by Tara Wylde
They stop at the raised lip that surrounds the building’s roof edge. Chance’s bleeding back is shoved against it, making him grimace in pain as he fights off Pearce’s attack.
“How the mighty have fallen, eh, Chance?” Pearce hollers. “Mighty long way down!”
He’s absolutely lost it now. I finally reach them and grab Pearce’s right hand in a wrist lock. But his manic state has sparked an almost superhuman strength in him, and he manages to break the hold, sending me stumbling backwards.
Next thing I know, he has my hair in his fist and he’s yanking me forward toward the edge.
“Express elevator going down!” he yells.
I try to keep from stumbling, but the disorientation of having my head yanked keeps me off balance. Suddenly I’m standing on the edge, looking out over the downtown Chicago skyline. Pearce uses my hair to pulls himself up so that he’s standing beside me.
“Top of the world, Ma!” he hoots.
He gives my hair one last yank as I grip onto his arm. If I’m going down, by God this fucker is coming with me.
I feel the world tilt and realize I’m too far forward to make it back. I’m going over the edge. A wave of infinite sadness washes over me.
I’m sorry, Chance. I’m so sorry.
Then just as suddenly, I’m flying backwards.
I open my eyes to see Chance leaning back against the lip, gripping onto the metal flashing for dear life. In his other hand is Pearce’s leg. The rest of Pearce is hanging over the edge upside down.
“Little help,” Chance grunts as his grip starts to loosen on the metal.
I pitch forward and grab his arm, bracing my feet under the lip and heaving backwards with everything I have. Every muscle in my body seems to strain as I grind my teeth together with the effort.
“Drop him!” I shout. “I can’t hold you both.”
“AAARRRRRRGGHHH!”
Chance releases the primal howl of a beast in a trap as he pulls himself forward with his good arm, using my leverage to help him get upright. Once he’s there, I grab his bleeding shoulder and heave backwards.
As I do, I see Pearce’s flailing body swing over the lip. He lands hard on his back and flops there like a fish on dry land.
At that moment, Daniel arrives and pulls Pearce up into a chokehold.
“I’ve got him, sir!” he shouts.
Chance weaves on his feet as I try to steady his bulk. He’s lost so much blood!
I sit him down on the gravel and turn to face Daniel and Pearce. My fist makes a satisfying crunch as I thrust it with all my strength into the bridge of Pearce’s nose. He drops to his back, out cold.
“Ambulance!” I shout. “Now!”
Daniel sprints over to the helicopter and fires up the radio as I stagger back to Chance. I try to press his sopping wet shirt against his wounds, but there’s so much blood. So much…
I drop beside him and put my lips to his ear.
“Don’t you fucking leave me, Chance Talbot,” I sob. “Do you hear me? You are not fucking allowed to leave me again!”
I feel his palm against my cheek and grab it, holding on for dear life. He turns to place his own lips at my ear.
“You’re… not the boss… of me,” he husks.
I can’t help but giggle, which turns into sobs, which turns into giggles again.
His head is cradled in my arms, my lips against his forehead, as a siren begins to wail in the distance.
Chapter One Hundred Twelve
80. CHANCE
“It always looks awful until you get the blood washed off.” I say. “Then it’s like ‘what was I worried about?’”
Sara shakes her head. “Easy for you to say: you’re a combat veteran. I’m not used to seeing wounds close up.”
I point to the screen of the heart monitor hooked up to my chest, showing a nice, steady blip.
“See? Even the machine says I’m fine.”
“Two .45-caliber slugs clipped you,” she says in a lecturing tone. “The one in the shoulder could have hit your lung. The one in your ribs could have hit your heart and your lung.”
“Yeah,” I grin. “But they didn’t.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh.
“You’re still the cocky little shit you were in high school, you know that?”
“I think you’ve got a crush on me.”
“I’ve got a crush on your money, Bruce Wayne,” she giggles. “Keep getting yourself shot and I’ll be able to cash in and find a nice, normal husband.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve got that kind of money,” I say. “These private hospital suites don’t come cheap.”
From the doorway I hear: “Actually, Uncle Sam will pick up the bill for this one. It’s the least we can do.”
I look over to see Johnston leaning against the door frame with a crooked grin. He’s changed out of the blue suit and into golf chic.
Sara nods. “Agent.”
“Ma’am,” he says. “How’s our boy?”
“I’ll live,” I say. “The real question is how is Pearce?”
He closes the door behind him carefully and strolls into the room, taking a seat next to Sara beside my bed.
“Mr. P is currently under sedation and suicide watch at a secure facility.”
“What’s going to happen to him from there?” Sara asks.
“Well, assuming he’s cooperative when he finally comes back to reality, we’ll have to set up a believable story, since he’s a something of a public figure. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he’ll have a religious experience, give his personal fortune to charity, and then move to Thailand, where he can rest assured that someone will have a laser sight pointed at his head for the rest of his life.”
Sara frowns. “So no jail time?”
“That’s not how this stuff works,” I say. “His silence is a free pass for him. If he goes to jail, he’ll talk. That’s not in anyone’s best interests.”
She kisses my forehead. “So he gets away with almost killing the man I love.”
“And the woman I love. We’re just going to have to live with it.”
“I’d tell you two to get a room,” Johnston smirks. “But you’ve already got one.”
Sara finally smiles for the first time since he got here.
“What about Tony Arturo and his nephew?” she asks.
Johnston’s grin widens.
“Keep an eye on the news for their names,” he says. “That’s all I’m going to say.”
He might as well have said watch the obituaries. I don’t know how I feel about that, but it’s not my place to judge these guys.
“Here’s the big question,” I say. “What about Atlas?”
“What about it?” he shrugs. “The sale is dead. As soon as you stop getting yourself shot, you should go back to work.”
“And nothing changes?”
“Why would it? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
This is too simple. I haven’t had an opportunity to talk to Tre about it yet – I still can’t believe he managed to liaise with these guys for so long right under my nose – but it seems a little too good to be true.
“No consequences, then? Sully and I stole millions.”
Johnston cocks an eyebrow. “From whom? If the answer isn’t the American people, my superiors don’t give a shit. Besides, I think we both know that if the Company had gotten its hands on that money, it would have disappeared into some shitshow that failed miserably and ended up being argued over by a Senate oversight committee.
“Instead, we got a shining example of compassion and resourcefulness. You can’t buy that kind of good PR.”
Sara smiles and squeezes my hand.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think things were going to be okay,” she says.
Johnston stands up and extends his hand. I take it and we shake.
“That’s beyond my ability to guarantee,” he says. “All I can say is you won’t have any trouble from us.�
�
He shakes Sara’s hand and heads for the door.
“One last thing,” he says, stopping in the doorway.
“What’s that?” asks Sara.
“Mazel tov on your wedding.”
He drops a wink and walks out.
Chapter One Hundred Thirteen
81. SARA
“Can we make each other a promise?” I ask.
I’m snuggled into Chance’s good shoulder in the hospital bed. His private suite actually has a double bed, complete with remote control. It also smells like lavender instead of antiseptic, which is nice. Having money is really cool.
“Anything,” he says.
“That we’ll always tell each other the truth from now on. About everything. Is that possible?”
He squeezes my shoulder with his good arm and kisses my forehead.
“Yes,” he says. “Definitely.”
“I can’t help but think that honesty would have saved us a lot of heartache over the years,” I say. “It all started with me not telling you about my mom that night I sent you away. Who knows what would have happened if I’d just told you the truth? We wouldn’t have lost fifteen years together.”
“Hey, I’m just as much to blame,” he says. “I should have given you the benefit of the doubt that night. But I took off instead and never looked back. I’ll always regret that.
“But that’s in the past. I’m sorry for not letting you in on my plans this past week. If I had, I probably wouldn’t be lying here with these new entries in my scar collection.”
I nod. “And I wish you’d told me you had your lawyers make me a partner in all your financials. That definitely would have helped me believe that you really did love me.”
He chuckles softly. “Christ, what a pair we are. How did we go from being each other’s whole world as kids to distrusting each other so much?”
I think about it for a second. “I listened to other people, for one thing. I should have just listened to what my heart was telling me the whole time. I won’t that mistake again.”
He sighs. “Reset?”
I hold up a pinky finger. He wraps his around it.
“Reset,” I say.
We lie there silently for several minutes. My mind wanders to my work – it’s the first time I’ve had a moment to actually think about it for what seems like forever, even though in reality it’s been less than a month.
I’ve got a couple of active cases. And, thanks to Pearce, enough money to run the place for a year, now that I don’t have to draw a salary anymore.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Chance whispers.
“Just thinking about Monday morning,” I say. “Going back to work.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he says. “What if Atlas were to buy Bishop & Associates?”
I prop myself up on my elbow to look him in the eye.
“Are you serious?”
“Why not? You and Grace do important work that aligns with the Atlas principles. It just makes sense to have them under the same umbrella. Imagine what you could accomplish with our resources.”
I can’t stop imagining it.
“That would be… incredible,” I say.
“I’ll talk to the board. Have to tell them about the deal going south, anyway. Might as well give them some good news while I’m at it.”
That’s another thing I never considered through this whole crazy rollercoaster ride: the Sullivans.
“What are you going to tell them about Pearce?”
He shrugs. “That he’s in a psychiatric ward after a nervous breakdown. In the end, he was a gibbering paranoiac with delusions. Everything he told them was a fantasy.”
“Very convenient,” I nod. “Pearce did a lot of our work for us.”
“How about we don’t talk about anybody else for a while?” he asks as I stroke his arm with my nails.
“Fine by me,” I say. “What would you rather talk about?”
“How about nothing?” he says, turning over on his side and cupping my cheek in his palm.
He winces as he moves and my heart jumps. “Are you okay?”
“I’m better than okay,” he sighs as he brings his face to mine. “I’m pretty much perfect.”
His lips touch mine and suddenly all the crazy shit from today is gone, replaced by his tongue touching mine, and the feel of his breath on my skin. All the pain, all the doubt, washed away like storm water down a drain. This is the truth right here. The only truth I ever need.
Suddenly the door swings open and a young woman in scrubs dashes in.
“Mr. Talbot, your heart monitor suddenly jumped – are you…?”
He looks at her with a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he says. “She tends to have that effect on me.”
His eyes turn to mine. “She always has.”
Chapter One Hundred Fourteen
82. CHANCE
“Stupid ties,” I grumble, tugging on the knot at my throat. “I swear, if an attacker gets the upper hand because of this thing, I’m going to go down screaming: ‘I fucking told you so!’”
Tre shakes his head. “Yeah, someone’s going to attack you at a party with your family. And you still can’t figure out why Johnston came to me instead of you? No wonder I went to work for Pearce.”
“Just be thankful I paid you for that time,” I say with a grin. “Traitorous motherfucker…”
“All right, that’s it.”
He puts up his fists and we trade mock body blows like a couple of MMA fighters shadowboxing. I notice that, aside from a little stiffness, my shoulder is back to normal. The rib will take a bit longer to heal, but it’s not slowing me down.
“Hey!” Mrs. C’s warning voice carries from across the yard. “Don’t make me come over there and straighten you two out!”
Agnes Sullivan grins beside her and wags a warning finger of her own.
“What she said!” she calls. “You think you’re too old for an ass-paddling, you got another think coming!”
The two giggle and clink their champagne flutes together.
“Yes’m,” Tre and I drone in unison, scuffing our shoes against the grass like we’ve just been told to stop playing in the dirt.
“So how much did you tell Moms about what happened?” I say in a low voice.
“Just that you and I had an argument, and the rest was classified. She chewed on me pretty good for us scaring her like that, but you know her – she couldn’t carry a grudge in a bucket.”
I grin and clap him on the shoulder. Maybe growing up the way I did wasn’t ideal, but at least I had them and Sara. Now I’ve got the Sullivans, too. And Grace. It took a while, but I finally got the family I always wanted. All I had to do was wait for them to find me.
As if reading my mind, Grace appears at my side and grabs my arm and Tre’s hand.
“Time to get into position,” she says. “The music is about to start.”
“All right,” I sigh as she pulls us along. “Although I still don’t see the point of this.”
“The point is you robbed me of my sister’s wedding,” she says evenly. “And unless you want me to give you the stink-eye for the rest of your life, you’re going to do it again in front of me.”
Tre shrugs. “You’re lucky Moms didn’t whip your ass. Agnes, too.”
I sigh. “All right, but this tie is gone as soon as it’s over.”
“The videographers are going to be filming you two all day,” says Grace. “The tie stays on.”
I’m already starting to understand why some couples elope. This day is about everyone else, not us.
Then Sara walks out of the house onto the back patio, and my brain stops working.
Her auburn hair is up, with two loose curls framing her face. The dress is ivory lace, open at the shoulders and bodice but with long gossamer sleeves that taper at her wrists. A train of tatted lace trails behind her, brilliant against the emerald of the late summer lawn.
Her opal eyes catch mine and she b
ites her lip. I smile stupidly and wave, like a kid waiting for his prom date, and she giggles.
The string quartet strikes up the opening strains of the wedding march as Kelsey, looking stunning in a plum-colored bridesmaid gown, takes Sara’s arm and leads her through the yard to the pergola where I’m standing with Tre. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grace, hands clasped in front of her, practically bouncing with glee.
Tre leans in and whispers: “About time, brother.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But better late than never.”
I stare, transfixed, as she lets go of Kelsey and takes her place opposite me on the grass. Sara of the storeroom, the queen of my heart, takes my hand in hers and suddenly I get what this is all about. It’s a celebration of us. Of everything we went through to get to this moment. In spite of everything, we made it. We found our way back to each other and we won.
The pastor Mrs. C invited talks about dearly beloved, and other things I barely hear. All I’m aware of are her eyes and her smile, until it’s time to say the words to each other again. I meant them the first time at the courthouse, but they have a whole new meaning to me now.
And when we finally kiss, it’s like the very first time, all over again.
Chapter One Hundred Fifteen
83. SARA
“Do you see what I see?” I whisper.
I subtly point to Tre and Grace, slow-dancing on the patio as Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams plays out of the DJ’s speakers. They sway like kids at the prom as the setting sun casts an orange glow around them.
“Well, they have been spending a lot of time together working on bringing your company into the fold,” Chance says.
I grin. “The feckless flake and the button-down business nerd.”
“Stranger things have happened. We’re living proof.”
“Amen to that,” I say, laying my head on his shoulder.
Agnes appears at the table with a half-full bottle of champagne. Judging by her grin, she’s feeling no pain.
“Aggie!” I say brightly. “Having fun?”
“A riot!” she giggles, taking a seat beside us. “We really needed this after all that nonsense with Quentin Pearce.”
