by Lauren Layne
But she didn’t come.
“He’s not going to let her out.” Remarkably, his voice was calm. Steady.
It had to be. He had to be. For her.
An officer he didn’t recognize approached. “You guys the Morettis?”
“What of it?” Vincent snarled.
Jill laid a hand on her partner’s arm. “Yes. We are.”
In another circumstance, Anthony might have smiled at the way Jill Henley quietly asserted herself as part of the family, but he was a long way from smiling now.
The officer jerked this thumb over his shoulder. “One of the hostages wants to talk to you.”
It was the mother with the little girl.
Anthony moved over to where she was reassuring the paramedics that both she and her daughter were fine.
“Ma’am, I’m Captain Moretti.”
She nodded, her eyes wide, probably still in shock, although her voice was steady. “That man…the one with the gun. He said to tell you that he was taking Margaret with him, one way or the other. I think Margaret must have been the other woman…the one he kept.”
Anthony gave a terse nod. It was all he could manage before turning back to face the diner.
“Do you think he’ll hurt her?” Luc asked.
His chest seized up at the very thought. He blew out a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t know.”
But if he does, I’ll kill him.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Luc was saying. “The guy’s been so…tepid up until now. What changed?”
“My guess?” Vin said, coming to stand on Anth’s other side, both brothers flanking him. Supporting him. “This latest string of successful break-ins pushed his ego over the top. He thinks he’s infallible. Invincible. He’s probably a little nuts.”
Anthony shook his head to clear it, trying to think of this the way he would any other hostage situation. One that didn’t involve the woman he—
“He’s got to know this doesn’t have a good ending for him,” he muttered. “What the hell are you up to, Eddie?”
“Moretti.”
He turned, saw his boss moving toward him. “Snipers are a go if shit goes south. No sign of Hansen or the woman. Not since they were seated by the window when we first got there.”
“Shoulda put a bullet between his eyes when we had the chance,” Anth said savagely.
Mandela shook his head. “Without knowing for sure he was armed? Would have started a media firestorm.”
Anthony jerked his head backward. “Yeah? And what do you call that?”
Mandela glanced over his shoulder at the ever-growing mass of the press. “Goddamn vultures.”
“Do they know it’s Smiley inside?”
“Not unless someone talked,” Mandela said.
“So probably,” Anthony said.
“Yeah. Probably.”
Anthony pulled out his phone, dialed Maggie’s phone for at least the twentieth time. Luc watched him with a sympathetic expression. “She’s not answering, bro.”
He let it ring all the way to voice mail anyway. Again.
“Goddamn it,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “What the hell kind of idiot takes someone hostage, but doesn’t make demands and doesn’t even give us a damn way to talk to him.”
“I’m guessing he doesn’t want to talk to us,” Vincent said. “This is all about her.”
Anth didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to think of her at the hands of a madman who was high on his own assumed power.
“If he touches her—”
Then the diner door moved. Opened.
Anthony didn’t know if the area actually fell completely silent, or if his ears just blocked out all sound, but he’d never known fear like he felt when he saw Eddie Hansen emerge from the diner.
Alone.
Unbidden images of Maggie lying in a puddle of blood flashed through his mind. Hansen wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble only to walk away from Maggie…
“Hands up,” someone shouted at Smiley.
Eddie ignored the order at first but then gave a quick snarl over his shoulder, and then slowly, incredibly, raised his hands over his head.
Seconds later, a woman in a bright orange waitress uniform emerged, gun pointed at Eddie’s back, looking remarkably calm.
Maggie.
Everything happened fast then.
Eddie was pushed to his knees by a half dozen officers, then to his stomach on the ground, silent and sulky as he was cuffed.
Someone took the gun from Maggie, and incredibly she pointed at it and said something with a laugh.
A laugh.
She’d spent at least half an hour with an ex-husband and a gun, and she was laughing.
He didn’t know if he wanted to hug her or shake her.
He couldn’t move.
And then she saw him. Her eyes scanning the dozens of uniformed officers but finding him.
She smiled, wide and warm.
She was safe; it was over.
Vincent and Luc were already there, Luc wrapping Maggie in a bear hug, just seconds before Vincent did the same.
Anth wasn’t sure who looked more surprised by the hug. Maggie, or Vincent himself.
And yet, Anthony’s feet stood rooted to the ground.
“Captain.” The impatient, confused tone of Mandela’s voice told him it wasn’t the first time his boss had said his name.
“Yeah.”
Anth never took his eyes away from Maggie, who was now chatting animatedly with Jill, her hands gesturing wildly. No doubt adrenaline was still coursing through her body.
Later, she would crash. The reality would set in and he would need someone to hold her.
He wanted to be that person. Needed to be.
And yet…
“The press wants a statement,” Mandela was saying. “I think it should be you.”
He jerked in surprise. “Shouldn’t it be you or Jozlin?”
“It’s your case. Nobody’s put in more time than you. You’ve earned it. And I’ve already told the guys you should be first to question Hansen. Figured you’d like that.”
He did. Or he should like it.
Anth gave one look at Maggie. She was watching him, although her smile had dimmed. Her eyes hesitant and confused, no doubt completely baffled as to why he’d yet to take so much as a step toward her.
It was déjà vu all over again, and he was on the verge of making the same mistake he’d made then. Of not going to her.
But he couldn’t. Knew that if he did, he couldn’t be cool and professional. He’d pull her toward him and wouldn’t let go, and there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was more than an informant.
More than a family friend.
More than—more than anyone had ever been to him, ever.
“Moretti. They’re waiting,” Mandela said, jerking his head toward the salivating reporters. “Go.”
Here it was. He’d known it was coming. He’d felt it coming for months.
This was the fork in the road.
One path led toward Maggie.
The other toward recognition and crucial face time with the press. With as high a profile as this case had been, this statement would be all over the news, perhaps nationally.
It was a make-or-break moment for his career; the higher one rose in the NYPD, the more important camera skills were. This was his chance to show he had what it took to represent the department confidently, professionally.
He could turn toward Maggie…
…or he could turn toward his future.
He turned.
Faced the press. Walked toward the waiting microphones, the hungry reporters, the cameras, and the flashing lights.
Walked away from the woman who mattered. For her own sake.
Anthony told himself he didn’t hear her heart break to pieces behind him. And that his own didn’t break right along with hers.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Three weeks later
You seem different, Bug.”
She grabbed two more frozen dinners from her grocery bag, stacked them carefully in her father’s freezer.
“Maggie,” she said sharply.
“Huh?” her dad said around a belch.
“My name is Maggie.”
“Sure, I know,” Charlie Walker said. “Bug’s just a nickname.”
“One that I hate,” she said, adding two more chicken dinners to the freezer.
“Since when?”
Maggie slammed the freezer door closed. “Since always. I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“Huh.” Then, “Get me a beer?”
They faced off in his grimy kitchen. It was the same kitchen she’d grown up in, done homework in, but it held no happy memories.
“You don’t need a beer,” she said.
He groaned and threw his head back. “Not this.”
“Yes, this. You’re in court-ordered AA.”
“Only because the lawyer lady they gave me had her head up her ass. She actually looked relieved when they slapped me with the DUI. Told me I should just be happy I didn’t have to go to jail. Can you imagine? Bitch.”
“You are lucky you didn’t have to go to jail, Dad. You wrapped your car around a light pole. The only thing they could salvage from your car was the fifth of Jim Beam rolling around under your seat.”
“Christ,” he muttered, reaching for his crutches. “Is this why you came all the way out here? To lecture me?”
“Yeah, you’re welcome for the groceries,” Maggie said, sweeping her arm to the table where she’d brought enough food to tide him over until he healed enough to go shopping for himself.
“Tossy was gonna do a store run. And she wouldn’t have brought me this green shit.” He swiped a bag of salad mix to the ground.
“Tossy?”
Who—or what—was Tossy?
“My new girl,” he said, hobbling over to the card table against the wall, which apparently served as a makeshift bar because he poured a liberal amount of brown fluid into a dirty cup.
“Don’t,” she said quietly.
He turned around to meet her eyes, then deliberately took a long drink.
I can’t stand you, she thought.
The thought was toxic and freeing all at once. I can’t stand the person you are—that you’ve let yourself become.
They continued to stare at each other for several seconds before he took another sip of drink and moved back to the kitchen table, lowering himself carefully.
“So you landed your ex-hubby in jail, huh?”
Ah. So that’s how it was going to be. He was going to be deliberately inflammatory now.
“I sure did,” she said, refusing to let him get under her skin.
“Those fools on the TV seem to think you managed to unarm him.” Her father let out a bark of laughter, as though the thought amused the hell out of him.
“I did,” she said quietly.
“Eddie would never let you get the jump on him. He’s clever, that boy.”
“Did you know he was stealing?” she asked.
He looked away.
“When he came to see you,” she pressed. “Did you know he was Smiley? That the money he gave you wasn’t his?”
“At least he gave me the money! He wasn’t even my son-in-law anymore after you got on your high horse and left him, but he helped me out. You never—”
“I’ve been ‘helping you out’ for years,” she yelled, surprising them both with her shout. “I’ve given you thousands from a paltry waitress salary. All under the pretense of therapy or rehab or counseling. I replaced the living room window you broke while blitzed out of your mind, the TV you broke, also while blitzed out of your mind…and you know what you gave me in return? Not sobriety. Barely even a thank-you. No, the only thing I get from you is more. You always need more.”
He had the decency, at least, to look guilty, but the look only lasted for a split second before he turned it around on her.
“We’re family, Bug. You think I enjoyed taking care of you and your brother on my own for all those years? It’s your turn to return the favor and help me out.”
Maggie slowly sat in the chair across from him, in front of the food he probably wouldn’t bother to eat because it wasn’t fried or processed.
“I haven’t been helping you, Dad.” Her voice was tired now. “I’ve been enabling you.”
He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to stop him. “No, I have. I’ve been enabling you and it stops here. It stops now.”
She could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t believe her.
“Ah, Bug, come on—”
Maggie stood. “I love you, Dad. And I love Cory. But I’m done.”
His mouth gaped, the whiskey, shockingly forgotten, although that wouldn’t last long. “What do you mean, you’re done?”
“I mean that if you want to call to talk, to see how I’m doing, or to spend a holiday together, I’d like that very much. But if you call me for money, I’ll hang up the phone.”
“Bug, what the hell? I love you, and I just—”
She picked up her purse from the kitchen counter and moved toward the front door. “Really? Because you only seem to love me when you need something. Same with Cory, who by the way, has stopped taking my phone calls because I’ve been asking him to pay me back on at least one of a half dozen loans.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Maggie laughed. “You’re right. It’s not. It’s mine, for surrounding myself with people who use me. I deserve better.”
She walked out, pulling the door tightly shut behind her.
For a moment, she wanted to turn back. To rush back and tell her dad that she didn’t mean it, that she’d always be there for him.
Instead, she straightened her shoulders and walked toward the train station, head held high.
Her decision hadn’t been an easy one, but it was the right one. Maggie had meant what she’d said about enabling him; as long as she was his crutch, he’d continue to lean until he’d crippled them both.
Once seated on the train, she pulled out her phone. A picture message from Gabby with new pictures of the kids. A text from Elena, asking if Maggie had been getting her other texts, wondering if she wanted to grab dinner. An e-mail from one of her favorite stores that was having a massive blowout sale.
That one, she clicked on. She’d need a whole new wardrobe for the job she’d start on Monday.
Maggie had quit the diner the day after the incident.
Partially because she didn’t think she could bear to be in there again without thinking of Eddie waving a gun in her face.
Partially because she’d had a bit of one of those quintessential life-or-death epiphanies in which she’d realized life was too short in a job that didn’t feed her soul.
Partially because working at the diner would always mean Anthony. Seeing him, remembering him, pouring him freaking coffee…
She forced the thought from her mind, focusing instead on a couple of inexpensive blouses that looked like they’d be appropriate for an editorial assistant at a major publishing house.
Yes. Publishing house.
A big one.
Maggie still had to pinch herself when she thought about the job.
The fact that she’d even gotten the interview had been shocking enough. She was pretty sure it had been more a function of her brief brush with fame than it did her résumé, which had a whole lot of serving tables and not a whole lot of anything meeting their job requirements.
But she’d had one thing that all the other shiny recent college grads probably hadn’t. An insane amount of knowledge about young adult fiction. The interview had lasted nearly three hours, with four different people, all of whom had seemed impressed by her passion for the genre.
The woman who’d be her boss—a recently promoted editor—had then taken Maggie out for drinks where they’d talked for two hours more about their favo
rite books, and even Maggie’s own story.
The job offer had come the next day.
Life was looking up. Way up.
Not only had she finally managed to stand her ground with her family, but her wretched, slightly crazy ex was behind bars. Eddie had taken a plea bargain, but he’d still be in jail for a very, very long time.
Plus there was the not-so-minor fact that she’d never have to wear that bright orange Darby Diner uniform again, nor would she have to pinch her pennies quite so tightly.
The editorial assistant position pay wasn’t great—at all—but it was a start. A career path that would hopefully teach her the tricks of the trade she needed to get her own book published someday.
To achieve the dream. Her dream.
Part of it, anyway.
Maggie turned her head, pressed her forehead against the cool window of the train.
Sometime in the past few months, her dream had shifted. Grown more complicated.
She still wanted to publish the book. Still longed for a day when she was good and truly living off a writer’s income. Heck, she’d already started a second book while the first was out on query to agents.
But the dream felt…partial. It was a component of her dream life but not the heart of it.
And Maggie was very much afraid the heart of her dream was completely out of reach.
Anthony.
Anthony was at the center of her dream.
The strange thing was, she actually understood why he’d turned away from her that day. Even more strange, her happiness for his moment in the spotlight had overtaken her own shakiness, her own desire to be held.
She understood then what love was supposed to be. In its purest form, it was unselfish. It was wanting something for someone else because he wanted it, even though it would take him away from you.
And yet still, she’d thought—hoped—that once the Smiley case was put to rest, he’d finally understand.
Understand that he could have both, her and the job. That she would support his career, not take him away from it. That she understood its demands and wanted him anyway.
Except you never told him that, did you?
Maggie sat up, pulling her face away from the window as the thought seeped beneath her skin. Repeated. You never told him you loved him.
