by Kylie Brant
Amazingly, Nick gave a rueful shrug. “Under the circumstances, I can appreciate your displeasure. But when I see an opportunity, I take it. That’s the kind of man I am. For the same reason, I never walk into the web of a powerful man without at least one bargaining chip.”
The other man’s eyes glinted. “My computer files.”
“That, and the witness your men missed six years ago.”
Sara’s gasp was ripped from her lungs. The walls of the room seemed to rush in on her. Nick’s voice came from a distance, dispassionate and matter-of-fact. “Take a good look at her, Victor. Tell me what you see.”
The man’s gaze swung to her, assessing and wary. She was incapable of protesting. Sorrow and rage barreled through her with the force of a locomotive. “You bastard!”
Nick’s hands slipped into his pockets. His eyes seemed strangely intent as they returned her gaze. “I admitted as much to you, did I not? I know I promised to help you kill the man, but you have to admit the possibility isn’t financially prudent for me.”
She frowned, his words as disorienting as the rest of the horrifying scene.
Mannen was eyeing her narrowly. “Parker?”
“The question I have, mon ami, is whether she is worth more to you or to Justice. I rather thought you’d be the most appreciative.”
“You were going to auction her off to the highest bidder?” There was anger but acceptance in Mannen’s tone. While he might not appreciate the mercenary action, he would understand it.
Nick gave a negligible shrug. “A man does what he must.”
“You understand that I would need proof of her identity.”
She was standing in Victor Mannen’s office listening to him and Nick discuss her murder. It was a waking nightmare. In the midst of a pool of shattered trust, pounding betrayal, Sara groped wildly for understanding. Nick…Justice…Mannen… How were the three really entwined? The questions had dogged her since she was in the Keys. And she was no closer to the truth now.
“There are ways of obtaining proof once she’s dead.”
At Nick’s encouragement, Mannen focused on her once more. Sara swayed on her feet as reality funneled in, becoming more and more narrow until it included only that gun. The dark lethal hole in the barrel.
“Remember New Orleans, ma petite.”
Nick’s words managed to distract her from her certain death. Mannen’s finger tightened on the trigger. Sara’s gaze swung to Nick, caught the blur of his movement even as Mannen detected it from the corner of his eye. Nick rammed the other man, knocking him off balance, and Sara dove out of the way. The gun jerked, fired.
There was a solid crash as the two fell to the floor, grappling for the gun. Guided by instinct alone, she ran to the bronze, lifted it and turned back to the pair. Standing above Mannen, she poised the heavy piece above his skull, her hands shaking with restraint.
The men abruptly stilled. Mannen’s eyes were glued to the threat above him. With very little force, his most prized possession would crush his skull. It was a delicious little irony that wasn’t lost on Sara.
“It’s all right, mon ange.” Nick’s voice floated through the room, curled around her system. “You can put it down.” She didn’t question the gun he’d drawn from his ankle holster. She was buried beneath the avalanche of the past, the horror, the gut-rending pain of losing all she’d held dear. All to this man. This one man cowering beneath her, arm still outstretched for his gun, which had landed beside him.
Reaction gripped her, shaking her hard from the inside out. It would be so easy to let go of the statue. Put paid to so many lives lost in vain.
“Put it down, Sara. Take a step back. Now another. Set it on the table.”
She wasn’t even aware that she’d obeyed that low command until the statue was out of her hands. Only then did she look at Nick and see the spreading stain soaking his shirt.
“You’re hit.” The realization pierced her mental fog as nothing else could. Distantly, she heard the front door burst open, the sound of running footsteps.
“It’s over, Mannen.” Nick had stepped outside his role now. His voice was flat and merciless. He never took his gaze from the man on the floor, who was inching ever closer to the gun beside him. “I’ll think of you doing life. Wearing prison blues. Eating in the mess hall with the lowest kind of scum. You’ll all be the same in there, won’t you?” He gave a chilling smile. “Enjoy your new friends.”
The sound of the door to the office being kicked in was lost in the deafening roar of the gunshot.
It seemed an odd place to hold a debriefing. Nick was sitting up in the hospital bed, bare-chested save for the bandages that swathed his shoulder. His face was stamped with impatience, but it was the tubes and machines he was hooked to that drew Sara’s gaze time and again. Mannen’s first shot had grazed him several inches below his previous wound, which had reopened yet again. With the blood loss he’d suffered, his vitals still weren’t stable enough to satisfy the medical staff. The doctor had indicated Nick would be staying several days, despite Nick’s protests.
Paul Whitmore was just as imposing as she remembered, and his hair decidedly more gray. She’d spent long hours surrounded by him and his agents already, repeating her story endlessly. Although he’d been understanding in a gruff sort of way, she’d be more than willing to see the last of him.
Gabe Connally and Meghan Patterson had joined the odd mix of occupants in the room, as had Addison Jacobs and Dare McKay. The four surrounded Nick’s bed, while Sara stood a little ways apart. It was better…far better if she didn’t get too close to the man. She thought she had just enough composure to make it through this last meeting, but distance would help maintain it.
“Okay, you’ve got five minutes.” Whitmore’s voice was brusque. “And McKay, if I read one word about any of this that hasn’t been okayed by me first, I’m coming after you.”
Sara noted a layer of steel below the reporter’s affability. “You kept your word, Whitmore. I’ll keep mine.”
The man nodded curtly. “Five minutes,” he repeated, then left the room.
“Call in a few favors, McKay?” Nick said.
“Some would refer to his actions as blackmailing a government agent,” the woman by his side noted dryly.
“Addie’s right,” Dare agreed, lacing his fingers with hers. “Whitmore isn’t anxious to have the media pick up the story about the mole Mannen had in Justice for the last eight years.”
“How about the one he has there now?” Sara’s question took the group by surprise. “At least I have to assume Mannen would have someone to replace his contact before he had him killed.”
Gabe gave a low whistle. “That might be another reason Whitmore was so eager to cooperate.”
“I never promised not to do any digging into that,” Dare mused. He shot Sara a wicked grin. “Thanks for the tip.”
“I wouldn’t mind a look at that wireless receiver you used,” Gabe told Nick. “Must be state of the art. The men you had in the van near Mannen’s house could tell exactly what was going down. They were able to alert the Chicago Police for backup, but it looked to me like you had things pretty well under control when we got there.”
“I can’t say I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Mannen behind bars,” Addie mused, “but seeing him dead works for me.”
Nick’s gaze met Sara’s. “With the noise when the reinforcements arrived, I didn’t even see him go for the gun. I wouldn’t have expected him to use it on himself.”
Silent communication sparked between them. She remembered Nick’s voice, hypnotic and low, urging her to step away from an act that would have haunted her forever. And that same voice reminded Mannen of how much he’d had. And how much he was about to lose.
“It’s best this way.” Gabe gave voice to the words, exchanging a glance with Dare. “With his money he’d have been a threat even in prison.” He looked down at Meghan, stroking a hand over her hair, and Sara felt a funny little jolt of re
alization.
With Mannen gone, she was free.
Her mouth abruptly went dry, and she moved to the wall, leaned against it, needing the support. During her grueling sessions with Whitmore, that one fact had remained tantalizingly unformed. But it was crystal clear now, and the recognition of it was staggering. For the first time in eight years, she could stop running.
She released a shuddering breath, and saw Nick watching her reaction. And knew that despite everything that had gone on between them, she’d never be able to repay him for what he’d given her.
Meghan stepped forward, touched Nick’s hand. “I don’t pretend to understand everything that went on, but I want to thank you for your part in it.”
Nick’s lips curved, the woman’s sincerity summoning a shadow of a smile. “From what I’m hearing, you four already had the guy on the run. I was just the final act.”
Gabe glanced at his watch. “Our five minutes are up. Whitmore’s due in here any second breathing fire.” His words compelled the group to move.
Dare drifted by Sara. “I’ll bet you have quite a story to tell.”
“Stay away from her, McKay.”
The threat in Nick’s words wasn’t negated in the least by the fact that he was lying in bed.
Dare gave an innocent shrug. “Do I have those words tattooed on my forehead or something?”
Addie leaned forward, kissed the area in question. “No, but you will after the wedding.” And amid good-natured laughter, they left the room, to be followed, moments later, by Sara.
She heard her name being called, but hurried down the hallway. It wasn’t like she didn’t have things to do, she assured herself when that sick and hollow feeling in her stomach threatened to swamp her. She had a future, finally. She had a life, thanks to Nick.
She didn’t want to consider at that moment just how empty it loomed.
“Sara!”
The sound was an explosion, accompanied by the sudden bustling of medical staff. Bewildered, she turned, then stared, disbelieving.
“Mr. Falcol, you have to get back to bed.” The nurse bullying Nick toward his room had a determined look in her eye and snap to her voice. “Orderly! I need some help here.”
“Sara!” Nick nudged the woman aside, swayed a bit, then started down the hallway wearing nothing but the stark bandages at his shoulder and side, and wrinkled dress pants, half-zipped.
She watched as the nurse and a large orderly attempted to take hold of Nick, as he shrugged them off and lurched toward her.
Driven to move, Sara hurried back to him. “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to be out of bed.” She tried to check his bandages for signs of renewed bleeding, but he caught her close, his arms steel bands around her body.
“Don’t go.” The words were a demand, a plea. Sara tried to look at him, but he had her wrapped too tightly, her face pressed to his heaving chest. His voice became little more than a jagged whisper. “Don’t leave, chérie.”
“Lady, help us get him back in bed where he belongs,” the outraged nurse ordered.
Nick didn’t make it a choice. He simply refused to let go of her while he was forced back to his room. While the nurse reinstated the IVs with a less than gentle touch, Nick gripped Sara’s hand tightly enough to have her bones protesting, his eyes fixed on hers, dark and intense.
Only when the woman left the room, muttering dire threats for Nick’s welfare should he try that again, did his hand relax around Sara’s, as if he was just then noticing his grasp.
“What did you think you were doing a minute ago?” Real anger was bubbling through her. “You may have really hurt yourself. The last thing you need is for one of those wounds to reopen.”
He raised her fingers to his lips in silent apology, never releasing her from his gaze. “Where were you going?”
Because she didn’t have an answer to the question, she avoided it. “I didn’t think there was anything left to say.”
“I’ve plenty left to say, chérie. I just didn’t know how little time you would give me to say it.”
Her smile felt forced. “You’re right. I was taking the easy way out. I warned you that I was a coward.” She stopped, drew a fortifying breath. “The magnitude of the whole thing just hit me. What you did for me at Mannen’s, I mean. A week ago…a day ago I couldn’t even imagine a positive ending to this. And now I’m free, in a way I’ve never been before. And I have you to thank for that.”
His thumb skated across her palm. “I was afraid when I told Mannen who you were that you would think I’d betrayed you again.”
Sara could feel a flush work up her cheeks. Of course she’d thought exactly that at first. “I figured out what you were up to after a few minutes.”
“Deceit has been a way of life for me for too many years to count,” he murmured. “First with the Green Berets, and then as an operative. The ends quite regularly justify the means in my assignments.”
There was a stabbing pain somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. His assignments. He couldn’t have defined their relationship any more clearly had he tried.
He interlocked their fingers, almost distracting her from the rest of his words. “I learned the hard way in Special Ops that the longer a mission lasts, the greater the likelihood that objectivity is compromised.” She recognized old guilt in his voice, and the ghosts in his eyes. “I should have seen it happening this time. Because the longer I spent on your trail, the more intrigued I became. It was like looking in a mirror. I began to wonder if you lost a bit of yourself with each cover you took on. I know what that’s like, you see. To wake up in a strange place, using a strange name, with nothing tangible in your life to use as an anchor.”
She wanted to shout at him to stop. His murmured confession was caustic, like stripping off a surface of skin, and she was afraid, very much afraid, of what would be revealed to him. Warily, she searched his eyes. And caught herself, just in time, before she was pulled into their fathomless dark depths. “I was just a job.”
“Luc told me I was obsessed and although I denied it, he was right. I can’t tell you when you became more.” He trailed a finger over her knuckles. “Maybe when I realized I wasn’t going to trust your safety to Justice. Maybe when I figured out just how much I wanted you to trust me, instead.”
Her breath strangled in her lungs. Something like hope unfurled inside her, blanketing her familiar caution. “I was never certain how you did it. But no matter how strong my defenses were, you managed to sneak inside them, over and over again. No one’s ever gotten that close to me, even with me fighting it every step of the way.”
“That kind of vulnerability is terrifying.”
He might have plucked the thought from her mind. “Yes.”
“I know because I’m experiencing something approaching terror myself right now.”
She tugged at her hand, but it was held fast. “You?” she scoffed. “I doubt you’ve ever known a moment’s fear in your life. While I…” It took a ridiculous amount of courage to push aside her well-worn guard. Even more to allow rein to the emotion she was most comfortable keeping tucked away. “Because of you I have my life back. I can go anywhere, be anything. And all I can think of…” here her voice cracked despite her best efforts “…is how empty it looks. How alone.”
Nick’s voice was unsteady. “It won’t be empty, chérie, if there’s room for us both in it. I’m in love with you.” Her eyes widened in disbelief, but the fierce expression on his face convinced her she’d heard him correctly. “I didn’t want to be. God knows, I fought it. It was the toughest battle in my life, and one I’m happy to lose. Because I can’t tame the emotion I have for you. I lost the will to even try.”
He brushed a kiss across her knuckles and her pulse stuttered. “Come back with me, to New Orleans. My family home has never held much of a family, but we can start one, beginning with just the two of us.” His smile was as beguiling as his words. “Grand-mère will be pleased.”
There were
tiny bubbles of joy rising in her veins. The feeling was too new, too unfamiliar, to be easily identified. “I love you,” she said unsteadily. “But even more…I trust you.” She saw Nick swallow hard, and knew that the words meant as much to him as they did to her. “If New Orleans is where your life is, then that’s where we’ll go.”
His lips approached hers, hovered. “That’s what I’m telling, you, chérie. You are my life.”
And as their lips met, the words sounded very much like a promise.
Epilogue
Celeste Doucet’s gardens were breathtaking at sunset. The three couples still lounged at the patio table where they’d dined earlier that evening. Sara, Addie and Meghan sat near their husbands, all contentedly full after the big meal. Six pairs of alert eyes kept watch on the scene playing out before them.
“It’s my turn to pick a flower for Grand-mère Celeste.” Three-year-old Callie McKay’s voice had an imperious tone that had all the adults grinning. As usual, the Connally boys acquiesced to her demand, with Danny helping her choose just the right bloom and four-year-old Nathan adding his advice.
“How beautiful it is, little one.” Celeste exclaimed over the mangled bloom Callie handed her, stroking her palm over the child’s golden hair. “And how thoughtful.”
“I picked it all myself.”
“I helped,” Nathan insisted.
“And so you did.” The older woman put a frail hand on the boy’s dark head. “All three of you did wonderfully.”
“Danny’s always so good with the two of them,” Sara observed.
Meghan shifted to a more comfortable position, earning her a concerned glance from Gabe. She was only six months pregnant, and it was already becoming difficult to keep the man from hovering. “The age difference between Danny and Nathan keeps things fairly calm, unless Nate enters Danny’s room without permission.” She shared a droll glance with her husband. “Then there’s a minor war.” The two of them had started adoption procedures for Danny the moment they’d returned from their honeymoon. But a piece of paper hadn’t been necessary. Danny was their son, as much as the one who’d been borne to them.
