

  The sirens seemed farther away instead of closer. The neighborhood began to spin, and I collapsed onto my stomach.

  “Liis,” he said, turning onto his back to face me. His skin was pale and sweaty. “Stay with me, baby. They’re coming.”

  The cold sidewalk felt good against my cheek. A heaviness came over me, an exhaustion unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

  “I love you,” I whispered with my last remaining strength.

  A tear fell from the corner of my eye, crossed the bridge of my nose, and then dripped to our concrete bed, mixing with the red mess beneath us.

  Thomas let go of the T-shirt, and with a weak hand, he reached for me, his eyes glossing over. “I love you.”

  I couldn’t move, but I could feel his fingers touching mine, and they intertwined.

  “Hang on,” he said. He frowned. “Liis?”

  I wanted to talk, to blink, to do anything to calm his fears, but nothing moved. I could see the panic in his eyes as life slipped away from me, but I was helpless.

  “Liis!” he cried, a weak yell.

  The corners of my vision darkened, and then it swallowed me whole. I sank into nothingness, a quiet loneliness where I could rest and be still.

  Then, the world exploded—bright lights, commands, beeping in my ears, and pinches on my hands and arms.

  Strange voices called my name.

  I blinked. “Thomas?” My voice was muffled by the oxygen mask over my nose and mouth.

  “She’s back!” a woman said, standing over me.

  The concrete bed beneath me was now a firm mattress. The room was white, making the spotlight overhead seem that much brighter.

  I heard answers about my blood pressure, pulse, and oxygenation but none about my neighbor, my partner, the man I loved.

  “Liis?” A woman stood over me, shielding the light from my eyes. She smiled. “Welcome back.”

  My lips struggled to form around the words I wanted to say.

  The woman brushed my hair from my face, still squeezing the bag attached to my oxygen mask, the hissing noise next to my ear.

  As if she could read my mind, she gestured with a nod behind her. “He’s in surgery. He’s doing great. The surgeon says he’ll be just fine.”

  I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall down my temples into my ears.

  “You have friends in the waiting room—Val, Charlie, and Joel.”

  I looked up at her and frowned. Finally, I realized Charlie and Joel were Sawyer and Marks.

  “Susan just left to let them know you’re stable. They can come back in a bit. Try to rest.”

  My muffled voice garbled my words.

  “What?” she asked, lifting the mask.

  “You don’t call family, do you?” I said, surprised at how weak my own voice sounded.

  “Not unless you request it.”

  I shook my head, and she reached across the bed before putting a lighter mask over my nose and mouth. A hissing came from inside.

  “Deep breaths, please,” she said, leaving my line of sight, as she adjusted the equipment surrounding me. “You’re going to have to go upstairs later, but the doctor wants to get your stats up first.”

  I looked around, feeling groggy. My eyes blinked a few times, almost in slow motion. My body felt heavy again, and I drifted off for a moment before jerking awake.

  “Whoa!” Val said, jumping up from her chair.

  I was in a different room. This one had paintings of floral bouquets hanging on the walls.

  “Where’s Thomas?” I asked, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed gravel.

  Val smiled and nodded up once. I looked over, seeing Thomas sleeping soundly. The rails had been lowered, and our hospital beds had been pushed together. Thomas’s hand was covering mine.

  “He had to pull some serious strings to make this happen,” Val said. “Are you okay?”

  I smiled at Val, but her face had darkened with worry.

  “I don’t know yet,” I said, wincing.

  Val picked up the call button and pressed it.

  “How can I help you?” a nasally voice said.

  The volume had been turned down so low that I could barely hear it.

  Val raised the plastic remote closer to her mouth, so she could whisper, “She’s awake.”

  “I’ll let her nurse know.”

  Val gently patted my knee. “Stephanie will be in with your pain meds soon. She’s been awesome. I think she’s in love with Thomas.”

  “Isn’t everyone?” Sawyer said from a dark corner.

  “Hey, Charlie,” I said, using the remote to sit up a bit.

  He and Marks were sitting on opposite sides of the room.

  Sawyer frowned. “Yo
u’ve already died once in the last twenty-four hours. Don’t make me kill you again.”

  I giggled and then held my breath. “Damn, that hurts. I can’t imagine what two feels like. Thomas probably won’t be able to move when he wakes up.” I looked over at him and squeezed his hand.

  He blinked.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Marks said.

  Thomas immediately looked to his left. His features softened, and a tired wide grin formed. “Hey.” He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. He relaxed his cheek against the pillow.

  “Hey.”

  “Thought I’d lost you.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Nah.”

  Sawyer stood. “I’m going to head out. Glad you’re both all right. See you at work.” He walked over to me, kissed my hair, and then strolled out.

  “Bye,” I said.

  Val smiled. “He promised to sign the papers.”

  “He did?” I asked, surprised.

  Marks snorted. “On the condition that he keeps the condo.”

  I looked to Val.

  She shrugged. “I hope you were serious when you said you wanted a roommate.”

  “It’s only temporary anyway,” Marks said. “I’m going to talk her into moving in with me.”

  “Fuck off,” she snapped. She smiled down at me. “You just worry about getting well. I’ll take care of everything. It’s perfect timing anyway. You’ll need someone to help you cook and clean.”

  Marks looked at Thomas. “You’re shit out of luck, buddy.”

  “Can I move in, too?” Thomas teased. He held his breath while he shifted to get comfortable.

  Val motioned to Marks. “We should go. Let them rest.”

  Marks nodded, standing and patting Thomas’s foot rail. “Hang in there, brother. We’ll hold down the fort.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Thomas said.

  Marks held out his hand to Val, she took it, and they walked into the hallway together.

  “What about Grove?” I asked Thomas. “Any updates?”

  He nodded. “Marks said they’re taking care of it, keeping it along the same lines—a mugging gone wrong.”

  “What about the witnesses?”

  “It’s taken care of. Benny has no clue that Travis will be knocking on his door soon, and Tarou will just think he’s lost his infiltration. The investigation can go on as planned.”

  I nodded. Thomas rubbed my thumb with his, and I looked down at our hands.

  “I hope this is okay,” he said.

  “It’s better than okay.”

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Matching scars.”

  A wide grin stretched across my face.

  Thomas held my hand against his cheek and then kissed my wrist. Slowly lowering our hands to the mattress, he settled in, relaxing, as he made sure he could see me until he fell asleep.

  Thomas needed me. He made me happy and made me crazy, and he was right: only together did we make sense. I refused to ruminate on what would happen next, to analyze the probability or logistics of a successful relationship, to try to control whether I felt too much. I’d finally found the kind of love that was worth risking a broken heart.

  We’d had to find each other to finally understand that love could not be controlled. Predictions, assumptions, and absolutes were illusions. My love for him was volatile, uncontrollable, and overpowering, but…that was love. Love was real.

  EVEN THOUGH YEARS HAD PASSED since the last time I had half-unpacked boxes lying in every room, the organized chaos still made me smile. Memories of moving into my first condo in San Diego—even the first volatile months—were good ones, and they had carried me through the stress of training in my job as the newest Intelligence Analyst at the NCAVC in Quantico.

  Just six months before, I had applied for my dream job. Three months later, I had been transferred. Now, I was wearing a robe and fuzzy socks, unpacking the sundresses I would be wearing if I were still in California. Instead, I had to promise myself not to adjust the thermostat—again—and I was sure to keep near the blazing fireplace in my bedroom.

  I untied the belt of my robe, letting it fall open, and then lifted my heather-gray FBI hoodie, reaching down to feel the thick circular scar on my lower abdomen. The healed wound would always remind me of Thomas. It helped me to pretend he was close when he wasn’t. Our matching scars were a little like the feeling of being under the same sky—but better.

  A car engine grew louder as it pulled into the drive, and headlights raced over the walls before extinguishing. I walked across the living room and peeked out the curtains next to the front door.

  The neighborhood was quiet. The only traffic was the car in my drive. Nearly all the windows in the neighboring houses were dark. I loved the new house and the new community. A lot of young families lived on my street, and although the door experienced regular knocking and I’d seemed to be fielding daily requests for chocolate or cheese sales from the local school kids, I felt more at home than ever before.

  A dark figure stepped out of the vehicle and grabbed a duffel bag. Then, the headlights came on again, and the car backed out and drove away. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my hoodie as the shadow of a man slowly walked toward my porch. He wasn’t supposed to be here yet. I wasn’t ready.

  He climbed the steps, but hesitated when he reached the door.

  I turned the bolt lock and pulled the knob toward me. “It’s over?”

  “It’s over,” Thomas said, appearing exhausted.

  I opened the door wide, and Thomas stepped inside, pulling me into his arms. He didn’t speak. He barely breathed.

  Since my transfer, we had lived on opposite sides of the country, and I had become accustomed to missing him. But when he’d left with Travis a few hours after supervising the delivery of the rest of his belongings to our new home in Quantico, I’d been worried. The assignment hadn’t just been dangerous. Together, Thomas and Travis had raided Benny Carlisi’s offices, and organized crime in Vegas would never be the same.

  By the look on Thomas’s face, it hadn’t gone well.

  “Have you been debriefed?” I asked.

  He nodded. “But Travis refused. He went straight home. I’m worried about him.”

  “It’s his and Abby’s anniversary. Call him tomorrow. Make sure it’s done.”

  Thomas sat on the couch, dug his elbows into his thighs, and looked down. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.” He breathed as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

  “Do you feel like talking about it?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I waited, knowing he always said that before he began a story.

  “Trav’s cover was blown. Benny and his men took him underground. I panicked at first, but Sawyer got a location on them. We listened while they beat Travis for a good hour.”

  “Jesus,” I said, touching his shoulder.

  “Travis got some good intel.” He laughed once without humor. “Benny was making a grand speech and giving him everything, thinking Travis was about to die.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “The stupid son of a bitch threatened Abby. He began detailing the torture she would endure after he killed Travis. It was pretty graphic.”

  “So, Benny’s dead,” I said, more of a statement than a question.

  “Yeah,” Thomas said with a sigh.

  “Years of work, and Benny won’t even see the inside of a courtroom.”

  Thomas frowned. “Travis said he was sorry. We still have a lot of work to do. Mick Abernathy has contacts with a lot of bosses besides Benny. We can work the case from that angle.”

  I raked my fingers gently through Thomas’s hair. He didn’t know that Abby and I had a secret. She would be handing the Bureau everything she had on her father in exchange for keeping her husband home and out of trouble. Abby had agreed to give it to Travis by their anniversary, and he would furnish that intel to
Val, who had been promoted as the new ASAC in San Diego.

  “I promised you I’d be finished unpacking by the time you got home,” I said. “I feel bad.”

  “It’s okay. I wanted to help,” he said. His mind was elsewhere. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be there. This was just as much your moment as it was mine.” He looked up and touched the stretched fabric of my hoodie that covered my protruding belly—the second unplanned thing to ever happen to us. “But I’m glad you weren’t.”

  I smiled. “I can’t see my scar anymore.”

  Thomas stood and wrapped me in his solid arms. “Now that I’m finally here, you can just look at mine for the next eleven weeks—give or take a few days—until you can see yours again.”

  We walked, hand in hand, across our living room, and Thomas led me through our bedroom door. We sat together on the bed and watched the flickering fire and the dancing shadows on the stacks of cardboard holding picture frames and trinkets from our life together.

  “You’d think we would have figured out a more efficient system for this by now,” Thomas said, frowning at the boxes.

  “You just don’t like the unpacking part.”

  “No one likes to unpack, no matter how happy that person might be to move.”

  “Are you happy to move?” I asked.

  “I’m happy you got this job. You’ve worked toward it for a long time.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Did you doubt me?”

  “Not for a second. But I was nervous about the ASAC position in DC. I was beginning to sweat getting settled before the baby arrived, and you didn’t seem to be in a huge hurry for me to get here.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not thrilled about your hour commute though.”

  He shrugged. “Better than transcontinental. You dodged the part about not being in a hurry for the father of your child to be around.”

  “Just because I’m learning to allow for a few variables doesn’t mean I’ve given up on having a master plan.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “So, this was the plan? For me to go crazy from missing you for three months? For me to take the red-eye to be here for every doctor’s appointment? For me to worry that every phone call was bad news?”

  “You’re here now, and everything’s perfect.”

  He frowned. “I knew you would apply for this position. I psyched myself up for the move. Nothing could have prepared me for you to tell me four weeks later that you were pregnant. Do you know what it did to me, watching my pregnant girlfriend move across the country—alone? You didn’t even take everything with you. I was terrified.”