by Isabel Jolie
The men all nod. I count four guns.
“What are you guys up to down here?”
“Shooting the shit. That’s not illegal, is it?” He rests his hand on the butt of the gun in his holster. “Agent?”
My fingers curve around my own gun. I scan the perimeter for Connor. I hear footsteps shuffle.
The familiar man smirks.
Agent Connor steps around the van, hands held high.
I whip out my gun and aim it at Mr. Familiar. “We’re FBI. Do you have any idea what you are doing?”
The barrel of a gun appears next to Connor’s head, aimed directly into his ear.
“Here’s how this is going to play out. The two of you are going to climb in this van, and we’re all going to drive out of here. Together. Like one big, happy family. Got it?”
Agent Connor’s facial muscles are frozen; only the movement of his pupils reveal his heightened awareness. If we weren’t outnumbered, he would have already fought the guy behind him.
With my gun still high, finger on the trigger, I take one step to the side, my gaze locked on Mr. Familiar. He’s the leader here.
Garrick Carlson stands behind Connor. His head reaches the base of Connor’s neck.
“Be a good girl. Drop the gun so I don’t have to blow out your partners brains and ruin a perfectly good sports coat.”
Mr. Familiar raises his gun. From this angle, I can take out Carlson. But Mr. Familiar would shoot before I have time to take him out.
A siren breaks the silence.
Mr. Familiar glances back.
“Cops,” one of the men grunts.
“Get in the car. Let’s go.”
Mr. Familiar steps backward, his gun trained on me as he backs up to the driver side of the sedan.
I keep my gaze and gun trained on his chest. Three men pile into the back seat. One taps the front. “Let’s go.”
Connor flies face forward onto the pavement.
Garrick’s barrel points directly to me.
I keep my gun on the driver.
He ducks into his car and cranks it, and only then do I aim at Garrick.
Cold, sinister eyes glare back at me.
“Get the fuck in,” one of his buddies growls.
Garrick leers as he slides into the passenger seat.
The car squeals forward before the passenger door has closed.
I drop to one knee and fire.
The car squeals forward.
Sparks fly.
I pull the trigger. The back windshield shatters.
Pull. Pull.
The car angles up the ramp.
I sprint forward, aiming at the tires.
One hubcap clangs on the concrete.
Additional shots ring out as Connor shoots, too.
The sedan disappears.
“Did you get plates?”
Connor nods. “There’s blood on the concrete.”
My vision clouds. In slow motion, I step to the far side of the van.
A siren blares through the garage. Flashing lights dance on cinder blocks.
Agent Connor stands to the side of the van door.
I raise my gun.
The van door slides open.
Chase. Eyes shut. One chest wound.
I place my gun in the holster.
Agent Connor shouts, “Call an ambulance!”
He takes off.
Shaking, I crawl into the van.
My finger vibrates as I press it to Chase’s neck.
Sirens flood the garage.
I press. And press. Into his cool skin. A faint, too faint, pulse.
I push back his blazer. Searching. One more bullet. In the shoulder. Of all days, he’s wearing a white button down. Bright red seeps through the cloth, spreading.
I wrap my arms around him. On the garage floor. I can do CPR.
A pressure on my shoulder pulls me back.
“We’ve got him. Back up.”
The paramedic lifts him out and onto a gurney.
One of the paramedics holds two fingers against Chase’s throat. Everything fades out as I focus on the paramedic’s reaction. Is there a pulse?
The men rush to the back of the ambulance and hoist the bed. I follow.
One paramedic works on Chase. The other jumps out the back.
“You can’t ride.”
I flash my badge. “FBI.”
He squints, hesitating for half a second, then closes both doors and jumps into the driver’s seat.
The paramedic’s focus is one hundred percent on Chase. He’s hooking him up to machines, getting his IV ready, removing his shirt. Preparing him for surgery. Should they get him to the hospital in time.
He must have been shot close range. There’s a chance the bullets went straight through. Blood drenches the white cot. So. Much. Blood.
Come on, Chase. Stay with me.
Thirty-Three
Chase
“Okay. So. Motivational quotes. I’m going to read some to you. My dad, he liked motivational quotes. Fun fact. So does the FBI. Military, too. Stay Strong. Never Give Up.”
I drift. Sydney’s voice. Talking.
“The last guy I dated never asked to see a photo of my family. We dated for years.”
My eyelids are heavy.
“If I were to score myself, I’d get top marks on every aspect of my life except the personal quadrant.”
Sydney’s voice is low. Her warmth surrounds my fingers. Mechanical beeps echo, louder than Sydney. I mean…Sadie. It’s Sadie. My eyelids are weighted.
“I suck at relationships. They aren’t easy for me. With you, it’s different. You make me laugh and not take things so seriously. All those years of being so competitive, of focusing on only the goal, I forgot… You know, I never wanted to be like my parents. Dedicating their whole lives to their country, at any cost. I always said I didn’t want that, that I wouldn’t be that, and then what did I do? I fought hard to join the FBI. Because I believed the FBI is better than the CIA. But if you give them your whole life, it doesn’t really matter who you’re giving it to. And at the end of the day, that choice is on you. Did I ever tell you that I don’t even know for sure who my mom works for? It’s true. I don’t believe for a minute that she’s only a professor.”
Her warmth surrounds my hand and travels along my wrist.
“I hated my life growing up. It felt so lonely. We moved a lot. I worked so hard for good grades, to learn new languages, to improve my aim. Anything to win approval from one of them. All that hard work, all my training in Quantico. And I still missed it. I didn’t fully understand how much danger you were in. I didn’t have all the pieces, all of the connections. I should’ve pushed for WITSEC. I should’ve pushed for safety. To keep you safe. And because I screwed up… I’ll probably never have the courage to say this to you when you’re awake, but I’ve fallen hard for you. I think I love you. You have to be okay. You have to pull through this. You don’t have to be with me, but you have to be okay. I can’t be the reason you die.”
I curl my fingers, attempting to squeeze her hand. I strain to lift my eyelids.
“Chase. Did you move your fingers? Are you?” There’s a movement beside me and warmth on my forehead.
“Nurse…nurse.”
My eyelids finally function, and I blink, taking in my surroundings. A thin blue blanket covers me. An IV is taped to the back of my hand. A plastic tube and wires. I yank.
“Chase? You’re in the hospital.”
A man in navy scrubs hovers over me. He removes my fingers from the wires. I assume he’s the nurse. Fitting. Just my luck. A male nurse. He shines a bright white light into each of my pupils and checks stats on some of the machines near my bed.
“How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”
My mouth feels like someone stuffed it with cotton balls, and my throat burns. I point at the source of discomfort, and in a weak voice I don’t recognize, manage to respond, “Water.”
Sadie pours water fro
m a nearby pitcher into a clear plastic cup and silently asks his permission to give it to me.
“He can have some. A little to start. I’ll bring in ice chips. You are a very lucky man, Mr. Maitlin.”
Sadie holds the cup to my mouth, and her soulful mahogany irises glisten. Somehow, for some reason, she loves me.
“Your shoulder is probably going to be quite sore. We had to operate to remove the bullet. The bullet that went through your chest narrowly missed your heart. It did travel through the top portion of your kidney, but fortunately, the kidney is an organ that will repair itself. The surgeon will be by to visit you in the morning and can answer any questions you may have.”
“Time?”
“It’s a little after six a.m.,” he tells me as he writes on a clipboard then updates a whiteboard on the wall.
“Your parents were here. Your dad made your mom go home to rest. But she wouldn’t leave until the doctor assured her you’d be okay.”
“You…stayed?”
“Yes.” A tear escapes, and she wipes it with her fingers. The whites of her eyes are tinged pink.
“Hey,” I wheeze to her.
“I’ll be back with that ice. If you need anything, we’re right outside. If you start to feel pain, let us know. It’s important we stay ahead of your pain, so don’t wait until it’s so intense you can’t stand it. Okay? You know what, I’m going to go ahead and give you some more pain meds through the IV now. But if you need more, let us know.”
I don’t look away from Sadie, but I nod to let the man know I heard him.
Sadie lifts my hand from the bed and wraps both of her hands around it.
The nurse steps out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
“Your parents will be back this morning. Oh, I should text them to tell them you’re awake. You weren’t in a coma or anything, but they’ll be relieved to know you’re awake. Oh, my god, Chase, when you were in surgery, I was so scared. There was so much blood.” Her voice waffles as she chokes on tears.
“Hey.” I aim for soothing but sound more like an injured toad. My eyelids are heavy, and sleep beckons. The world is drowsy and hazy. “I love you, too.”
“You heard me?”
“You’re amazing,” I slur. Not at all sure what she sees in me, but… “I’ll try.”
My throat burns, and she holds the cups to my parched lips and lets me drink more.
“What are you going to try?” she asks after she places the cup of water down and clasps my hand again, warming it. I shiver. It’s freezing.
“Gonna try for you.”
“Did you hear everything I said?”
I blink.
“All of it?” she asks, her voice low and timid.
“Say it…again. Need to hear it. Over and over.”
“I can do that.”
“Sade?”
“Yeah?”
“None of this…your fault.”
The room goes black as I drift.
I open my eyes, and daylight shines brightly in the room. My parents sit in two chairs against the wall, and Sadie’s head rests on the end of the bed near my feet, her arm looped over the bottom of my legs.
My mom rises, a finger over her lips. “She was asleep when we got here. We decided to leave her. Are your legs okay? Do we need to move her?”
I shake my head and mouth, “Water.”
A nurse comes in as my mom lifts a tiny blue plastic cup to my lips. Another male nurse in scrubs. What hospital did I end up in?
Sadie stretches and lifts her head. I can tell from her grimace her neck muscles hurt.
“Oh, honey, you’re awake. Do you have a crick in your neck? I imagine you do. Why don’t you go on home and get a shower? You’ll feel so much better.”
Jesus, Mom. “Mom. This is Sadie. My girlfriend.” My throat crackles.
My dad gets out of his seat and drapes his arm around my mom’s shoulder. “Abby, your boy is telling you to back off.”
“I’m not doing anything. What do you mean? You back off. This is my son.”
“Abs.” It’s Dad’s name for Mom when he’s aiming for tender and non-confrontational.
“It’s okay,” Sadie interrupts. “She’s right. I probably should get a shower.”
“Why don’t you stay while we get coffee, then you can leave? He just woke up. When we get back here, then you can take a break. We can cover in shifts. How’s that sound?” My dad looks to me, and I nod, grateful.
The male nurse seems oblivious to the discussion as he fiddles with gadgets and updates the clipboard.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks the moment there’s a break in conversation.
I take stock. I feel like hell. “Been better,” I offer.
He grins. My mom hovers nearby. Sadie weaves her fingers between mine.
“Your doctor will be in shortly. When he clears you, I’ll bring in lunch.”
“We’ll be back in a few,” my dad says, guiding my mom to the door.
“We won’t be long,” Mom calls.
The doctor comes by and checks all the things the nurse did. “How’s the pain level?” he asks.
“High?” I offer.
“I’ve always heard it hurts like hell to get shot,” Sadie says as she gently squeezes my hand.
“Well, you know, not that bad,” I say, full of bravado, ’cause, you know, she’s my girl and all.
Thank god the doctor ignores me.
“I’m going to give you more pain meds through the IV. Then, later in the day, we’ll start lowering the amount. Stop giving you pain meds through the IV. Switch you to pills.”
After giving me a doctor once-over, he leaves the room and pulls the door closed.
Sadie perches on the edge of my bed. She lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses it. Some of what she said before comes back to me.
“Hey, Sadie?”
“Yeah?”
“You couldn’t have possibly known. You’re not responsible for what happened. You get that, right?”
She lifts her shoulders and kisses my knuckles one by one. “I like your parents.”
“Yeah, they’re something else, huh?”
“They are. You’re lucky to have them.”
“I am.”
“Your mom invited me over for brunch. And to go shopping too.”
“Good. Brunch is good. I recommend you skip the shop.” She laughs, but she’s never been shopping with my mother. Some women might be all in, but Sadie can fit all her shoes in one box. She has no idea what a shopping expedition is.
“Garrick’s dead.” Her lips are downturned, as is her gaze.
“How?”
“Bullet wound. Found his body near the garage. Where we found you.”
“And the others?”
She shrugs. “We’ll find them.” She rubs her thumb across my knuckles. In a brighter tone, she changes the subject. “I’m looking forward to getting to know your parents.”
I squeeze her hand until she raises her gaze from our joined hands and looks at me. “What you said about your parents? Not being like them? That’s what I can give to you.”
“You remember?”
“Keep you balanced. I’ll do that.” At least, I think I say that. My eyelids are so heavy. Once again. But I know she’s still there. At my bedside. Holding my hand.
Who says the short guy doesn’t get the Bond girl?
“What did you say?” I hear her ask.
“The short guy. Got the Bond girl.”
Her lips press to mine, and the warmth of her breath flutters along my ear as she teases, “Not a Bond girl. But when you’re up for it, if you ever want to role play, you just let me know.”
And with that, I drift into the absolute best dreamland.
Thirty-Four
Sydney
Three months later
Jury selection has begun for McLoughlin’s court case in Chicago. He’s all over the news. The current issue of Vogue magazine features his wife with the headline, “S
tanding by Her Man.” In the article, she waxes poetic about what an amazing man he is and about the dangers of witch hunters hounding those who choose a career in politics. Thin, sparkly, gold bracelets from her new jewelry line debuting this fall decorate her wrists and, of course, somehow, the interview veered to talking about her new business endeavors. I read it on the subway this morning then dumped it in the nearest recycling can.
Here in New York, jury selection starts next week for Tom Bennett and Evan Mitchell’s trials. BB&E isn’t one of the top accounting firms, and no one really cares what happens to a few guys who falsely inflated revenues, hid losses, or laundered money. People do tend to care about men who scam a cancer research charity. A Wall Street Journal reporter coined the term “The Stanford Six” in his article describing how six friends from Stanford University benefited from charity funds over the prior fifteen years. It wasn’t long before the term dominated headlines. Senator McLoughlin is included in the alumni list, but awareness of this fact seems to be low. We are hopeful the media coverage won’t make jury selection too challenging.
Turns out the whole scam started years ago as basic cronyism, awarding advantages to friends. McLoughlin would help his buddies get a contract through his government connections. They, in turn, would contribute significantly to his charity. It seems the first time the charity bought a property at an inflated value from the Chicago Real Estate Group, the firm was in danger of going under. Then they must have realized how much money they could make.
Within a year, McLoughlin’s charity began funding research projects from South Fork Research. Around that time, Elijah “EJ” Mason founded Medical Supply Co., and South Fork Research and McLoughlin’s charity became their biggest clients. It’s not clear from the paper trail how many of these deals were merely overpriced transactions and how many were real, because somewhere along the line, the friends had begun laundering money for the mafia via Joe McGurn.
Joe McGurn identified additional business opportunities. Within a month of creating Biohazard Waste Disposal, the firm won contracts with not only South Fork Research but also Tovan Hospital Group, the biggest hospital group in the midwest. Some of the work was fully legitimate, but prices were always high, and the CEOs involved were always taking an undisclosed cut. McLoughlin’s charity, back in the day, did donate to cancer research, but almost twelve years ago, the company began redirecting funds to McLoughlin’s election campaigns and to supporting McLoughlin’s closest friends. They probably could have continued without garnering attention, except they got greedy. The real estate deals in areas where nothing would sell started to generate attention. When a company expressed interest in acquiring South Fork Research, the group decided to inflate revenue to drive the acquisition price up.
