The Baby Clause: A Christmas Romance

by Tara Wylde

  “I don’t understand,” Pearce jibbers. “You’re from DCIS! Why are you talking about them in the third person?”

  Johnston looks at Frey. “I never said we were from DCIS. Did you?”

  “I haven’t said a word since we got here,” Frey says, sounding bored.

  Johnston strolls over to Chance, pulling a key from his jacket pocket and using it to unlock the cuffs.

  “These have served their purpose, I think,” he says.

  As soon as he’s free, Chance grabs me around the waist and pulls me into his arms. I grip his neck fiercely and just hang there, reveling in the warmth of his breath on my neck and his heartbeat next to mine.

  “Care to fill in your side of the story?” Johnston asks.

  Chance grins. “I can’t think of anything that would make me happier.”

  124

  76. CHANCE

  “It’s pretty easy to extrapolate from there,” I say. “Dacosta was the only other person who knew about the plan, which means he was a liability to the Arturo family. I doubt Tony would have let him live much longer, even if they hadn’t lucked into the opportunity to frame me for it.”

  Pearce looks like he’s on the verge of passing out now.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with that,” he croaks. “That was all Arturo!”

  Sara gives him a pitying look. “That much I believe,” she says. “You’re too spineless for wet work.”

  Johnston chuckles.

  “I like her,” he says to me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Me, too. Anyway, they killed two birds with one stone. They got rid of the only person who could hurt them and they framed me in one fell swoop.”

  Johnston flips his notebook closed and tucks it back into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

  “You got anything you want to add to this, Mr. Pearce?” he asks.

  “Who are you?!” he babbles. “What are you doing here? None of this makes any sense!”

  “We’re the people who make sure that people like you and Tony Arturo don’t get away with what you were trying to get away with,” says Johnston. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Tre comes over to me and grabs my hand, pulling me into a hug.

  “Nice work,” I say. “Luckily you’re a good boy who visits his mother. Otherwise, we might not have been able to communicate.”

  Sara blinks at us. “What?”

  “I gave Mom strategic info about what I was doing with Pearce, knowing she’s pass it along to Chance when he visited her,” says Tre. “He did the same to me. It was the only way we could be sure nobody was monitoring the conversation. Mama wasn’t too happy with that last one, but she gave us the benefit of the doubt.”

  “That reminds me,” I say. “I owe her an explanation or I’ll never hear the end of it. We’ll have to come up with something that satisfies her but doesn’t tip over into classified territory.”

  Sara pounds Tre on the shoulder. “You asshole! You really had me going!”

  He grins. “Hey, punch Chance, he was the one who came up with it.”

  She looks at me. “Really?”

  “Yup,” I say, wincing. “Stick to my good shoulder, okay?”

  That’s when I notice Johnston glaring at us. “If you people are done…?”

  “Sorry,” I say. “We’re ready to cooperate in any way you need us.”

  “Absolutely,” says Sara.

  He nods and turns to Quentin. “Now, Mr. Pearce, I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you with us. We have some things we need to talk about.”

  Pearce is hunched over, his breathing ragged. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was suffering the early stages of a panic attack.

  “I’m not going anywhere without my lawyer,” he pants.

  Johnston favors him with a sympathetic smile.

  “I’m afraid you have us confused with the police, Mr. Pearce,” he says. “That’s not us. We’re not going to charge you with anything. We just want to talk.”

  I shudder to think what these guys consider “just talking.” I imagine it has something to do with the room I woke up in earlier.

  Pearce leans over and props his hands on his desk to steady himself.

  “I think I’m having a cardiac event,” he grunts, clutching one hand to his chest.

  Sara is moving toward him before I can stop her.

  “I know CPR,” she says as she reaches the desk.

  “Sara, no!” I say, but it’s too late.

  Pearce slides his other hand out from under the desk with the .45 automatic he pulled from the top drawer.

  “Arturo told me I might need this someday,” he says. “Looks like he was right.”

  125

  77. SARA

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I have fallen for something like that?

  Pearce’s arm is around my neck now, the barrel of the .45 pointed at my temple. He’s suddenly remarkably calm, though, which might work in my favor.

  “Don’t do something you can’t turn back from,” Johnston warns. “You can still get out of this with your life.”

  “You think I haven’t figured out who you are?” he says with odd detachment. “I go with you and suddenly my obituary is running in Forbes. The Empire Group’s head honcho, dead of a heart attack at age forty-five. A cautionary tale about working too hard.”

  “Let her go,” Chance growls, hands up in a surrender gesture. “You need a hostage, take me. I’m the one you hate, not her.”

  “Actually, I pretty much hate you both equally,” he says mildly. “And she’s a lot weaker than you, so I’ll stick with the current arrangement, thanks.”

  I’ll show you weak, you little bastard…

  Frey takes a couple of tentative steps toward us. Pearce responds by pulling back the hammer of the pistol with his thumb.

  Chance looks me in the eye. We both know that proves Pearce knows nothing about the weapon. Cocking the hammer doesn’t make it easier to fire; they just do it in movies for dramatic effect.

  A .45 is a dangerous cannon in the hands of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. One slip and my head could end up erased completely.

  “All right,” says Johnston. “You’re running the show now. You tell me where it goes from here.”

  “I want a helicopter on the roof,” says Pearce. “It will take us to Empire’s private jet at O’Hare, and that will take me to the Maldives.”

  “Where there’s no extradition treaty with the US,” Chance finishes for him.

  “I can be rich anywhere,” he says. “Doesn’t have to be on American soil. And after seeing what passes for the ‘good guys’ here, I’m quite happy to leave it behind.”

  My heart rate is still surprisingly even, despite the situation. I’m able to think rationally, just like Chance is always preaching. An idea comes to me.

  “Speaking of leaving things behind, what do you think Tony Arturo is going to think of you taking off and leaving him hanging out to dry for Dacosta’s murder?”

  That should get him off balance.

  “Perhaps you should shut up about things you don’t understand,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice now. I struck a nerve – he’s scared of Arturo.

  Johnston ends a call on his phone. “We can’t get a helicopter here for an hour,” he says. “It’s logistically impossible.”

  “That’s not good enough,” says Pearce. I wince as he digs the barrel of the .45 into my temple.

  “I can have one here in ten minutes,” Chance says. “The Atlas chopper. I’ll fly it to the airport myself once it gets here. You have the love of my life as a hostage, so you know I’ll cooperate.”

  “Don’t do it, Chance,” he says. “I don’t want to risk you both. Let the Atlas pilot fly them…”

  “No,” says Pearce. “Mr. Talbot is right. He’s exactly who I want as the pilot.”

  Chance looks at Johnston, who shrugs. “It’s as good a plan as any I can come up with.”

 
; Chance gets on the phone with Atlas as Pearce talks to his own pilot, telling him to get the flight plan filed. Johnston is on his phone telling someone to contact O’Hare and tell them to green light the flight plan and clear a helipad for the Pave Hawk.

  Me, I’m just standing here with a gun to my head.

  A few minutes later and the logistics are taken care of. Now we just have to wait.

  “I’m curious,” Pearce says, still strangely calm after his outbursts earlier. “What really did happen with Atlas’s expansion? Where did the money actually come from?”

  “Terrorists,” Chance says simply. “Sully and I came across a terror cell in Mosul that was meeting with a financier from Jordan. He brought cash, we killed them all and took it.”

  Pearce blinks. “You’re joking.”

  “Not at all,” says Johnston. “It was a brilliant plan, and the perfect use for the money. Taking something that could have caused so much death and destruction and using it to help save lives.”

  “You act like you knew it all along,” Pearce scowls.

  “We did,” says Johnston. “We’ve been keeping an eye on our investment ever since.”

  “Wait a minute,” says Chance. “How did you do that? And how did you find out about the money in the first place?”

  Johnston looks at Tre. “You want to tell them, or should I?”

  I look at Chance just as he looks at me. We both look at Tre, our mouths hanging open.

  “What?” Tre says. “You didn’t honestly think I’d let you and Sully do that without reporting it, do you? That’s the kind of secret that gets people killed, Chance. Once I explained it to… well, not these two specifically, but people like them, they agreed to give us some rope. See if we hung ourselves with it.”

  “And you didn’t,” says Johnston. “But it’s obviously in everyone’s best interests to keep that quiet, so Tre got in touch with us as soon as Empire made their offer to buy.”

  I can hear Pearce’s mouth opening and closing beside me, even though I can’t see it.

  “That’s fucking insane,” he says. “You know that, right?”

  I try to keep the conversation going so that Pearce can’t gather his wits.

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “What would you have done if everyone had decided to sell and Empire took over?”

  “We would have approached the new owners,” says Johnston. “Luckily, that didn’t happen, and we didn’t have to deal with Mr. Arturo. That would have been unpleasant to say the least. That’s another one we owe Mr. Talbot and Mr. Carter.”

  “Oh yes, they’re patriots!” Pearce snaps. “Real American heroes, with their lies and secrets! But I’m the villain in all this! It boggles the mind.”

  I can feel the shakiness in his gun arm. He’s getting tired. That’s not good – tired people make mistakes.

  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.

  126

  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.

  127

  79. SARA

  “I have had just about enou
gh 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.