by Amy Gamet
Daniels stood, his arms outstretched. “Let her go.”
“I filled out those papers for you to file. You betrayed me.” Summer grabbed at his hands around her neck but the old man was clearly winning their battle of strength.
“I was wrong. What I did was wrong,” said Daniels. “I took the patents and I rewrote them with my name. The copyrights. Everything.”
Holy shit.
Luke watched Summer’s face. She still didn’t believe it. Her father was crying and doubt firmly took root in Luke’s mind. Was it possible her father had actually wronged this man years earlier, and all of this was retribution for that act?
Walsh stood, regal with his white hair blowing in the wind. He dropped his hand from Summer’s throat. “How could you do it? I was your friend!”
Summer’s father hung his head. “You weren’t well, John. Not for years before that. But when Jenny died, you blamed the CIA, claiming they’d poisoned her.”
Walsh slammed his fist on the picnic table. “They did!”
Daniels looked around, his eyes landing on Luke’s. “He believed the United States government was out to get him. He didn’t want his discoveries used in the space program. He wanted to give them to Russia. He’d lost touch with reality. If the patents had been in his name, he would have used them to support the other side.”
Daniels leaned heavily on the table as he moved to Walsh. “You were a danger to yourself by that point, John, and to Steven, too. You were already lost to us, but we were losing the boy, too.”
Walsh dropped to the bench seat.
“Jacques and I talked,” said Daniels. “We came up with a plan. I filed the patents under my own name, and Jacques had you committed to the mental institution.”
“What gave the right to do that?”
“It was for your own good, John.” Daniels seemed to be pleading with an old friend as much as explaining what happened.
“It wasn’t your call to make.”
“The Cuban Missile Crisis had just gone down! This was no joke. These empty silos weren’t empty then. They were loaded and ready to launch at a moment’s notice. We were waiting on World War III and we had a responsibility to protect the greater good.”
“You took away my freedom!”
“Yes. Your freedom for the lives of countless others.”
Acceptable loss.
Luke’s eyes met Summer’s across the way. She was crying.
“I’m tired and I want to go home,” said Walsh. “I miss Jenny.”
Daniels reached out his hand, and to Luke’s surprise, Walsh took it. “I’m tired too, old friend,” said Daniels.
“Don’t let them take me away this time.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
The men sat together in silence. Mac moved next to Luke. “I think we’re done here.”
“Yeah.”
A distant call came from the woods. “Police!”
The men put their weapons down as the local sheriff’s deputies took over the situation. Summer’s father told them everything he’d done to Walsh. “You should bring me to jail. I deserve to be punished for what I did.”
The sheriffs looked at each other, the younger of the two men belatedly pulling out a pair of handcuffs and snapping them on the old man.
Summer stood staring as they drove away, seemingly in deep thought. “Are you okay?” asked Luke.
She shook her head. “No.”
He opened his arms and she leaned into him. “I’m sorry, Summer.”
“For what?”
“For loving you. For leaving. For everything that’s happened, and because I’m not coming back.”
She nodded. “I know.” She let him go, holding his hands in hers. “I just wanted to say goodbye.” She went on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead, then turned and walked away.
33
The first taste of bourbon after so many months without it is like food after months of fasting, only better. Food makes your body full. Satiated. But bourbon will make you a star.
Mac’s eyes shut, his stockinged feet propped on his desk in the HERO Force office, the rest of the team long since gone home. There was only him, his failure, and his drink.
Ellie didn’t want to be found, that much was clear. His wife had gone to great lengths to make sure he wouldn’t find her, and with each gatekeeper he passed, another door slammed in his face.
But this latest was too much. A dead end, a death row sentence that had him returning to start without so much as a single square gained.
He lifted his glass, the amber-colored liquid sliding down his throat in one long pull. He would have sworn his stomach lining was singing the “Hallelujah” chorus, his brain cells beginning four-part harmony.
This was all he had. All he was left with.
He poured himself another drink, the memory of his wife’s soft frame and lushly curved hips coming to mind, his junk clenching in his shorts as he thought of her. No one had ever turned him on like she did. He hadn’t even fucked anybody since she left him, his dick refusing to get hard the twice he’d bothered to try.
No, she was the only woman he wanted and the one woman he couldn’t have. Scratch that. He’d had her and he’d fucked it up so badly she’d left him to drink himself to death.
If it weren’t for Hawk, he’d still be there, and hell, maybe he’d be better for it. He slammed his feet to the ground, sitting up in a rush and searching for flights from New York to Paris, the whole time knowing he wasn’t really going back there, because there was nothing to go back to.
He hung his nose over the liquor and inhaled the intoxicating scent. If Jax Andersson could see him now, Mac would lose his job. The owner of HERO Force lived in Atlanta, where the first office was, and thank God for it. The last thing Mac needed was anyone seeing him like this before he’d decided just what the fuck he was going to do.
“Mac.”
Goddamn it.
He looked up to find Luke in the doorway, Mac’s eyes fighting to adjust to the change in depth from staring into his highball glass. “Wiseman. What are you doing here?”
Luke sat in the chair across the desk. “You got a drink for me?”
Mac spun sideways, reaching into a low cabinet and pulling a glass from its depths. He’d stocked the cabinet weeks before, telling himself it was proof positive he didn’t need to drink. The bourbon was there for someone else. A celebration. A man-to-man chat.
Except now a man was here, looking to talk, and all Mac wanted was for him to go the fuck away. He belched, turning his head away to hide the smell of so many drinks before this one. He slammed a glass down too hard on the desk and poured, handing it to his friend.
The look in Luke’s eyes said everything he didn’t say, but he only lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
The men drank. “You find her?” asked Luke.
Mac shook his head. “No. Every lead’s a fucking dead end.”
“Did something happen?”
“You mean besides me getting drunk?”
“What got you drinking?”
“That would be me, myself, and I. I’m not blaming circumstance.”
Luke threw back the rest of his drink and refilled it. “Is that it? Are you done with HERO Force, then? You told us we had to be sober.”
“Shit, man. I don’t know.”
“Haven’t thought beyond that bottle, eh?”
“Not really.”
“Well, you ought to. You’ve got a lot of men here counting on you to keep your shit together.”
Mac glared at him. “Thanks for the PSA.”
“What happened?”
Mac swirled the liquid in his glass, again leaning back in his chair. “For the first time in years, I had leads. Good ones. I sat here just a couple of months ago and looked at a list, thinking it was just a matter of time before I found her, that one of the names was my wife and everything was going to be okay, and I was so damn happy. But it’s not. All I
keep thinking is, I might die without ever seeing her again.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“So you never see her again. What does your life look like?”
“Fuck you.”
Luke leaned forward. “I’m serious. Play along with me. If you never saw Ellie again, what would your life look like?”
“I’d be living under a bridge.”
“You could do that. Or you could make a different choice. You’ve been running HERO Force for months. You can keep doing it.”
“Why bother?”
Luke’s brows went up. “Seriously? You’ve made a difference in these guys’ lives. Given them something productive to do. Given them their lives back.”
“Oh yeah? Is that what I’ve done for you, Wiseman? Did I give you your life back?” He forced his chair forward, his feet landing on the ground as he leaned closer to Luke. “Because it seems to me you’re just cruising through this shit, going through the motions because you don’t know how to forgive yourself for killing Buckeye and you sure as hell can’t let yourself be happy with his sister, no matter how much you love her.”
Mac narrowed his eyes, shaking his head, anger flowing through him, powerful and raw. “In fact, I’m willing to wager you broke that woman’s heart damn near as much as you broke your own. And for what? Because you’ve got your life back? Because I’ve made a goddamn difference in this world and saved you?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t save anybody.”
Mac stood and capped the bourbon, his haven now ruined. “Which is fine. I get it. We’re broken, every last one of us, and nobody’s going to get better. Not me, not you, not any of us.”
Wiseman was quiet, staring at the desk. He put his empty glass down. “I don’t deserve her.”
“Nope.”
“I can’t expect her to forgive me.”
“Do you think she would have slept with you if she hadn’t forgiven you? I’ll say it again. It’s you who can’t forgive yourself.”
Luke’s mouth turned down at the corners. “How can I?”
The question seemed to echo in the space.
How can he?
How can I?
How can any of us?
Mac shook his head, the first rays of clarity shining through the clouds that had covered his world for far too long. “I don’t know, but we’ve got to try. The alternative is to dig a hole and get in it, because this shit ain’t living.”
The men shared a look.
“Are you ready to climb into the ground?” asked Mac.
“Hell no. Are you?”
That was what he was doing, the alcohol as good as a shovel into dirt, preparing a place for him. He stared at his glass. This life he had left, this life without Ellie, was a hard one indeed. But it represented opportunity. The chance for change.
He leaned back in his chair. “No.” The phone on his desk rang. “Who the fuck is calling this late?”
“Want me to get it?”
“Nah.” He picked it up. “I ain’t that smart. O’Brady.”
“Mac, it’s Marcel Johnson. We spoke a few weeks ago about your wife, Ellie.”
“The private investigator. You didn’t want my case.”
“That’s right. But I’m a naturally curious person. That’s how I ended up doing this for a living. Back when I was on the force, I got too involved in my cases. Waist-deep, when knee-high was all that was required. Mr. O’Brady, when you and I met, your case piqued my interest. I did some research about your wife, and what I found makes me think she may not have chosen to leave you at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she may not have left you of her own free will. I have some leads I’d like to share with you, but even if I’m right, I need to warn you—this might be a long road, if we even find her.”
Ellie was in trouble, after all this time? He thought of the years he’d wasted in France drinking himself into a stupor day after day. Had she needed him then? “Come over now. Let’s talk. I want to know what you found out.”
“It’s a little late tonight. Can you meet me tomorrow morning at nine?”
“Hell yes. Just give me an address and I’ll be there.”
34
Mac left Marcel Johnson’s office and stepped into the rain, drops hitting his bald head and goosebumps rising on his flesh as he moved to the curb and hailed a cab. He knew all the taxis would be full this time of day, in this section of town, in this kind of weather, especially for a black man.
But he didn’t care.
If his body didn’t breathe on its own, his heart beat without his direction, he’d be a dead man—so focused were his thoughts on what he’d just learned.
Ellie.
Johnson’s information changed everything. Mac would need verification, of course, and if the PI was right, it was going to be a long, difficult road to locate his wife. But he had to try. Now more than ever, Ellie needed him.
His head pounded, his fall off the wagon a powerful blow that had nearly brought him to his knees, and he knew only a drink would ease the pain that clung to his temples and throbbed inside his skull. But if he was going to find Ellie, he needed to keep working for HERO Force, which meant he had to be sober.
She would win that wrestling match any day of the week.
A cab pulled over and two businessmen hopped out. Mac climbed inside. It smelled like onions, the kitchen scent momentarily grabbing his attention. “Where to?” asked the driver.
This was it. It started now, no second thoughts. “Riker’s Island.”
35
Summer knelt down and placed a bouquet of yellow roses in front of her brother’s headstone. It was his birthday. He would have been forty-two, and she missed him as acutely as she had when he first died.
Sometimes she’d come here and find an American flag stuck in the dirt, or a rock carefully placed on the headstone, making her wonder who had been here before her. There were no rocks on the headstone today, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Edward was slowly being forgotten.
She swiped at her leaky eyes. To say the past three months had been difficult was an understatement of epic proportions. She’d stood by while Daniels Aerospace closed its doors and her father was brought up on formal charges in a civil suit launched by Walsh’s daughter. While she was not crazy as her brother had been, she was very aggressive in her assault against Summer’s father, and rightfully so.
Summer had been blind for so long, holding her father high on a pedestal from which he could never fall. He was everything she aspired to be, beyond reproach, and she’d done herself one hell of a disservice by believing those things.
The thought conjured an image of Luke, a memory she was trying desperately to forget. In the light of day, she understood his inability to be with her, but in the night, she twisted her hips against the cold cotton sheets and missed the man who’d made her soul sing.
A warm wind blew lightly through the headstones and she tucked her hair behind her ear. It was so quiet here, the silence amplifying how alone she really was in this world, but she wasn’t afraid or saddened by that anymore. On the contrary, these last couple of months had taught her she was stronger than she ever knew, able to handle herself and whatever difficult situation life might throw her way.
She hadn’t known that before. She’d thought she was weak, needing her father and the memory of her brother to help her stand tall—hell, even Luke. Now she was standing tall all on her own, even if she felt the loss of them with each beat of her heart.
“I’m going to move down south,” she said to the gravestone, her eyes tracing the letters of his name. “Florida, or maybe Georgia. I need to see the sunshine. Live for myself for a change. I already have a job offer in Atlanta just from a resume and a phone interview, but I’m not sure if I’m going to take it. I’ve never even been there.”
She reached down to the grass, touching the fresh green blades with gentle fingers. Everything was ne
w again, Mother Nature putting the cold and damp behind her and pushing forth with new life. “Maybe that’s the point,” she whispered.
In the distance, a dog and his owner walked along a ridge, making her think of Zeke. Perhaps when she got where she was going she would adopt a dog. A big, ugly dog who loved the hell out of her and slept in the middle of her bed.
She smiled. She was going to be okay, no matter where she landed. She closed her eyes. “Life is short.” She blew out air. “I guess you know that better than anyone.”
A dog barked and she turned to see a German shepherd bounding toward her. She scrambled hurriedly to her feet.
What should you do if you’re attacked by a dog?
The dog whimpered a moment before he jumped on her, tackling her to the ground and covering her face with kisses. “Zeke?” Terror turned to happiness as she petted and hugged him. “I know, boy. I didn’t think I’d see you again!”
If Zeke was here, Luke was, too.
She fought the onslaught of butterflies in her stomach and raised her chin to the horizon. Sure enough, his familiar silhouette was walking toward her, outlined by the afternoon sun behind him.
Her heart squeezed tightly as she absently petted the dog. “Does he miss me?” she asked quietly.
The dog whimpered again.
God, I hope he does.
Luke carried a duffel bag and when he reached her, he smiled from one side of his mouth. “I thought we might find you here today.”
“It’s his birthday.”
“I know.” Luke sat on the grass beside her, the sun on his face, painting it gold. “How’ve you been?”
“Busy. A lot going on with my father. The company. Lawyers.”
“Sounds hard.”
She nodded. “It’s just about over now.”
“I heard the company closed.”
“More than half our work over the years was based on the information my father pirated from Walsh.”
“I’m sorry. What are you going to do now?”
She turned her head so the breeze hit her full-on, face-first. “I’m going to Atlanta.”
