The Baby Race

by Tara Wylde

  Chance’s phone buzzes. “The Pave Hawk is here. Danny Taylor is flying it. I’ll take over once he lands.”

  “Then let’s move,” says Pearce, shoving me forward. “I don’t have time to waste.”

  “How do you plan to explain the gun to everyone in the Empire office that we walk past?” I ask.

  “I won’t have to,” he says, stabbing at a panel on the wall of his office. A few moments later, what appears to be a bookshelf swings open.

  “A private elevator?” I say as he shuffles me inside and waits for Chance to join us.

  “Why bother working so hard to make money if you don’t set yourself above your fellow man?”

  Tre gives us an intense look as the doors begin to slide shut.

  “Good luck,” he says.

  The doors close and Chance’s hand grips mine as the elevator begins its slow climb to the roof.

  115

  78. CHANCE

  “I could just shoot the two of you right now,” Pearce muses as we pass the sixty-fifth floor. “Just poppop and it would all be over.”

  “You wouldn’t make it twenty yards without hostages,” I say, trying to keep him reasonable. It’s our only saving grace here – even though he seems to be rapidly losing his grip, at his core he understands the value of self-interest.

  “Besides,” says Sara. “You wouldn’t have the guts to do it, anyway.”

  My heart skips a beat as I lean in close.

  “You’re not helping,” I whisper.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles. “He’s threatening the man I love. I get a little protective.”

  “You’re also wrong,” says Pearce. “I could shoot you both. The longer I hold the gun, the more comfortable the idea feels.”

  I believe him, and I squeeze Sara’s hand tighter to impress that on her, too.

  Finally, we reach the door to the top stairwell that will take us to the roof. Pearce waggles the gun at us to exit the elevator and then follows us up the stairs. As soon as we step out the door, I see the Pave Hawk idling on the helipad.

  I wave to Daniel, who opens the door and trots toward us under the driving wind from the slowing rotor blades. He takes his helmet off and hands it to me.

  “Here you go, sir,” he shouts, glancing at the .45 in Pearce’s hand. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Actually, there’s been a change of plans,” Pearce says. He turns the gun toward me and fires.

  “Chance!” Sara screams as Pearce yanks her back. “Oh my God, Chance!”

  I feel hot wetness spreading through the meat of my left deltoid as I stumble backwards. Daniel reacts instinctively, rounding on Pearce and reaching for the weapon, but Pearce is too quick.

  “You’re going to be our pilot,” he says. “I’ve decided that Mr. Talbot can go fuck himself.”

  He turns back to me, leveling the pistol for another shot.

  “I’ve also decided that Ms. Bishop – oops! I mean Mrs. Talbot! Silly me! – is coming with me to the Maldives,” he hoots with a manic smile. “Maybe I’ll let her go after I get there. Maybe not. I’ll see how I feel when we land.”

  I strip off my shirt and wad it into a ball to press into my bleeding shoulder. It hurts like a sonofabitch, but I have to focus.

  “This isn’t the deal, Quentin,” I warn. “This is the CIA we’re talking about. You do anything to hurt Sara and there’ll be a hit squad knocking on your front door no matter where you end up.”

  “Who says I’ll hurt her?” he says, backing toward the chopper, Sara in tow. “Maybe I’ll just keep her as a souvenir. A final ‘fuck you’ to Mr. Chance Talbot.”

  Daniel glances at me, unsure what to do. I just nod.

  Then I see the fury in Sara’s eyes and I raise a hand to stop her. I know what she’s capable of, but I don’t want her doing anything that could get her hurt. Or worse.

  I couldn’t stand that. There’s no way I can lose her again.

  I follow at a distance as they reach the helicopter and Daniel takes his seat at the controls. Pearce pulls himself and Sara into the back and sits them down, all the while keeping the gun on me.

  My consciousness takes a momentary catnap and I stagger to one side. Blood loss is having a serious effect on my ability to concentrate. I don’t have much time. I catch Daniel’s eye as he looks over, and I give him a seesaw motion with my hand.

  Pearce leaves the side door open as Daniel lifts the Pave Hawk off the helipad. One hand is pointing the gun at me, the other arm is wrapped around Sara’s throat.

  “It really is a shame,” he shouts over the din. “We could have done amazing things together if you weren’t such a fucking Boy Scout.”

  At that moment, Daniel tips the chopper sharply to the left, pitching Pearce and Sara forward. Just as I’d hoped, Sara takes advantage of the surprise to drive her left fist squarely into his groin. As he doubles over, she breaks free of his grip and leaps down onto the roof, landing in a roll.

  My world shrinks to a single point as I watch Pearce recover his balance and level the gun at her head.

  116

  79. SARA

  “I have had just about enough of you, you stupid bitch!” Pearce screams.

  I look up just in time to see the barrel of the gun pointing down at me. I don’t think of my own death – I think of leaving Chance. Please God, I can’t do that. Not now.

  Suddenly Chance’s body is above me as the world explodes in my ear and my faces is covered in a splash of warmth.

  I stumble and manage to get my footing on the rooftop gravel. As I raise my hands, I can see the crimson stain of blood on them.

  Chance is in the back of the chopper, wrestling with Pearce’s gun hand. I feel my soul shatter as I catch sight of the flood of red on his back. He’s been shot again!

  “Chance!” I shriek, sprinting toward the chopper as Daniel tries to bring it back down.

  The two of them tumble out onto the gravel, Pearce rolling around on top of Chance. I bolt to my left and catch Pearce’s right hand in both of mine, taking control of the .45. A hard yank and it goes flying off to the ground.

  Chance staggers to his feet just as Pearce’s eyes seem to lose all focus in reality. He tackles Chance at a full run and drives him backwards.

  Toward the edge of the roof.

  “NO!” I scream. My legs feel like they’re running in molasses, like I’ll never possibly catch them.

  They stop at the raised lip that surrounds the building’s roof edge. Chance’s bleeding back is shoved against it, making him grimace in pain as he fights off Pearce’s attack.

  “How the mighty have fallen, eh, Chance?” Pearce hollers. “Mighty long way down!”

  He’s absolutely lost it now. I finally reach them and grab Pearce’s right hand in a wrist lock. But his manic state has sparked an almost superhuman strength in him, and he manages to break the hold, sending me stumbling backwards.

  Next thing I know, he has my hair in his fist and he’s yanking me forward toward the edge.

  “Express elevator going down!” he yells.

  I try to keep from stumbling, but the disorientation of having my head yanked keeps me off balance. Suddenly I’m standing on the edge, looking out over the downtown Chicago skyline. Pearce uses my hair to pulls himself up so that he’s standing beside me.

  “Top of the world, Ma!” he hoots.

  He gives my hair one last yank as I grip onto his arm. If I’m going down, by God this fucker is coming with me.

  I feel the world tilt and realize I’m too far forward to make it back. I’m going over the edge. A wave of infinite sadness washes over me.

  I’m sorry, Chance. I’m so sorry.

  Then just as suddenly, I’m flying backwards.

  I open my eyes to see Chance leaning back against the lip, gripping onto the metal flashing for dear life. In his other hand is Pearce’s leg. The rest of Pearce is hanging over the edge upside down.

  “Little help,” Chance grunts as his grip start
s to loosen on the metal.

  I pitch forward and grab his arm, bracing my feet under the lip and heaving backwards with everything I have. Every muscle in my body seems to strain as I grind my teeth together with the effort.

  “Drop him!” I shout. “I can’t hold you both.”

  “AAARRRRRRGGHHH!”

  Chance releases the primal howl of a beast in a trap as he pulls himself forward with his good arm, using my leverage to help him get upright. Once he’s there, I grab his bleeding shoulder and heave backwards.

  As I do, I see Pearce’s flailing body swing over the lip. He lands hard on his back and flops there like a fish on dry land.

  At that moment, Daniel arrives and pulls Pearce up into a chokehold.

  “I’ve got him, sir!” he shouts.

  Chance weaves on his feet as I try to steady his bulk. He’s lost so much blood!

  I sit him down on the gravel and turn to face Daniel and Pearce. My fist makes a satisfying crunch as I thrust it with all my strength into the bridge of Pearce’s nose. He drops to his back, out cold.

  “Ambulance!” I shout. “Now!”

  Daniel sprints over to the helicopter and fires up the radio as I stagger back to Chance. I try to press his sopping wet shirt against his wounds, but there’s so much blood. So much…

  I drop beside him and put my lips to his ear.

  “Don’t you fucking leave me, Chance Talbot,” I sob. “Do you hear me? You are not fucking allowed to leave me again!”

  I feel his palm against my cheek and grab it, holding on for dear life. He turns to place his own lips at my ear.

  “You’re… not the boss… of me,” he husks.

  I can’t help but giggle, which turns into sobs, which turns into giggles again.

  His head is cradled in my arms, my lips against his forehead, as a siren begins to wail in the distance.

  117

  80. CHANCE

  “It always looks awful until you get the blood washed off.” I say. “Then it’s like ‘what was I worried about?’”

  Sara shakes her head. “Easy for you to say: you’re a combat veteran. I’m not used to seeing wounds close up.”

  I point to the screen of the heart monitor hooked up to my chest, showing a nice, steady blip.

  “See? Even the machine says I’m fine.”

  “Two .45-caliber slugs clipped you,” she says in a lecturing tone. “The one in the shoulder could have hit your lung. The one in your ribs could have hit your heart and your lung.”

  “Yeah,” I grin. “But they didn’t.”

  She lets out an exasperated sigh.

  “You’re still the cocky little shit you were in high school, you know that?”

  “I think you’ve got a crush on me.”

  “I’ve got a crush on your money, Bruce Wayne,” she giggles. “Keep getting yourself shot and I’ll be able to cash in and find a nice, normal husband.”

  “It’s a good thing I’ve got that kind of money,” I say. “These private hospital suites don’t come cheap.”

  From the doorway I hear: “Actually, Uncle Sam will pick up the bill for this one. It’s the least we can do.”

  I look over to see Johnston leaning against the door frame with a crooked grin. He’s changed out of the blue suit and into golf chic.

  Sara nods. “Agent.”

  “Ma’am,” he says. “How’s our boy?”

  “I’ll live,” I say. “The real question is how is Pearce?”

  He closes the door behind him carefully and strolls into the room, taking a seat next to Sara beside my bed.

  “Mr. P is currently under sedation and suicide watch at a secure facility.”

  “What’s going to happen to him from there?” Sara asks.

  “Well, assuming he’s cooperative when he finally comes back to reality, we’ll have to set up a believable story, since he’s a something of a public figure. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he’ll have a religious experience, give his personal fortune to charity, and then move to Thailand, where he can rest assured that someone will have a laser sight pointed at his head for the rest of his life.”

  Sara frowns. “So no jail time?”

  “That’s not how this stuff works,” I say. “His silence is a free pass for him. If he goes to jail, he’ll talk. That’s not in anyone’s best interests.”

  She kisses my forehead. “So he gets away with almost killing the man I love.”

  “And the woman I love. We’re just going to have to live with it.”

  “I’d tell you two to get a room,” Johnston smirks. “But you’ve already got one.”

  Sara finally smiles for the first time since he got here.

  “What about Tony Arturo and his nephew?” she asks.

  Johnston’s grin widens.

  “Keep an eye on the news for their names,” he says. “That’s all I’m going to say.”

  He might as well have said watch the obituaries. I don’t know how I feel about that, but it’s not my place to judge these guys.

  “Here’s the big question,” I say. “What about Atlas?”

  “What about it?” he shrugs. “The sale is dead. As soon as you stop getting yourself shot, you should go back to work.”

  “And nothing changes?”

  “Why would it? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

  This is too simple. I haven’t had an opportunity to talk to Tre about it yet – I still can’t believe he managed to liaise with these guys for so long right under my nose – but it seems a little too good to be true.

  “No consequences, then? Sully and I stole millions.”

  Johnston cocks an eyebrow. “From whom? If the answer isn’t the American people, my superiors don’t give a shit. Besides, I think we both know that if the Company had gotten its hands on that money, it would have disappeared into some shitshow that failed miserably and ended up being argued over by a Senate oversight committee.

  “Instead, we got a shining example of compassion and resourcefulness. You can’t buy that kind of good PR.”

  Sara smiles and squeezes my hand.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think things were going to be okay,” she says.

  Johnston stands up and extends his hand. I take it and we shake.

  “That’s beyond my ability to guarantee,” he says. “All I can say is you won’t have any trouble from us.”

  He shakes Sara’s hand and heads for the door.

  “One last thing,” he says, stopping in the doorway.

  “What’s that?” asks Sara.

  “Mazel tov on your wedding.”

  He drops a wink and walks out.

  118

  81. SARA

  “Can we make each other a promise?” I ask.

  I’m snuggled into Chance’s good shoulder in the hospital bed. His private suite actually has a double bed, complete with remote control. It also smells like lavender instead of antiseptic, which is nice. Having money is really cool.

  “Anything,” he says.

  “That we’ll always tell each other the truth from now on. About everything. Is that possible?”

  He squeezes my shoulder with his good arm and kisses my forehead.

  “Yes,” he says. “Definitely.”

  “I can’t help but think that honesty would have saved us a lot of heartache over the years,” I say. “It all started with me not telling you about my mom that night I sent you away. Who knows what would have happened if I’d just told you the truth? We wouldn’t have lost fifteen years together.”

  “Hey, I’m just as much to blame,” he says. “I should have given you the benefit of the doubt that night. But I took off instead and never looked back. I’ll always regret that.

  “But that’s in the past. I’m sorry for not letting you in on my plans this past week. If I had, I probably wouldn’t be lying here with these new entries in my scar collection.”

  I nod. “And I wish you’d told me you had your lawyers make me a par
tner in all your financials. That definitely would have helped me believe that you really did love me.”

  He chuckles softly. “Christ, what a pair we are. How did we go from being each other’s whole world as kids to distrusting each other so much?”

  I think about it for a second. “I listened to other people, for one thing. I should have just listened to what my heart was telling me the whole time. I won’t that mistake again.”

  He sighs. “Reset?”

  I hold up a pinky finger. He wraps his around it.

  “Reset,” I say.

  We lie there silently for several minutes. My mind wanders to my work – it’s the first time I’ve had a moment to actually think about it for what seems like forever, even though in reality it’s been less than a month.

  I’ve got a couple of active cases. And, thanks to Pearce, enough money to run the place for a year, now that I don’t have to draw a salary anymore.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Chance whispers.

  “Just thinking about Monday morning,” I say. “Going back to work.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he says. “What if Atlas were to buy Bishop & Associates?”

  I prop myself up on my elbow to look him in the eye.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Why not? You and Grace do important work that aligns with the Atlas principles. It just makes sense to have them under the same umbrella. Imagine what you could accomplish with our resources.”

  I can’t stop imagining it.

  “That would be… incredible,” I say.

  “I’ll talk to the board. Have to tell them about the deal going south, anyway. Might as well give them some good news while I’m at it.”

  That’s another thing I never considered through this whole crazy rollercoaster ride: the Sullivans.

  “What are you going to tell them about Pearce?”

  He shrugs. “That he’s in a psychiatric ward after a nervous breakdown. In the end, he was a gibbering paranoiac with delusions. Everything he told them was a fantasy.”

  “Very convenient,” I nod. “Pearce did a lot of our work for us.”