The Getaway

by Hope Anika

  Kent blinked. “We both know she was never your prisoner.”

  Sam took another step, his gaze narrowing. “Is that what we know?”

  Kent held Sam’s gaze briefly before it broke off, and he looked at Tony, who only arched a brow at him.

  “Technically, Lucia Sanchez is in federal custody,” Isabel said quietly. “Sam is the federal agent whose been detaining her for the last seventy-two hours; I would say that entitles him to a conversation with her. At the least.”

  Kent only stared at her, silent.

  “She’s right,” Bob Peabody said, a stray muffin crumb marking his chin. “He’s got some play in the game.”

  “No,” Kent denied again.

  “Why the fuck not?” Sam leaned down over him. “Where do you think Lucia falls in all this? She took those boys to protect them—and that’s a crime—but you shot the son of a bitch in the head. That’s attempted murder. So you watch the high horse you’ve climbed on, kid. Because it’s a long way down.”

  Kent blinked, and color flared brightly in his cheeks. “She’s asleep,” he said tightly. “They put over a hundred stitches in her.”

  Sam stilled. Over a hundred. He thought about Lucia stitching up his leg, and he fought the urge to simply punch the kid aside. “Now, Special Agent Kent. I want to see her now.”

  “Don’t be a dickhead,” Tony added.

  “Fine,” Kent grated. “But I go with you.”

  “Fine,” Sam growled at him. “But the boys stay with me.”

  “Fine,” Kent retorted. “I’ll let you argue with the judge.”

  “Good.” Sam turned and looked at Tony. “Watch them.”

  Tony nodded, and Sam said, “Let’s go.”

  The ache was deep and steady, but Lucia’s skin had been patched, neat, precise lines that spoke to the skill of the person who’d sewn her back together again.

  Her head still hurt, and she could hear the intermittent beeps and hiss of medical equipment, but when she opened her eyes, she found the room around her to be small and empty. The door was closed, and other than the beeps, it was hushed and still. She could smell antiseptic and alcohol. A saline drip was hooked into her wrist.

  She felt like a truck had run her over.

  When the door to the small room opened, and Sam walked in followed by someone else—a man in a suit and a long, dark coat—the man who’d shot Donavon Cruz—Lucia’s heart leapt in painful joy.

  Sam went straight to her and leaned over the bed, his hands gentle when he cupped her cheeks. His bright eyes glittered. “You okay, sweetheart?”

  Lucia nodded, her throat too thick to speak. To her consternation, tears welled and slid hotly down her cheeks.

  Sam turned and looked over his shoulder at the man in the suit. “Get out.”

  The man flinched slightly; his gaze narrowed on them. “No solitary visitors.”

  “Fuck off, Kent,” Sam said. “Get out. Now.”

  Lucia reached up and touched his jaw, rubbed her fingertips against his beard.

  “Sam,” she said.

  His gaze met hers, and she told him, “I do not care about him.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw hardened beneath her touch, but she said, “No.”

  His stare burned into hers; he wasn’t happy. But she only tugged him closer and whispered, “Kiss me, Sam. While you can.”

  And then his mouth was on hers, gentle but fierce, and so careful those stupid tears again welled and rolled down her cheeks. Lucia shuddered, and her hands found his hair, and she pulled him closer, nipping his upper lip, flicking her tongue against the lower one. He made a rough, startled sound, and then—

  “That’s enough,” Kent said. “Step away from her.”

  —and then Sam really kissed her. His hands curved around her jaw and held her to him while he devoured her. The pads of his fingertips were rough; they rasped against her skin as his tongue stroked into her mouth to rub wetly against hers, and Lucia rose against him, awash in drowning heat and sudden, wrenching need. Her wounds protested, and she flinched, but she didn’t want to stop kissing him—

  Sam broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. His bright eyes gleamed down at her.

  “I felt that,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His gaze flickered to the blue and white hospital gown she wore. “Did they do a good job?”

  Lucia’s breath caught at the look on his face. “Yes. I think so.”

  His eyes shimmered when they met hers. “I want to see.”

  Her breath caught.

  “Deputy Marshal Steele,” Kent said in a tight voice. “This little reunion is over.”

  “I have the boys,” Sam told her. “I’m keeping them for you.”

  Her heart seemed to stop. “Is he…dead?”

  “No, but as good as.” Sam smiled suddenly, sharp and deadly. “No living kin. We’re it.”

  “It,” she echoed, but Kent suddenly stepped further into the tiny room. Behind him were two suited men with large black guns.

  “Goddamn it,” Sam said softly.

  Lucia pulled him down and kissed him again.

  “Take care of them for me,” she whispered.

  “I know you know this,” he said and stroked a careful thumb over her bottom lip. “But I always have a plan.”

  A startled laugh escaped her, and Sam leaned down and pressed another sweet, lingering kiss to her mouth.

  “Faith,” he murmured when they parted, and his eyes glinted, and Lucia had never wanted to believe more.

  “I’ve indulged you long enough,” Kent said—ground out between clenched teeth—“You need to come with me now. The federal prosecutor can decide whether or not you get to see Miss Sanchez again.”

  Sam growled softly, but when he leaned down and gave her a brief, possessive kiss, Lucia knew he was going to acquiesce. And she was glad, because his going to jail on her account would do no one any good, and he needed to get the hell out of there so he could take care of the boys. But part of her wanted him to stay, too.

  Even if nothing could stop what was to come.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Sam told her, and there was no doubting the promise that shimmered in his gaze.

  Lucia hoped it was true, but she wasn’t taking anything for granted. So she pulled him back down to her and kissed him like she’d been aching to kiss him; everything she felt poured into the tender, passionate taking of his mouth.

  Love.

  “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips. “I won’t forget.”

  Sam stared down at her. “Soon,” he reiterated, his voice deep. “I promise.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Alexander moved to stand next to Sam as soon as Sam returned to the small waiting room. When he’d looked up and discovered Sam gone, his heart had slid into his shoes. The woman who’d remained—Isabel—had told Alexander that Sam would be back, but she wasn’t anyone he knew or trusted, and he’d paced uneasily before the chair where Ben was sleeping until Sam had stepped back into the room.

  Immediately, Sam’s gaze arrowed in on him. “What?”

  He tried to shrug. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.” He looked at Isabel, who watched him with eyes like black coal. “I mean, she said you were, but.” Another shrug. “I didn’t know.”

  Sam reached out and clasped Alexander’s shoulder warmly. “Well, I’m back. Let’s get your brother and go.”

  Alexander stared at him. “Go where? What about Lucia? You said you wouldn’t let them keep her.”

  Sam squeezed his shoulder. “And I won’t. She’s safe here, and she’ll get a good night’s sleep. They sewed her up; she’s not going anywhere. I promise.”

  “We can’t leave her,” Alexander protested. “I won’t.”

  Sam crouched before him. “Your brother needs a hot meal and a warm bed, and we all need dry clothes. We’re going back to the cabin, and like it or not, Lucia is staying here. The docs won’t release her, not yet. But she’
s okay, and she knows we’re together.”

  “Is that where you went?” Alexander demanded. “Did you get to see her?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “They won’t let that happen,” Sam told him. “As far as they’re concerned, she stole you boys. No way they’re gonna let you get anywhere near her.”

  Alexander felt his chest go tight. “Never?”

  Sam suddenly reached out and pulled Alexander into a warm, hard hug. “Not never. Just for now. We’ve got things to sort, bud. It’s going to take some time. But she’s safe. I promise she’s safe.”

  Alexander stood stiffly in Sam’s embrace, his throat too full, the backs of his eyes burning. He pulled away as Isabel and Sam’s friend Tony approached, but Sam kept his hand on Alexander’s shoulder, and Alexander didn’t pull away.

  “We’re going,” Sam said to Tony. “We’ll be back in the morning. Keep me in the loop.”

  Tony’s gaze narrowed. Isabel’s dark eyes glinted.

  “What?” Sam asked.

  “You’re claiming them?” Isabel asked, and her eyes met Alexander’s.

  “They’re mine now,” Sam replied shortly. He turned his focus on Tony. “You’re going to get Lucia out of this.”

  “Have you seen the video?” Isabel asked.

  Alexander flinched and knew she saw it. But Sam only frowned and said, “What video?”

  Isabel and Tony shared a look that made Alexander’s heart sink.

  “Fuck,” Sam said. “Now what?”

  But to Alexander’s intense relief, Tony only shook his head. “Later.”

  “Fine,” Sam growled. “Then we’re gone.”

  The cabin was dark and quiet when they arrived.

  Alexander walked Daisy, and when he went in, Sam ran him a hot bath and made both him and Ben get cleaned up. The only clean clothes they had left were their spare pajamas: Wolverine for Alexander, Clifford the Big Red Dog for Ben. And as they sat on their bed eating the cold club sandwiches Sam had stopped and bought, Daisy watching with avid interest from the floor, Ben said, for the seventy-fifth time, “Are you sure Lu’s gonna be okay? Because I think we should go check on her.”

  “Tomorrow,” Sam told him. “We’ll check on her tomorrow.”

  “She’s okay, Ben,” Alexander said. “She’s in the hospital with the doctors. They’ll take care of her.”

  But Ben only shook his head in unhidden, derisive disbelief, and tossed a chunk of his sandwich at Daisy, who caught it mid-air and swallowed it whole.

  “Ben,” Sam said and sighed.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Alexander asked. “Is my father dead?”

  Sam sat down on the bed and looked at them for a long, silent moment. Alexander’s heart began to beat a steady, terrified tattoo.

  “No,” Sam said finally. “He’s not dead. At least, not entirely.” And then Sam explained that his father had been shot in the head, and that machines were keeping him alive. That he was dead, for all intents and purposes. And Alexander learned that he had no other living family save Ben, and that people far away had been entrusted with their lives, and that even now someone was coming for them. And his mind spun with the implications of it all, a new kind of terror that kicked the breath from him.

  “How would you feel if I filed a petition for guardianship?” Sam asked, and for a moment Alexander only stared stupidly at him. “It’d be temporary in the beginning, but we could make it permanent. If you want. I’d do that.”

  Alexander felt his face flame. “Why? We’re nothing to you.”

  Sam frowned at him. “You know better than that.”

  “You should take Ben,” Alexander said, and pain cleaved into him, sharp and unexpected. “He deserves a good life.”

  “What about you?” Sam leaned toward him. “Don’t you deserve a good life?”

  Alexander felt his shoulders lift and fall. He didn’t want to talk about this, he just wanted it to be over. For it to be done. The final blow, swift and sure.

  “You’re just going to abandon Ben?” Sam asked softly.

  “No!” Ben yelled suddenly, and Daisy leapt to her feet and barked sharply, as if to echo him. He glared at Alexander. “No!”

  Alexander made himself look away, meet Sam’s brilliant gaze. “He’s better off without me.”

  “No,” Sam said. “You’re his brother. He needs you.”

  Alexander shook his head.

  “Yes!” Ben yelled.

  Alexander’s chest felt as though it was filled with concrete, and his throat ached with all that he kept contained. “I’m…tainted. I’ll just taint him, too.”

  Sam leaned closer. “Is that how you see me?” he asked, his voice sharp. “As tainted?”

  Alexander started. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s different,” Alexander said, his voice painful in his throat. “You weren’t…”

  “Zander stay,” Ben ordered loudly. Another echo by Daisy, a sharp, piercing bark.

  Alexander looked away, color burning his cheeks. Tears blurred his gaze. He couldn’t finish.

  “You aren’t what he made you,” Sam said. “You’re more.”

  “No,” Alexander whispered.

  That hushed denial seemed to enrage Sam. His hands shot out to wrap Alexander’s arms, but unlike his father’s bruising grip, Sam’s hands were careful not to hurt. They held him immobile, but squeezed him warmly, and Alexander wanted to tear away and run.

  But there was nowhere to go, and Ben was there, staring up at him, and Alexander knew he understood far more than any of them realized.

  “I’m nothing,” he told Sam. “Nothing he needs.”

  “I know that feeling, like you’re shit on someone’s shoe. Because that’s how he made you feel. How what he did made you feel. Took me a long time to shake that feeling, and sometimes, it comes back. But I know better now. And you’ll know better, too. But only if you stick around. Only if you’re brave enough to keep going.”

  “I don’t want to be brave,” Alexander said. “I want to be gone.”

  Sam’s eyes darkened. “I know. But there’s a place beyond this one. A better place. And you will get there. I fucking promise.”

  “You can’t promise that,” Alexander protested, but he watched Sam closely, and hope flared to life, no matter how foolish.

  “I just did.” Sam’s vivid, blue-green gaze bored into him. “You’re not alone, son. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. You need to believe in yourself, and you need to believe in me.”

  Alexander thought about the video—Sam hadn’t seen the video. What would he do when he did? What would he think?—and the realization made Alexander want to throw up.

  “I’m nothing,” he repeated, and knew it to be true.

  Sam swore softly and pulled him closer, shaking him a little. “You’re everything.”

  Alexander’s eyes met his. The certainty he saw in Sam’s gaze was like a punch to the gut, and he gulped against it.

  “Everything,” Sam repeated.

  A harsh sound tore through Alexander’s chest. He didn’t mean for it to escape, but it didn’t matter because Sam just hugged him hard, and Ben leaned against his back, his tiny arms stretched wide around them, and Daisy wormed her way between them to sit on him, and they stayed like that for a long, long time.

  “One for all and all for one,” Ben said suddenly, and Sam leaned back to smile at him.

  “You bet,” he murmured. He looked down at Alexander. “You in?”

  Alexander blinked at him, his heart suddenly beating with frantic intensity. “What about Lucia?”

  “Lucia, too,” Sam told him seriously. “One for all and all for one.”

  Don’t be stupid. But hope had sprung to life, and it was not so easily derailed.

  “Promise?” Alexander heard himself ask.

  “Promise,” Sam said.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Isabel stood beside
the window, staring out at the ferocious storm with brooding midnight eyes, her mouth tight.

  “Talk to me,” Tony demanded, shrugging out of his sodden coat. He was soaked. Isabel was soaked. Even the carpet of the cabin beneath his feet was damp.

  But she only shook her head, silent.

  He didn’t like that—and it sure as hell wasn’t going to fly—but he didn’t argue. Instead, he went into the tiny bathroom and turned the shower on, nice and hot. Then he strode over to the window Isabel stood next to and released the wooden blinds, shutting out the storm and the wind, and making her shoot him a narrow look.

  “Bring it,” he told her.

  “Watching the video changed him,” she said, her voice pensive. “It woke his demons.”

  Tony reached out and unzipped the hooded sweatshirt she wore. “Could be.” He moved closer to the delicate cinnamon scent of her and tugged the shirt from her arms. She was shivering and covered in goose bumps. Her hair was wet, her feet soaked. He knew. His were, too.

  “But, honey, he made the choice to pull that trigger.” Tony stepped back and tossed her hoodie onto the bed behind him. Then he rubbed his palms up the slender, chilled length of her arms, and she trembled in his hold.

  He made himself step back. He reached up and pulled at his tie.

  “Agent Kent doesn’t understand the repercussions,” Isabel said, watching Tony’s hands with a studiousness that made his skin prickle and his cock stir. “Personally or professionally.”

  “Maybe.” Tony tossed his tie atop her hoodie. “Maybe not.” He began to unbutton his shirt. “But it’s not your fault that it happened, Isabel. You weren’t the catalyst. Cruz set these events in motion, baby. He reaped what he’s sown.”

  Tony slid off his shirt and let it fall onto the pile on the bed. Then he reached out and wrapped his hands around the curve of Isabel’s hips.

  She stepped back, pulling against his hold. “What are you doing?”

  Color flushed her cheeks with rosy color, and her eyes glittered, dark, obsidian pools that watched him warily. He knew she was afraid, but the only way she was going to conquer that fear was by confronting it, so tonight they would move forward.