by J. R. Ward
Jim was just the angel to make that happen.
Unfurling his great, luminescent wings, he took one last stare through the kitchen windows. Isaac Rothe was working with grim purpose, handling things with the same kind of competence and strength as he always had.
He was going to be fine—provided he was smart enough to hang around with that attorney. God, if you were lucky enough to find love like that? Only a fool would turn that shit down.
Jim took to the night sky as if he’d been born to it, his wings carrying him through the cool air, the wind hitting his face and fingering through his hair, his team of two right behind him.
Next battle he was going to be quicker on the dime. And he was going to use his new weapon against Devina to its fullest advantage.
Even if it killed him.
CHAPTER 52
One week later . . .
As Grier got undressed in her closet, she hung her black suit up along with the others and found it impossible not to remember the way everything had been arranged before. Suits had previously been to the left of the door. Now they were straight ahead.
In just her silk blouse and her stockings, she padded around, touching her clothes, wondering which had been rehung that afternoon by her . . . and what Isaac had done after she’d left.
Closing her eyes, she wanted to weep but didn’t have the energy.
There had been nothing from him since the all-clear that night a week ago—which, incidentally, he’d sent via text instead of doing in person or over the phone.
After that? No calls, no e-mails, no visits.
It was as if he’d never existed.
And he’d left nothing behind. When she’d come back to this house, the business card that Matthias had given her as well as the strips of cloth from the muscle shirt and the file full of dossiers had disappeared. Along with both bodies and the two cars out in Lincoln.
Foolishly, she’d looked for a note, just as she had the first time he’d “left,” but there hadn’t been one. And sometimes, in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, she went searching again, checking her bedside tables and the kitchen counters and even here in the closet.
Nothing.
The only thing she supposed he’d left behind was this closet put back together. But that was hardly something she could keep in her diary and take out from time to time when she was feeling melancholic.
In the intervening seven days, work had kept her going, forcing her to get up in the morning when all she wanted to do was pull the covers over her head and lie in bed all day: Every morning, she’d gotten up and gotten herself dressed and had her coffee and become stuck in traffic on the short drive to the Financial District, where their offices were.
Her father had been great. They’d had dinner together every single night, just as they’d been in the habit of doing before. . . .
The only thing that was even close to a light at the end of the dark tunnel she was in—and it was just a match strike, not a bonfire or anything—was that she’d followed through on the vacation idea. Next week she was going to get on a plane and go to—
Grier froze, a tickle on her neck cutting into the woe-is-me routine. “Daniel?”
When there was no answer, she cursed. In addition to looking for Isaac’s nonexistent note, she’d been hoping to see her brother’s ghost, but it was as if the two of them had both left her high and dry with no good-bye.
Turning around, she—
“Daniel!” She grabbed her chest. “Christ! And where the hell have you been?”
For once, her brother was not dressed in Ralph Lauren. He was in a long white robe, looking like he was about to graduate from college or something.
His smile was warm, but sad. “Hey, sis.”
“I thought you’d left me.” She was about to run forward to hug him when she realized that wasn’t going to work—as usual he was mostly air. “Why haven’t you—”
“I’ve come to say good-bye.”
“Oh.” Her eyes closed of their own volition and she took a deep breath. “I was kind of waiting for this, I guess.”
When she reopened her lids, he was right in front of her, and all she could think of was that he looked so healthy. So relaxed. So . . . curiously wise.
“You’re ready for this now,” he told her. “You’re ready to move on.”
“Am I.” She wasn’t so sure. The idea of not seeing him again threw her into a panic.
“Yeah, you are. Besides, it’s not a permanent kind of thing. You’ll see me again . . . Mom, too. It won’t be for a good long while, but you have something to live for now.”
“Myself, right. No offense, but I’ve been doing that for thirty years and it’s kind of empty.”
Now he grinned and his glowing hand went to hover over her belly. “Not exactly.”
As she looked down at herself, she wondered what the good goddamn he was talking about.
“I love you,” her brother said. “And you’re going to be just fine. I also wanted to tell you that I think I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“I thought I was stuck in the in-between because you wouldn’t let me go. But that wasn’t it. I was the one who couldn’t let you go. You’re going to be in great hands, though, and everything is going to be all right.”
“Daniel, what are you talking about—”
“I’ll give Mom your love. And don’t worry. I know you love me, too. Say hi to Dad for me sometime if you can. Let him know that I’m okay and I’ve forgiven him long ago.” Her brother lifted his ghostly hand. “Bye, Grier. Oh, and Daniel would be great. You know, if it’s a boy?”
Grier recoiled as her brother disappeared into thin air.
In his absence, she stood there, struck stupid, wondering what in God’s name—
Her feet started moving without her giving them an order, and a split second later, she found herself in the bathroom. Ripping open the drawer where she kept her makeup and her . . .
Birth control pills.
With a shaking hand, she picked up the square bubble pack and started to count.
But it wasn’t like she hadn’t remembered what she’d forgotten . . . to take.
The last pill she’d swallowed had been the night before Isaac had come into her life. And they’d had sex two . . . maybe two and a half times without protection.
Grier stumbled out of her bathroom and promptly realized she had nowhere to go. Falling onto the foot of her bed, she sat there in the dimness and stared at the packet as rain started to fall outside.
Pregnant? Was it possible she was . . . pregnant? Was she . . .
The knock was so quiet that at first she thought it was just a function of her heart pounding, but when it came again, she looked to the French door of the terrace.
On the other side of the glass, a huge shape loomed, and for a split second she nearly went for the security system fob. But then she saw there was something other than a gun in the man’s hand.
A rose.
It sure looked like a single rose.
“Isaac,” she all but yelled.
Bursting up, she raced for the door and yanked it open.
Her MIA soldier was standing in the drizzle, his hair getting damp, his black muscle shirt leaving his shoulders bare to the droplets.
“Hi,” he said in a small voice. Like he was unsure of the reception he was going to get.
Grier tucked the birth control pills behind her back. “Hello . . .”
Her mind whirled into a frenzy as she wondered whether he’d come to tell her that there had been a problem with the cleanup . . . or was he here to warn her that someone else was after them all? But then why would he bring her a—
“It’s nothing bad,” he said, as if maybe she’d spoken out loud. “I’m just here to give you this.” He lifted up the white rose awkwardly. “It’s . . . ah, something men do. When they . . . ah . . .”
As his voice seemed to desert him, Grier stared at the perfect petals of
the flower and, as she breathed in, she caught the scent—and then she realized she was making him stand out in the rain.
“God, where are my manners—come in,” she said. “You’re getting wet.”
As she stepped back, he hesitated. And then he put the rose between his teeth and bent down to untie the laces of his combat boots.
Grier started laughing.
She couldn’t help it and it didn’t make any sense, but there was no holding it in. She laughed until she had to back up and sit down on the mattress again. She laughed from joy and confusion and hope. She laughed at everything from the perfect rose to the perfect moment . . . to the perfect timing.
To him being a perfect gentleman—to the point that he didn’t want to track in on her bedroom rug.
Her brother was right.
She was going to be okay.
Her soldier was home for good . . . and she was going to be perfectly fine.
* * *
Isaac stepped into Grier’s room in his stocking feet and he was careful to shut the door behind himself. Taking the rose out from between his teeth, he smoothed his hair and beat back the feeling that he wished he could have shown up in a tux or something.
But he just wasn’t a tuxedo kind of guy.
He approached his woman and got down on his knees in front of her, watching her laugh, and smiling a little himself. She’d either lost her damn mind or she was glad to see him—and he hoped like hell it was the latter and didn’t care if it was the former as long as she let him stay.
God, she looked good. With nothing but a black silk blouse on and a pair of hose, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—
As she wiped her eyes, he realized she had something in her hand and it wasn’t some sappy-ass flower. It was a foil packed of . . . pills?
Grier clearly tweaked to what he’d focused on, because she stopped laughing and tried to tuck the thing behind herself.
“Wait,” he said, “what is it?”
She took a deep breath, like she was bracing herself. “Why did you come back?”
“What’s up with the pills.”
“You first.” The look in her eyes was dead serious. “You . . . go first.”
Well, now he felt like a fool, but then again, even though all was fair in love and war, there was no place for a man’s pride in that mix, was there.
“I came back to stay, if you’ll have me. I spent the last week . . . taking care of things.” No reason to elaborate on that one, and he was relieved when she didn’t ask. “And I had to do some thinking. I want to go legit. As you’ve said, you can’t change the past, but you can do something about the future. My time with XOps . . . I’m going to carry that burden around with me for the rest of my life—but, and I know this is going to sound bad, I’m a murderer with a clear conscience? I don’t know if that makes sense . . .”
The thing was, though, that notation in his dossier Must have moral imperative hadn’t just been window dressing—and that was the only reason why he could live with not sending himself to prison or the electric chair.
He cleared his throat. “I want to go through my trial for the cage fighting—maybe if I agree to cooperate, I can plead out or something. And then I want to get a job. Maybe in security or . . .”
He’d been hoping to join Jim Heron’s crew, but then again, with Matthias dead, maybe those three had disbanded—although he was never going to know. If Jim hadn’t come to find him by now, he was never going to.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
Isaac froze. Then blinked.
Huh, he thought. Going by the ringing in his ears, someone had apparently just clipped him in the back of the head with a two-by-four.
Which would explain not only the noise but the sudden dizziness as well.
“I’m sorry. . . . What did you say?”
She held up the pills. “I forgot to take them. With all the drama, I just . . . didn’t do it.”
Isaac waited to see if the okay-I’ve-been-boarded sensation returned, and what do you know, that was a hell-yeah.
The aftermath didn’t last, though. A shattering joy beat back the wobbles, and before he knew it, he’d all but jumped on Grier, tackling her onto the mattress in an embrace that brought them bone-to-bone. And promptly horrified him.
“Oh, God, did I hurt you?”
“No,” she said, smiling and kissing him. “No, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
She got an odd, faraway look in her eyes. “Yes, I’m positive. Can we call him Daniel if it’s a boy?”
“We can call him anything. Daniel. Fred. Susie would be tough, but I’d deal.”
There was no more talking after that. He was too busy undressing her and her him, and then they were naked and—
“Fuck . . .” He groaned as he entered her, feeling her tight hold on him and reveling in that warm, slick pressure. “Sorry. . . . I don’t mean . . . to curse. . . .”
Oh, the moving, the glorious moving.
Oh, the glorious future.
He was free at last. And thanks to her, he was in out of the rain, literally.
“I love you, Isaac,” she breathed against his throat. “But harder . . . I need you to go harder. . . .”
“Yes, ma’am,” he growled. “Anything the lady wants.”
And then he proceeded to give her everything he had . . . and everything he was and ever would be.
FB2 document info
Document ID: c952ab9c-10d9-44bb-a27e-668288590fbd
Document version: 2
Document creation date: 11 October 2010
Created using: FB Editor v2.3 software
Document authors :
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