by Holly Hart
“All right,” Johnston nods. “And how does this tie in to Dacosta’s death?”
Pearce frowns. “Isn’t it obvious? Talbot found out Dacosta had talked to my partner and he killed him to shut him up.”
I’m waiting to see what happens next when fate throws me a curveball that I never would have seen coming.
Sara comes forward, eyes blazing, and stands beside me. She turns my head to hers and plants a long, deep, powerful kiss on my mouth. It’s like a splash of cool water on a brutally hot day, and I savor every last drop of it.
“Ahem.” Johnston clears his throat. “If you wouldn’t mind not kissing the prisoner. We tend to frown on that sort of thing.”
“I don’t really give a shit what you frown on,” she says, turning to Pearce. “And I’ve had just about enough of you trashing my husband, you little prick.”
My heart pumps faster with every word. She believes me. Thank God, she believes me. It was the worst part of this whole ordeal, not knowing if she still trusted me. Knowing that she’s behind me in this is all I need. Nothing else matters.
Meanwhile, Pearce is sputtering.
“Of course his wife is going to say that!” he fumes. “Ask her how long they were together before they got married! Conveniently right after the information about Atlas’s investment came to light.”
Johnston looks at Sara and shrugs. “You seem to have something to say, Mrs. Talbot. Be my guest.”
“Oh, I have a lot to say, but right now, I want to apologize to Chance.” She turns to face me, eyes wide and swimming with tears. “I’m so sorry I doubted you. I knew you couldn’t murder anyone. And I don’t believe that you blackmailed Sully. Or that Sully stole that money. I believe everything you told me.”
I’ve got tears in my own eyes now. “There’s nothing for me to forgive,” I say. “You reacted the way anyone would have, because I wasn’t completely honest with you. I should have been, and I’m sorry.”
She kisses me again, pulling me tight against her lips. It’s desperate, the kind of kiss you give before the jail cell slams closed.
We touch foreheads and she looks into my eyes.
“It’s a good thing you gave me access to your accounts,” she says. “I can get your defense team prepared. We’re going to fight this. The charges against you, the sale, all of it. I’ve got your back.”
I smile. “I never doubted it for a moment, babe.”
“I love you,” she whispers. “Whatever comes our way, no matter what, I love you.”
“I love you, too. And I’m ready to fight with you.”
Now it’s Tre clearing his throat. We both look over at him. Sara looks like she’s spoiling for a fight, but he surprises her by holding up a hand.
“I know you love him, Sara,” he says. “But I’m here to tell you, Chance isn’t above lying. In He’s been lying for weeks now.”
Tre turns to face Pearce and smiles widely. “In fact,” he says, “both of us have.”
Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Five
75. SARA
I turn to Chance, dumbfounded. “What is he talking about?”
The corners of Johnston’s mouth curl upwards in a curious smile. Beside Chance, I see Frey cross his arms over his chest and tilt his head.
“I’m curious to hear that myself,” says Johnston.
“Good,” says Tre, propping his butt on the corner of Pearce’s desk. “Because I’ve learned a lot over the past week of working closely with Quentin here.”
Pearce’s eyes are blazing like a bonfire.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he barks. “We’re in this together! I’m going to bring you with me!”
“Yeah, not so much,” says Tre. “See, that’s your biggest downfall right there, Quentin: you assume everyone is like you. That loyalty can be bought and sold for the right price. Sorry to burst your bubble, but that man over there is my brother. And no amount of money in this world is going to make me betray him.”
Tears are coursing down my cheeks now. I feel almost as terrible for not trusting Tre as I do for not trusting Chance. The relief is palpable, like a physical sensation inside my chest. These are the men I loved back then. That I still love today.
“I hope your pen has plenty of ink, Agent Johnston,” Tre says. “First off, we’ll start with the partners. Just in case you didn’t recognize the name, Tony Arturo is the head of the Arturo family, currently on any number of FBI watch lists. There’s never been any hard evidence against them, but they’ve got a reputation as New Jersey’s most connected family. Scratch the underbelly of Atlantic City and they’ll scurry out like cockroaches.”
Now it all makes sense.
“I believe I had the pleasure of meeting Tony’s nephew the other night and breaking his hand,” I say. “Charming fellow.”
Chance’s eyes light up. “That was the guy?” he says brightly.
“I’d bet my bottom dollar on it,” I say. “Which I guess in your bottom dollar these days.”
He grins.
“But Big Tony has some big dreams,” Tre continues. “He doesn’t like everyone calling him a scumbag. He wants to be important. He’d also really like to have the feds called off his family’s tail. So what’s the best way to do that?”
Pearce’s face is the ruddy maroon now, and I seriously wonder whether he has blood pressure issues.
“Go on,” says Johnston.
“I think I can finish that thought for him,” says Chance. “Mr. Arturo would love to have control of a prestigious international company like Atlas Security. It’s welcome in every country in the world, except a couple that we really don’t want to associate with anyway.”
Tre beams. “Right you are! So if you connect the dots, it all starts to spell out a plan to seek political office of some sort.” He turns to Pearce. “What was it? Governor? Senate?”
Pearce flinches so hard I almost burst out laughing.
“So it’s Senator Arturo,” Tre says with a nod. “And, of course, once he’s in office, he’ll start whispering in a few ears – congressmen, judges, officials – about how his family is being persecuted and he’d be really happy if they were just left alone.”
I have to get in on this. Now that the outline of the narrative is flowing, it’s pretty easy to speculate on the rest.
“Let me guess, Quentin,” I say. “You’re tired of wealth. You’ve got all the money, now you want power. And what better way than to attach yourself to a rapidly rising politician? A few terms in the senate and you’d weasel your way into the halls of power as the man behind the throne.”
Tre touches his nose and points at me. “Give the lady a prize!”
I preen as Chance beams at me proudly. This feels so fucking good after all those weeks of uncertainty and fear.
Johnston is still scribbling. He’s the most laidback government agent I’ve ever seen.
“So where does Dacosta fit into this?” he asks.
Pearce points a warning finger at Tre.
“You keep your mouth shut,” he hisses. “I’m warning you.”
Tre flips him the bird. “Warn this, motherfucker. Dacosta was connected with the Arturos, and when he heard about the sale of Atlas, he tried to weasel in with bogus intel. He only knew rumors of what happened in Mosul, but he sold it like it was solid evidence.”
He turns to me. “This all started months ago,” he says. “Dacosta knew about you from his days in the Marines with Chance.”
My heart flutters as I turn to my husband. “You talked about me in the Marines? After what I did to you?”
He shrugs. “You were the only girl I ever loved. Who else was I going to talk about?”
Oh, my God. I can’t believe this. I lean in close and put my lips next to his ear.
“You are going to get sooo lucky for that,” I whisper.
“I can’t wait,” he says. “Assuming I’m not headed for a prison cell, that is.”
“Anyway,” Tre says theatrically, shaking his head at us. “Dacos
ta found Sara and learned she was an investigator. He hired her to do some bullshit work so he could gather intelligence to give to Mr. Pearce here. He then proceeded to hire her for the Atlas deal, specifically to rattle Chance and to dig up dirt on him.”
I smack my fist into my palm. “I knew it! First in the phonebook, my ass, you little bastard!”
Pearce is starting to look like an animal in a trap, eyes darting all over his office as if trying to find an escape route.
“You can’t let them talk like that to me!” he shouts at Johnston. “Lies! It’s all lies! Do your job!”
Johnston gives him a laconic shrug. “What would you have me do?”
“Arrest them!”
“For what? Talking?”
Pearce takes a deep breath, obviously trying to gain control of himself. It’s indescribably sweet to see him like this.
“The Department of Defense can’t afford an embarrassment like this,” he says. “I’m going to talk to Dresden about this! He’ll have you fired!”
“Actually, Major Dresden is under house arrest right now,” says Johnston. “He’s currently being investigated by the Defense Criminal Investigative Service. It’s a good thing we intercepted his communications with you when we did.”
What is he talking about? I turn to Chance, who’s grinning from ear to ear.
“I don’t understand,” Pearce jibbers. “You’re from DCIS! Why are you talking about them in the third person?”
Johnston looks at Frey. “I never said we were from DCIS. Did you?”
“I haven’t said a word since we got here,” Frey says, sounding bored.
Johnston strolls over to Chance, pulling a key from his jacket pocket and using it to unlock the cuffs.
“These have served their purpose, I think,” he says.
As soon as he’s free, Chance grabs me around the waist and pulls me into his arms. I grip his neck fiercely and just hang there, reveling in the warmth of his breath on my neck and his heartbeat next to mine.
“Care to fill in your side of the story?” Johnston asks.
Chance grins. “I can’t think of anything that would make me happier.”
Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Six
76. CHANCE
“It’s pretty easy to extrapolate from there,” I say. “Dacosta was the only other person who knew about the plan, which means he was a liability to the Arturo family. I doubt Tony would have let him live much longer, even if they hadn’t lucked into the opportunity to frame me for it.”
Pearce looks like he’s on the verge of passing out now.
“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” he croaks. “That was all Arturo!”
Sara gives him a pitying look. “That much I believe,” she says. “You’re too spineless for wet work.”
Johnston chuckles.
“I like her,” he says to me.
“Yeah,” I say. “Me, too. Anyway, they killed two birds with one stone. They got rid of the only person who could hurt them and they framed me in one fell swoop.”
Johnston flips his notebook closed and tucks it back into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
“You got anything you want to add to this, Mr. Pearce?” he asks.
“Who are you?!” he babbles. “What are you doing here? None of this makes any sense!”
“We’re the people who make sure that people like you and Tony Arturo don’t get away with what you were trying to get away with,” says Johnston. “That’s all you need to know.”
Tre comes over to me and grabs my hand, pulling me into a hug.
“Nice work,” I say. “Luckily you’re a good boy who visits his mother. Otherwise, we might not have been able to communicate.”
Sara blinks at us. “What?”
“I gave Mom strategic info about what I was doing with Pearce, knowing she’s pass it along to Chance when he visited her,” says Tre. “He did the same to me. It was the only way we could be sure nobody was monitoring the conversation. Mama wasn’t too happy with that last one, but she gave us the benefit of the doubt.”
“That reminds me,” I say. “I owe her an explanation or I’ll never hear the end of it. We’ll have to come up with something that satisfies her but doesn’t tip over into classified territory.”
Sara pounds Tre on the shoulder. “You asshole! You really had me going!”
He grins. “Hey, punch Chance, he was the one who came up with it.”
She looks at me. “Really?”
“Yup,” I say, wincing. “Stick to my good shoulder, okay?”
That’s when I notice Johnston glaring at us. “If you people are done…?”
“Sorry,” I say. “We’re ready to cooperate in any way you need us.”
“Absolutely,” says Sara.
He nods and turns to Quentin. “Now, Mr. Pearce, I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you with us. We have some things we need to talk about.”
Pearce is hunched over, his breathing ragged. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was suffering the early stages of a panic attack.
“I’m not going anywhere without my lawyer,” he pants.
Johnston favors him with a sympathetic smile.
“I’m afraid you have us confused with the police, Mr. Pearce,” he says. “That’s not us. We’re not going to charge you with anything. We just want to talk.”
I shudder to think what these guys consider “just talking.” I imagine it has something to do with the room I woke up in earlier.
Pearce leans over and props his hands on his desk to steady himself.
“I think I’m having a cardiac event,” he grunts, clutching one hand to his chest.
Sara is moving toward him before I can stop her.
“I know CPR,” she says as she reaches the desk.
“Sara, no!” I say, but it’s too late.
Pearce slides his other hand out from under the desk with the .45 automatic he pulled from the top drawer.
“Arturo told me I might need this someday,” he says. “Looks like he was right.”
Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Seven
77. SARA
Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I have fallen for something like that?
Pearce’s arm is around my neck now, the barrel of the .45 pointed at my temple. He’s suddenly remarkably calm, though, which might work in my favor.
“Don’t do something you can’t turn back from,” Johnston warns. “You can still get out of this with your life.”
“You think I haven’t figured out who you are?” he says with odd detachment. “I go with you and suddenly my obituary is running in Forbes. The Empire Group’s head honcho, dead of a heart attack at age forty-five. A cautionary tale about working too hard.”
“Let her go,” Chance growls, hands up in a surrender gesture. “You need a hostage, take me. I’m the one you hate, not her.”
“Actually, I pretty much hate you both equally,” he says mildly. “And she’s a lot weaker than you, so I’ll stick with the current arrangement, thanks.”
I’ll show you weak, you little bastard…
Frey takes a couple of tentative steps toward us. Pearce responds by pulling back the hammer of the pistol with his thumb.
Chance looks me in the eye. We both know that proves Pearce knows nothing about the weapon. Cocking the hammer doesn’t make it easier to fire; they just do it in movies for dramatic effect.
A .45 is a dangerous cannon in the hands of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. One slip and my head could end up erased completely.
“All right,” says Johnston. “You’re running the show now. You tell me where it goes from here.”
“I want a helicopter on the roof,” says Pearce. “It will take us to Empire’s private jet at O’Hare, and that will take me to the Maldives.”
“Where there’s no extradition treaty with the US,” Chance finishes for him.
“I can be rich anywhere,” he says. “Doesn’t have to be on American soil. And after
seeing what passes for the ‘good guys’ here, I’m quite happy to leave it behind.”
My heart rate is still surprisingly even, despite the situation. I’m able to think rationally, just like Chance is always preaching. An idea comes to me.
“Speaking of leaving things behind, what do you think Tony Arturo is going to think of you taking off and leaving him hanging out to dry for Dacosta’s murder?”
That should get him off balance.
“Perhaps you should shut up about things you don’t understand,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice now. I struck a nerve – he’s scared of Arturo.
Johnston ends a call on his phone. “We can’t get a helicopter here for an hour,” he says. “It’s logistically impossible.”
“That’s not good enough,” says Pearce. I wince as he digs the barrel of the .45 into my temple.
“I can have one here in ten minutes,” Chance says. “The Atlas chopper. I’ll fly it to the airport myself once it gets here. You have the love of my life as a hostage, so you know I’ll cooperate.”
“Don’t do it, Chance,” he says. “I don’t want to risk you both. Let the Atlas pilot fly them…”
“No,” says Pearce. “Mr. Talbot is right. He’s exactly who I want as the pilot.”
Chance looks at Johnston, who shrugs. “It’s as good a plan as any I can come up with.”
Chance gets on the phone with Atlas as Pearce talks to his own pilot, telling him to get the flight plan filed. Johnston is on his phone telling someone to contact O’Hare and tell them to green light the flight plan and clear a helipad for the Pave Hawk.
Me, I’m just standing here with a gun to my head.
A few minutes later and the logistics are taken care of. Now we just have to wait.
“I’m curious,” Pearce says, still strangely calm after his outbursts earlier. “What really did happen with Atlas’s expansion? Where did the money actually come from?”
“Terrorists,” Chance says simply. “Sully and I came across a terror cell in Mosul that was meeting with a financier from Jordan. He brought cash, we killed them all and took it.”
