by Lara Lacombe
Angelina stared at her, recognition dawning on her face. “You know, don’t you?”
“It was you.” Bea didn’t bother asking—she was certain. “You hit me that night.”
Angelina bit her lip and nodded, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I did. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Why were you here?” Bea’s stomach sank as she answered her own question. “Oh, my God—you killed Joey.”
“No!” Angelina practically screamed the word, her voice hoarse with emotion. “No, I would never do that. I came here for the dress. The one I wanted but couldn’t afford. I was going to steal it.”
Bea gaped at her, dumbfounded. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize the dress as one of my own when you walked down the aisle?”
Angelina shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I made it as far as the stockroom, and then the lights went out. I got spooked, so I tried to run. But then you walked in front of me, so I panicked.” She began to pace a few steps, back and forth, her hands clutching her hair as she walked.
Come on, Micah, where are you? Bea knew she needed to keep Angelina in the store so Micah could arrest her, but the woman was becoming increasingly emotional and Bea wasn’t sure how much longer she’d stick around.
“It’s fine,” Bea said, trying to calm her down. “It was just a misunderstanding. No hard feelings.”
Angelina stopped pacing and turned to look at her. There was a deep sadness in her eyes that sent a chill skittering down Bea’s spine. Angelina looked like a woman who had decided to do a bad thing, and Bea had a sick feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever happened next.
“No, it’s not fine. It will never be fine again.” Angelina dipped her hand into her purse and withdrew a small black gun. She pointed it directly at Bea, and Bea felt her heart stall in her chest. Angelina let out a sob. “I had no idea that while I was trying to steal my wedding gown, Joey was dying in the fitting room.” Another wail escaped her.
“Angelina, you don’t have to do this.” Bea took a step back, her hands up by her ears. “I’m not going to press charges. There’s no need for violence.”
“Don’t you see?” the woman whispered. Tears streamed down her face and the gun wobbled as her hand shook. “I have nothing left to live for. Joey is dead. The man I love is gone, and nothing will ever bring him back.”
Her despair was palpable, a mirror of Bea’s own emotions in the weeks after she’d received the forged breakup letter. For a split second, Bea saw herself in Angelina. She could have easily fallen into the same kind of emotional black hole and decided to give up.
But she was a fighter. She hadn’t surrendered then, and she wasn’t about to start now.
Bea planted her feet, knowing that retreat was useless. “Angelina,” she said firmly. “Put the gun down. You don’t want to shoot me, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
The woman blinked at her, clearly surprised by the order. Her hand wavered, the gun lowering by a few inches.
“That’s good,” Bea said encouragingly. “Just put it on the floor.”
Angelina dropped her arm, nodding blankly. But just as Bea thought it was safe to take a breath, Angelina pointed the gun at her again. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I lost everything. You have no idea what that’s like, how much pain I’m in.”
Bea said nothing. Now was not the time to try to explain her own past heartbreak. Angelina wasn’t stable enough to listen, and Bea didn’t want to get shot for saying the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry,” Angelina said. She swiped at her eyes and sniffed again. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Nothing’s happened yet,” Bea said, trying to keep her voice calm. “You can still walk out of here.”
“No.” Angelina smiled sadly. “I can’t.”
Bea watched in horror as Angelina pointed the gun at her own head. Without thinking, she lunged forward, grabbing Angelina’s arm. The woman shrieked and the gun went off with a thunderous boom that made Bea’s ears ring.
Fiery pain stabbed Bea’s side as they landed on the floor in a heap. She tried to move, but her muscles refused to cooperate. Angelina squirmed out from underneath her, rudely kicking and pushing in a bid for freedom. Bea tried to grab the woman’s ankle, but it was no use. Her movements were uncoordinated and slow, making her feel like she was swimming through a vat of molasses.
“Stop,” she tried to say. As if the word would magically hold Angelina there until Micah returned. Bea closed her eyes as the floor trembled with the pressure of footsteps. Angelina was getting away.
The air around her moved, and Bea realized with a start she was feeling the vibrations of a dog’s bark. She turned her head to find Chunk snarling at Angelina, his four paws firmly planted and his stout body braced for a fight. Micah was standing behind the woman, snapping cuffs around her wrists. But his eyes were on Bea, his face pale as he stared down at her.
As soon as Angelina had been restrained, Micah dropped to his knees. His lips moved, but Bea couldn’t understand he was saying. Her ears were still ringing from the gunshot, and a spike of panic hit her as she wondered if she’d ever be able to hear again.
Micah zeroed in on her side and he lifted up her shirt to press his big hand against her skin. He bore down, the pressure triggering a fresh wave of pain that made her see stars. In his other hand he punched numbers into his phone.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she mumbled. Or, at least, that’s what she tried to say. Micah’s green gaze darted back to her face, his expression incredulous. He leaned down, and she faintly heard his voice near her ear.
“Stick with the boutique. Comedy’s not your thing.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he pressed harder on her wound and her words came out as a groan. His eyes were full of apology, and he mouthed the word, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. She shivered, feeling suddenly cold. Black spots danced in her vision, and as she looked at Micah, he seemed to recede into the far distance.
His face changed before her eyes, his expression morphing from concern to panic. His mouth opened, his touch growing rough as his free hand grabbed her shoulder hard.
She thought she heard him yell, “Stay with me!” But the black spots grew and coalesced until they obscured her vision, and she sank into darkness.
* * *
Micah sat next to Bea’s hospital bed, his eyes glued to her face as he watched for any signs of trouble, any tightening of muscle or subtle grimace that might indicate she was in pain. She seemed calm, if a bit groggy from the medication they’d given her once they’d reached the hospital.
The residual adrenaline in his system made him twitchy, and he bounced his leg up and down in a bid to expel his nervous energy. Even though the doctor had assured him Bea would make a full recovery, he still couldn’t get over the sight of her on the floor of the boutique, bloody and helpless.
“The bullet missed all the important parts,” the doctor had said. “She’s very lucky. I stitched her up and we’ll give her some fluids. She should be free to go in a few hours.”
Micah had nodded mechanically, hearing the woman’s words but not really absorbing them. It was only when he’d seen Bea in the hospital bed that he’d begun to relax, able to convince himself that she was okay.
She opened her eyes and frowned slightly when she saw him. “You’re still here. I thought I told you go to home and rest.”
“You did,” he said, leaning forward to take her hand. “But I’m not going anywhere until you do.”
“What about Chunk?”
“He’s with Brayden.” Backup had arrived quickly. Brayden had taken one look at the scene and told Micah to stay with Bea. He’d promised to take care of Chunk, and Micah knew he could trust his friend.
“He was really something today,” Bea said, a not
e of wonder in her voice. “I didn’t think he had it in him to be vicious, but he looked like he wanted to take a bite out of Angelina.”
“Everyone’s got a line,” Micah said. A spike of guilt pierced his chest as he remembered Chunk’s initial reaction to Angelina when he’d gone to her apartment to question her. He was trying to tell me then. But Micah had been too shortsighted to realize it, and now Bea was paying the price.
A knock sounded on the door, and they both turned to see Fenwick poke his head into the room. “May I?” He sounded uncharacteristically quiet, and Micah had to wonder if his argument with Bea had upset him more than he’d shown her.
Micah glanced back at Bea, gauging her reaction. Her jaw set and she lifted one brow in a subtle challenge, but she nodded.
Fenwick entered the room and closed the door behind him. For a moment, he simply stood in place, his eyes searching Bea’s face as if to reassure himself she was fine. Then he spoke. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes. Thanks to Micah.”
Her father turned to look at him for the first time. He nodded once in acknowledgment, or perhaps thanks. “May I have a moment with my daughter please?” His tone was polite, but there was a thin edge of ice Micah picked up on right away.
“No.” They both turned to Bea, who grabbed Micah’s hand, anchoring him in place. “Anything you have to say to me you will say in front of Micah.”
Fenwick’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t press the issue. Micah remained still, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He was happy to support Bea, but he didn’t want to aggravate her father and make the situation more difficult for her.
Fenwick glanced down, then took a deep breath and faced Micah. “I suppose thanks are in order,” he said quietly. “This is the second time you’ve saved my daughter from danger.”
“You never have to thank me for that.”
Fenwick nodded, his gaze assessing. “It seems I may have underestimated you, young man. I’m sorry for that.”
Micah blinked, hardly daring to believe his ears. Had Bea’s father actually apologized to him?
Fenwick turned back to Bea. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation. I don’t want to lose you, Beatrix. I know you don’t think I care about you, but that simply isn’t true. You’re my daughter, and I love you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
Fenwick looked down, his cheeks flushing. Micah could tell this was hard on the man, but he felt no sympathy for his struggles. Instead, he was worried about Bea and how she was feeling in the wake of the shooting. The last thing she needed was for this encounter to turn into another argument—that wouldn’t be good for her recovery.
The older man lifted his head and looked at Bea. “I made a mistake,” he said. Micah could tell by the tone of Fenwick’s voice that he was having a difficult time admitting he had been wrong. Apologies did not come naturally to the man, and it seemed he was quite out of practice.
Bea said nothing. She simply stared at her father, her silence louder than any words.
Fenwick sighed, clearly growing impatient. He had probably figured he’d waltz in, offer a weak apology and bask in the glow of Bea’s immediate forgiveness. Micah almost shook his head at the thought. The man obviously didn’t know a thing about his headstrong daughter if he imagined she’d cave that easily.
“I’m sorry, Bea. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet, her tone almost lethal. “I deserve an apology. We both do.”
Fenwick straightened his spine, and Micah figured the man was about to unleash a verbal tirade. Here we go...
He opened his mouth, then seemed to suddenly deflate. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry.” He turned to look at Micah. “I wronged you both.”
Bea’s grip on his hand tightened, and Micah realized she was shocked by her father’s words.
“This isn’t easy for me,” Fenwick continued. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But I realize now I was wrong. And I’m sorry for the pain that caused you.”
“Thank you,” Bea said.
“Will you forgive me?” Fenwick looked at Micah with an appealing expression.
Micah shook his head. “I’m not the one you need to convince.”
They both turned to Bea, who watched her father carefully. “I can’t snap my fingers and forget what you did,” she said finally. “But if you’re truly sorry, then I accept your apology. And I will try to move past your actions.”
Fenwick’s breath rushed out, and Micah realized just how nervous the older man had been. He’d covered his nerves with bluster and posturing, but it seemed he really had been worried about Bea’s reaction.
“Thank you,” he said. He approached the bed and leaned in to kiss Bea’s cheek. She stiffened, and he apparently thought better of the gesture. Instead, he reached for her free hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll leave you to rest now. Let me know if you need anything.”
He turned and offered Micah a nod, then headed for the door. As soon as he’d left, Bea let out a heavy sigh.
“Well. That was...interesting.”
“I think his apology was genuine,” Micah said.
She arched one eyebrow, her expression skeptical. “Perhaps. Time will tell, I suppose.” She let go of his hand, and Micah realized he was being dismissed.
Sure enough, her next words proved his suspicion correct. “You probably have work to do. Why don’t you head in to the station?”
A flutter of panic made his stomach turn. Was she telling him to leave because she no longer wanted him around? Did she really think he’d prioritize his work over her? He remembered their earlier conversation, the way she’d compared him to her father. Had seeing the man reminded her of the same?
Micah didn’t know what to say, but he could feel a gulf forming between them. If he didn’t start building a bridge now, he might never be able to reach her again.
“You’re more important to me than my job,” he said. “I’m not going to leave you to sit in this hospital room alone. Not unless that’s what you really want.” He wasn’t going to force his presence on her, but he wasn’t going to simply walk away, either. If Bea truly wanted him to leave, she was going to have to spell it out in no uncertain terms.
She was quiet a moment, feeding his fear that she truly wanted him gone. If she turned him away now, would he ever be able to win her back?
Finally, she shook her head. “All right,” she said quietly. “You can stay. But I don’t want to talk right now.”
“We don’t have to.” He’d never been good at talking, anyway, which was part of their current problem.
He turned his hand palm up on her bed in silent invitation. After what seemed like an eternity, she slipped her hand into his, and they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Micah knew he couldn’t fix things today, and he wasn’t sure how long Bea’s patience would last. But they had this moment, and for now, it was enough.
Chapter 18
The next few days passed with agonizing slowness. Bea had been released from the hospital with strict instructions to rest.
“No going back to work for at least a week,” the doctor had said.
Bea had tried to protest. “But my job isn’t strenuous!”
The woman had merely tilted her head down to stare at Bea over the rims of her glasses. “I’ll say it again, in case I wasn’t clear the first time. No working for at least a week.”
“What am I supposed to do, exactly?”
“Rest. Take naps. Watch TV. Read trashy novels. In short, take a vacation from life.”
Micah had stepped in. “I’ll make sure she takes it easy, doc.”
He’d offered to let Bea continue to stay with him, but she had turned him down. She wanted to be in her own space again, to be surrounde
d by her own things and to feel at home. Besides, she’d figured the separation would do them both some good.
She’d resigned herself to a week of boredom, but over the past few days she’d had a steady stream of visitors. One of her sisters stopped by every morning, and she’d enjoyed catching up with them and hearing about what was going on in their lives. Patience told her all about the puppies’ training progress, while Gemma talked about her latest shopping adventures. Even Layla had taken time away from her job as VP of Colton Energy to stop by and chat for a couple of hours. In a way, the time with her sisters had been a silver lining to this whole mess.
To her surprise, Micah had stopped by every afternoon with Chunk. The pair had gotten into the habit of coming over just after lunch and they stayed until the last of the dinner dishes was put away. She’d asked him about his work, but Micah told her that Finn was giving him a bit of a break so he could make sure her recovery went well. At first, Bea had thought being around Micah would feel awkward in light of their unspoken issues, but they’d soon fallen into an easy rhythm and she’d come to look forward to his visits.
Maybe she should just let it go and accept that Micah wasn’t going to share every aspect of his life with her. They were compatible in so many other ways—did it really matter that he kept part of himself back?
“He’s allowed to have his own secrets,” she muttered.
But it wasn’t really about secrets, she knew. If he didn’t want to share something with her, that was one thing. But if he deliberately withheld things from her because he figured she couldn’t handle them, that was quite another. Open communication was required for their relationship to work. If anything, the forged letters had taught her that. If either one of them had been able to reach the other after receiving the letter, they wouldn’t have been apart for ten years.
Maybe they’d moved too fast, she mused. They’d jumped headlong into this relationship, driven by a sense of urgency to make up for lost time. But had that been the right choice? If they had taken more time to get to know each other again, would they be having this issue now?
