by Mia Madison
“Mother. Do you remember what you told me when I was twelve? The day Tabby and Ben both got sick, and I was the only one home?”
She stares into her cup of coffee like it’s a scrying bowl. “That you were the most mature, most adult child I’d ever known.”
“I haven’t regressed. I’m not less mature now than I was then.”
“I know you’re not. I just thought—”
“I think you thought this was something you could fix. Because that’s what you do, Mother. You fix things. You make them better. And this situation had you feeling helpless.”
Her hand covers mine; regret is written across her features. “You’re right. And I’m sorry, Juliet. I hope you and—” she takes a deep breath— “and Nico can work things out.”
I give her hand a squeeze. There’s no point telling her it was already over. “Dad.”
“Sweetie, I don’t have any right to police your life. But I love you, and I want you to be happy. Does he make you happy? Is he good to you?”
Now I’m going to cry. I love my dad. I love my mom, too, but Dad and I have a different relationship. “He does, and he is,” I say, my voice thick with unshed tears, because it was true when we were together.
He says to my mother, “I think we’re done here.”
“Yes.” She pulls herself together and puts on her game face. “We can drop you off on the way to the airport.” Our chairs scrape back as we get up and go outside, into the bright spring morning.
There’s a white SUV idling at the curb. A man comes around the back end of it with a ski mask over his head and a gun in his hand.
I’m the target. I shove my mother sideways, out of the line of fire, as he comes at me. People around me are shouting, screaming, running away.
The gun is pointed right at my midsection. Point-blank range. For a second, the two of us are frozen, trapped in a morbid tableau.
Then he swings the weapon at my head, and the last thing I feel is pain radiating through my skull.
12
I’m Not Waiting
I’m in my garage, beating up a punching bag, furious at the world. At Senator North. At myself.
I never should have let her go. I had my head up my ass, thinking I was doing the right thing. The only possible thing.
I was wrong. Juliet should be here, where I can keep her safe.
She should be with me.
I rain down vicious blows on the bag, one rapid-fire strike after another, until its tether snaps and it falls to the cement floor, bouncing as my chest heaves, my body soaked with sweat.
My bed feels like a stranger’s; my heart feels hollow. My home doesn’t feel like a home anymore. Not without her in it.
The truth finally hits me, and I almost fall on my ass with the force of it.
I’m in love with Juliet North. With her strength and her smarts and her sass, her warmth and generosity and all-around badassery.
I don’t just want her in my bed; I need her in my life.
Fuck Rafael. Fuck Senator North. Fuck the whole world, if it doesn’t want us to be together.
I’ll find her. Tell her. Convince her to give us another chance.
I’m powering through the house to get dressed, a man on a mission, when there’s a frantic knocking at the front door. I fling it open to find Senator North, her eyes wild with panic. “What’s going on?” I snap. “Where’s Juliet?”
“He took her.”
For one terrible instant, fear and rage tear me in two. I’m ready to burn down the world, and then ice coats my veins. “One man?”
“Yes. One is all I saw.”
I leave the door open and head to my room, dressing with brutal efficiency, grabbing my gun. No time for a shower. I’m back in the living room thirty seconds later. “Can you describe the vehicle?”
In answer, she holds out her cell phone. She got several photos of a white SUV as it sped away. They’re blurry, clearly taken from a prone position rather than standing, but part of the license plate is visible.
Senator North is far from my favorite person, but right now I could kiss her. “How many minutes ago?” I ask as I pull out my own phone and call the office.
“About ten. I’m sorry; I should have called. I could have messaged you the photos. I just …” Her clothes are disheveled; she’s pale, shaking.
“Where’s your husband?”
“Back at the scene. With the police.” Her eyes are full of desperate pleading and sick fear.
“He had a gun. I thought he was going to … but then he hit her on the head and shoved her in the vehicle.”
Enzo answers the phone. I give him everything I’ve got in terse op-speak and end the call. “I have to go,” I tell the senator. “Can you get yourself back there?”
She nods once. “Mr. Adamo … Nico. Do you love my daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Find her. Please.”
Her face crumples as I stride to my vehicle.
Enzo calls me back as I head out. He’s got the location from the police scanner and tells me which way the vehicle was headed. “Any luck tracing it?” I ask.
“It’s registered to an Emilia Lopez.” He rattles off the address, and I whip my car around and head that way. Five minutes later, I screech into the driveway of a pretty house.
I don’t bother knocking. A quick peek through the windows to make sure there’s not a situation inside, and then I try the door, which is unlocked.
The young woman inside leaps to her feet when I storm in, the blood draining from her face. “Go away. I’ll call the police.”
“I’m working with the police.” An almost-truth to cut through the bullshit. “You own a white SUV?”
“Yes.” A whisper.
“Who’s driving it?”
“I don’t—”
“He’s abducted a young woman. He has a gun. You’re an accessory to a crime.” She lets out a horrified cry. “Who’s driving the vehicle, Ms. Lopez?”
“Phillip. Phillip Fletcher.”
The head of the accounting department at Powell Construction.
“Where would he take her?” I’m towering over her and she’s terrified, but I don’t have time for finesse. “Vacation properties, favorite getaways, anything like that.”
Two minutes later, I’m climbing back in my car when Enzo calls me. “No sign of the vehicle; they think he got out of the city. Everyone but me is out looking for her.”
“He owns a cabin by the lake. About an hour’s drive from here.” I give him the address.
“The FBI’s all over this because of the senator’s involvement. What do you want me to tell them?”
“Tell them anything you want, but I’m not waiting.”
“I’m sending Rafe and the others as backup. Be careful.”
13
Persuasive Techniques
My head hurts. The throbbing at my temple, where he hit me, makes me worry that he did real damage. I do my best to ignore the pain.
After I came to, Mr. Fletcher kept a gun pointed at me the whole way here. Now I’m tied to a chair, in a rough cabin somewhere in the woods, and he’s pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Which I guess he is.
And a cornered animal will do almost anything.
“Can we talk about this?” I say in a soft, quiet voice.
“Shut up.” He doesn’t stop moving.
I can guess what’s going through his mind. He planned to shoot me, back there at the café, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow through. Except he doesn’t see any way out of his predicament that doesn’t involve getting rid of me, so now he’s trying to firm up his resolve.
If he manages to convince himself that killing me is his only option, he’ll do it. He’s desperate enough. I have to persuade him there’s a better way.
Because I have to tell Nico I love him before I die.
All the way here, with the barrel of a gun in my peripheral vision, I thought about the things that matter. The people wh
o matter. And seen in the light of my imminent demise, everything became very clear.
I’d want to tell my family I love them one more time. They already know, but I’d want to tell them anyway. But I’ve never said it to Nico.
I don’t want to die without telling him he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. No matter what his response is.
“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” I say to Mr. Fletcher.
“I said shut up.”
“You just found yourself in an impossible situation.” His eyes skitter my way, but he doesn’t speak. “There has to be a solution that won’t land you in even worse trouble. We’re good at analytical thinking, you and I. Please, let me help you.”
“Do you think I haven’t thought it through already? From every possible angle?”
“I’m sure you have. But you know how it is when you’re too close to a situation; there may be options that haven’t occurred to you.” I keep my tone calm and reasonable. “Have a seat, and let’s talk about it.”
He doesn’t sit; he points the gun at me. “You’re not in charge here.”
I have to look away, because I’m not brave enough to stare down the barrel of a gun. “I know that.” It’s instinctive to placate the trapped animal, to try to make him feel less threatened. “You have all the power here.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s just … well, you know who my mother is, right?” He doesn’t answer. “You haven’t done anything really bad, not yet. I’d hate to see you get into real trouble.”
Still no answer, but he’s lowered the gun. “Because, you know, with my mother … if anything happened to me, it wouldn’t be one of those cases that eventually goes away and everyone forgets about it.
“She’d make sure that never happened. And the FBI, well, they’re kind of like a dog on a bone with cases like this. They’d never stop hunting.”
He’s not looking at me, but he’s listening. “So it’s really important that I come out of this unharmed, because anything else is going to make everything exponentially worse. Not for me, but for you.”
I have no idea if I’m doing this right, but at least I’m stalling him. And I hope I’m swaying him toward the view that killing me is his most-bad option, not his least-bad one.
The FBI will be looking for me by now. And so will Nico. If my mother didn’t tell him, he or Rafe or somebody will have gotten it off the police scanner.
The feds have decades of experience with this kind of thing. But Nico … is Nico. And he’s local, with contacts the FBI can’t access.
Even if he doesn’t want to be with me, he won’t want me hurt. He’ll come for me.
“Who’d you tell about the invoices?”
My heart jolts. “No one. I barely even saw them before they were gone. It wasn’t enough time for me to really understand what I was looking at.” Not entirely true, but it’s probably better if he thinks I’m not in a position to meaningfully testify against him.
“My mother won’t want the publicity,” I go on. “She’ll want to handle things quietly. If you bring me in, we’d argue for leniency.”
So not true. My mother will be in mama bear mode and want him strung up by his balls. I’m spinning a fantasy.
“There can’t be any actual evidence about what happened with my car, or they would have arrested you already, right? So there’s just this one thing that happened today; and if you bring me back, you can say it was stress or something, that you just had a temporary episode. I bet they wouldn’t even charge you.”
More bull, telling him what I hope he wants to hear, to make him believe that everything will be okay. That he’ll escape largely unscathed.
Unfortunately, my reasonable-sounding scenario doesn’t work on a mind that’s already cracking at the edges. “No,” Mr. Fletcher says, and points the gun at me again. “We can’t involve the police. I’ll lose my job. I’ll be ruined.”
“Mr. Fletcher—”
“Shut up!” He’s almost frothing at the mouth now. “I’ll hide your body in the woods. I know where. They’ll never find you. They’ll never be able to prove anything.”
His hand starts to press the trigger. I squeeze my eyes shut, open my heart, and try to beam it across space. I love you, Nico. I love you.
The bang is so loud it deafens me. I flinch, but don’t feel any pain. Am I dead?
Big, warm hands cradle my face. My eyes fly open. Nico’s kneeling in front of me.
I’m so glad to see him that I try to throw myself into his arms, but I’m still tied to the chair. My movement tips it forward, and he has to catch it and stand me upright again. His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear the words.
He produces a knife from somewhere, and seconds later he’s cut me free. I fall forward again, and this time he hauls me against him, his hand on the back of my head, his face buried in my neck. We stay like that, kneeling together on the floor, and gradually sounds start to filter in.
Footsteps. Voices. I lift my head from Nico’s shoulder, and the first thing I see is Mr. Fletcher lying on the floor with blood all over him.
Someone shot him instead of him shooting me. I don’t want to know the details; I just want to get out of here.
Nico raises his head when I touch his face. The raw emotion in his eyes stuns me. “Do you need to stay here?” My voice is a croak that I can barely hear; my ears still aren’t working right. “Or can we go?”
“We can go, baby.” He helps me stand, putting himself between me and Mr. Fletcher as we go out. The clearing around the cabin is full of vehicles; when we reach his SUV, he pulls out his phone and makes a call.
“Senator,” he says, and hands the phone to me. He’s made it a video call, so my mother and I can see each other’s tear-stained faces.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, baby.” She tries to say something else, then puts a hand to her mouth and gives her phone to my dad. He’s crying too. He doesn’t even try to speak, just blows me a kiss.
“We’ll see you soon,” Nico says, and ends the call as a man comes out of the cabin. His suit and haircut mark him as FBI. He looks from me to Nico.
“Later,” Nico says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “I’m taking her to her parents now.”
There’s a pause while the agent considers trying to throw his weight around. He wisely decides against it, nods, and goes back inside. Nico gets me into the SUV and reverses so we can get back on the rutted dirt road that leads back down the mountain.
As soon as the car’s in drive, he takes my hand and holds it against his thigh. His eyes are on the road, and he’s not talking, but there’s a familiar set to his jaw. “I need to tell you something,” I say.
“Juliet—”
“Just listen, please.” When he falls silent, I go on. “I’m telling you this because it’s true, not to get any particular response from you. Okay? I just need to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“When Fletcher took me, and I thought I was going to die—” His hand tightens around mine. “My only regret was not telling you I love you.”
“Jules.” His voice is rough.
“You don’t have to say it back; it doesn’t even matter if you feel that way, or what happens with us going forward. I just had to tell you, because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’ll always be glad I met you.”
Nico pulls off to the side of the road. He clears his throat, then lifts my hand to his lips and holds it there for a long moment. Finally, he says, “Damn, girl. You stole my thunder.”
“What?”
“Before I got the word about Fletcher, I’d already decided I wasn’t letting you go.”
“You’d decided,” I repeat. Sunshine and bubbles start to fill my chest.
“Uh-huh.” He gives me a patented Nico smile, gentle and impish at the same time. “Just had to get you on board.”
“Well.” I try to sound like I still need to be won over. “Maybe later, you can demonst
rate some of the persuasive techniques you had in mind.”
“I love you, Juliet.”
Just like that, I’m ugly crying. “I love you too.”
“You’re moving in with me.”
“I already live with you.”
“For real, princess.” A pause. “Do you like dogs?”
“I love dogs.”
“Let’s get a dog.”
“Okay.”
He puts the car back in gear. We bump on down the mountain under a shady canopy of trees; but inside the car, everything’s golden.
Epilogue
“Not yet,” I tell Jet. “Just a little longer.” He thumps his tail entreatingly against the mesh fabric of his crate, which sits against the wall of the living room where I’m reading a book.
We got him at the local shelter and, judging from the size of his paws, he’s a mix between a black Labrador and a pony. He’s just a puppy, and while his training is coming along really well, there are still occasional accidents.
“Nico will be here in five minutes,” I explain. “Then we can go.” He understands the w-a-l-k word, and the o-u-t word, so I don’t use those unless they’re about to happen.
He lays his head on his paws and sighs, looking totally adorable and forlorn. It’s a good thing Nico and I both have willpower, or our furry child would be a terror.
It must feel like an eternity to Jet, but it’s not long before I hear Nico’s Harley outside, and then he comes in, peeling off his leather jacket. He’s been out on a ride with his friend Rick and some of the other local MC guys.
“Hi, babe.” He leans down to kiss me, and Jet whines. “Everything good?”
“Yes, except that Jet is very eager for his w-a-l-k..”
“Hey, buddy.” Nico kneels down by the crate. “Want to go for a walk?”
Jet’s excited barking is loud enough to be heard in the next county. Nico grabs the harness and leash from their peg on the wall and opens the crate, to be hit by a wiggling, ecstatic bundle of love. “Okay, boy. Down, Jet. Sit.”
