by Becky Flade
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and couldn’t pray. She froze. Until the shaking began. Stedman came through the rear door, forcing her back into the vehicle before she’d even known she’d tried to get out. The door slammed closed behind him.
Stedman grabbed her between his forearms; his hands gripped together between her solar plexus and her navel. He held her tight. Then whispered, “Want to get them both killed?”
She stilled. Her cheek rested against the smooth leather interior. She felt him nod. The radio came back on.
...no idea what I went through. All ‘cause you were too much of a pussy to take a beating. I lost, I sacrificed.
I’m sorry, Amy. I truly am. But none of that is Brady’s fault. Or his mother’s.
Why should you have everything? I have nothing. You’re a criminal. You work for that drug dealer, and everyone knows it, but they pretend not to care. I know that bitch covered up stuff for you. She plays like she’s better than everyone else. You both need to suffer. Like I suffer.
They heard a shuffling sound, like fabric rubbing over the microphone, and she imagined Jayson pulling out his credentials, thrusting them at his sister. Amy had no idea of what she spoke. He’d suffered more than any of them.
You’re a fuckin’ cop!
The screech bounded through the inside of the vehicle followed by a gunshot echoing down the empty street. The tinkling of shattered glass had trickled over the radio before dozens of voices bled over the other screaming for a status report.
Ragin grabbed the receiver. “Who took that shot? Was that from inside the building?”
“Who’s hit? Is anyone hit?” Stedman leaned forward, releasing Kylee.
She bolted from the car, running for the warehouse. Voices sounded behind her, feet pounded the asphalt. She didn’t look back as she breached the first floor. Nor when she took the stairs at a punishing pace. Her legs burning, chest heaving, she followed the trail of light into a large room on the third floor.
A body lay unmoving on the floor about thirty feet from her in a pocket of shadow that made it impossible for her to discern who had gone down or if they lived. The dark pool on the floor suggested whoever it was—their pain was over. Forever.
With a scream crawling up her throat, she took one step forward. Pieces of her splintered, threatened to shatter. This wasn’t like Guff. No this was a thousand times worse.
She had seconds, based on the pattern of footfalls coming up the stairs behind her, seconds before the room flooded with police, before they thrust her into the background to watch, helpless, as her worse nightmare unfolded before her eyes. She took another step forward when movement to her right had her head whipping in that direction.
Muscle memory had her hand going to her hip, to where she once wore a service pistol. But it fell to the side as Jayson stepped through a door she hadn’t seen. Thin, almost dirty, light backlit his body casting his face into shadow, but she knew it was him. She knew his body as she would know her own; recognized his form, his frame, the way he moved from within the deepest recesses of her heart.
Just as she knew he carried their son.
“Mommy!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
She smoothed a hand over Brady’s dirty, tousled hair. The hospital gown dwarfed him, made him appear younger. He’d cowered, whimpering when the nurse had approached him. She’d wanted to find Amelia’s corpse and lose an entire clip of bullets into her useless body for teaching her little boy to fear. But he’d looked to her, and to his father, for reassurance. I’m not going anywhere. His eyes were shadowed with blue smudges beneath suggesting he hadn’t slept and bruises marked each arm from where Amy had gripped him.
How long before any of us feel safe again?
“May I speak with you in the hall?”
Michael nodded while countering Brady’s argument the Hulk could beat Superman. Thank God he’s here. Brady would never fear his uncle. Shouldn’t have had to fear his aunt.
“Yes?” She leaned into Jayson, preparing for bad news.
“He’s dirty, tired, hungry, definitely experiencing mild shock, and while I’m inclined to recommend observation over the next twenty-four hours, I think what would be best for Brady right now is to go home. His own environment, where he feels safe, and his parents are what he needs most. You can take him home once we get his lab results, assuming there’s nothing alarming in them.”
Her body sagged in relief. The doctor smiled.
“Are you sure?”
“If you have concerns about his physical or mental state overnight, bring him back. Otherwise, follow up with your regular pediatrician tomorrow. I strongly suggest counseling.” He put his hand on her shoulder, “For all of you.”
She turned into Jayson’s chest, his arms tightened around her. His lips brushed her temple. He’d barely spoken since carrying Brady to safety. They hadn’t had a moment alone. I don’t know if he killed Amy, and if he did, was it in cold blood or in self-defense? I don’t want to know. It’s enough Brady is safe.
She wanted to tell him she loved him, but she hesitated. This isn’t the time or the place. No matter what happened in the warehouse, he witnessed his sister’s death tonight. I have the rest of our lives to tell him what’s in my heart.
A discreet cough behind her pulled her from his arms. Definitely not the right time. His hand stayed at the small of her back as she faced Ragin and Stedman.
“We need to interview your son.” Ragin’s gaze shifted to Jayson. “And you.”
She wanted to dislike Agent Ragin on principle, but she’d been doing her job. They hadn’t made her job harder, but they hadn’t made it any easier either. I need to remember Ragin was the first one through the door behind me and ready to risk her life to save my family.
“I can give a statement later. So can Brady.”
“It’s best if we do it now, and you know it,” Stedman added.
“By now you’ve confirmed I wasn’t the shooter.”
“We have.”
“I watched my sister’s face explode from the force of the impact. The shot came from outside, across the street, maybe third or fourth floor. I don’t know anything else, can’t add anything else. Find the shooter. That’s my statement.”
“Jase?” She looked to him for answers. There’s something not being said. I’m missing something.
“It wasn’t me. And no kill order was given.”
Oh my God, he’s right. We listened over the radio and I never heard that order. Who fired then? Her hand came to her mouth involuntarily at the implication. It’s not over.
“Are we in danger?”
“We have no reason to believe so. We think someone jumped the order. We’re interviewing every officer and agent on the scene. We’ve collected their weapons, and we’re testing for gun powder residue. There could be a logical explanation, but we won’t know the why until we find the who. These men and women are well trained, but still human. Mistakes are made.” Ragin had the grace to look apologetic.
“We’ll locate the shooter, and they’ll be dealt with accordingly. You have my word. This shouldn’t have happened.” Stedman addressed Jayson, “You’ve sacrificed enough.”
“You’re goddamn right I have.”
His hand fisted on the small of her back. After the grief and rage subside, the memory of his sister’s death will live on within him. I don’t know what to do for him. Do I hold him or step aside and let him vent his anger on the man who kept their family fractured for his own career?
“We need to address the possibility Checcio had something to do with either or both the kidnapping and your sister’s assassination,” Stedman argued.
The elevator dinged, and she glanced in that direction. Matt stepped out. His eyes scanned the hall until he found her. She could’ve called to him, but wanted the minute to observe. He looked like a stranger to her, with his distant eyes and disapproving manner. He’d never accept her happiness with Jase. Our friendship is over. His lips twisted as though h
e heard her thoughts.
“Your family is downstairs. Like all of them. Thought it would be best if I brought up just your parents and Mrs. Donovan. What do you think?”
She shifted her body away from the quiet but heated conversation between Jayson, his former supervisor, and the efficient agent Ragin. They insisted on doing the interviews tonight. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
“I don’t know if anyone thought to tell you, but the Frye kid is in stable condition.”
“I forgot all about Max. That’s wonderful news.” She sniffed back unexpected tears. “I know things have been uncomfortable between us, but thank you for putting all that aside when Brady needed you.”
“I love that kid.” He looked away. “I’ll get your folks.”
When he neared the elevator, she called to him, “Matt? If Marcus is down there with Emily, please ask him to come up with her.”
She spun on her heel.
“This is an FBI matter, not DEA.” She pointed to Ragin. “You can interview Brady provided either or both of my parents are there to act as his advocate. They’re on their way up.” She pointed at Stedman. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful for your assistance the last two days, but you can forget it. You’re not going anywhere near our son.”
She turned her back to them both; the matter settled. She cupped Jayson’s cheek. “Your mom’s on her way up. We’ll tell her together.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The nurse found them a private room with two small couches and two hard chairs. Thoughtful landscapes hung on the walls. It looked like a tiny waiting room. The room is designed for delivering bad news to loved ones. The decorator must have intended the space to be comforting, but dread coiled in her chest. It’s like the room absorbed and radiated all the pain it had seen.
“Mrs. Donovan, you should sit down.”
“They said Brady was okay.” Emily’s eyes darted from side to side.
For the first time in many years, she was reminded of the broken woman she’d once sat with in the emergency room. That was Amy’s doing as well. Damn you, Amelia, you’re dead and still hurting them. She looked at Marcus. The big man may not have known the details, but his eyes suggested he knew it wouldn’t be good.
He took Jayson’s mother by the elbow and nudged her toward the nearest seat. “Sit down, Em.”
“I want to see my grandson.”
“Brady’s fine, Mom. They may let us take him home tonight.” Jayson took his mother by her hands. “He’s scared and tired and hungry, but we can fix all that.”
They faced each other, perched on the edge of opposing sofas. Marcus sat behind Emily, his large arm loose around her. Following his example, she sat beside Jase and laid her open palm between his shoulder blades—silent but tangible sign of support. I got you, baby.
“It was Amelia. She took Brady. She had him.”
Emily shook her head as though she could make it not true. “Why would she do that?”
“To hurt me and Kylee. To hurt you.”
“I’m so sorry.” The older woman’s lip trembled as she looked at Kylee. “Did she hurt him?”
“She didn’t hurt him. Scared him, sure. But he’s fine. He’ll be fine.”
“She told me about the conditions you were forced to live in after Dad went to jail and I joined the army. The homeless shelters. The rapes.”
She sucked in a harsh breath.
“She blamed us, all of us. For her pain. She was jealous. We were happy, and she thought she couldn’t ever be.”
“She lied.” Emily Donovan sat straighter in Marcus’ tightening hold. “There were no shelters, no rape. We were never on the street.” She shook Marcus off with a crisp, “I’m fine.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I knew you wouldn’t stay passed graduation. Your father abused you, and I failed to protect you. Failed you in every way and it was too late to do anything about it. I thought I still had a chance to do right by your sister. There’s this group. They help abused women and their children make new lives. They gave me money, an apartment in a small town upstate, a job. I made the arrangements weeks before your father attacked you that last time.” She glanced away. “It’s why I took that money from your father’s wallet.”
“She lied. Of course she lied.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why did you come back?” Kylee wanted to know. But more she wanted to give Jase a moment.
“The drinking started not long after we left. She hated it there. And she hated me. I hated me and accepted her abuse as my due. I came back because I had nowhere else to go.” She took Marcus’ hand. “Maybe this time your sister can get the help she needs.”
“She’s dead. Killed during the ransom exchange. It wasn’t me.”
Emily released his hand and cupped his chin. “I know it wasn’t.”
I didn’t. I thought he did. Shame rocked her. She stepped aside as much as she could in the diminutive space. Mother and son wept together for the lost. If I could, I’d mend their broken hearts, but I can’t even find a kernel of grief for Amelia Donovan. She’d been a troubled young woman, but rather than seek help, she’d hurt people instead.
Marcus pulled her into a hug that threatened to swallow her whole.
“We’re going to take Brady home, feed him, get him bathed, and into his own bed. Maybe you should do the same for Emily? Bring her by the house tomorrow?”
“You read my mind, pumpkin.”
“She’s going to try to push you away.” She stepped out of his embrace and tipped her head back. “Don’t let her.”
“Same goes for you.”
Emily leaned on Marcus, on his strength, but not as much as she assumed she would. She’s stronger than any of us would have imagined.
When the door closed, he dropped his head into his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his tears. She went to him, and he pressed his face to her stomach. He’d been strong for me. He held his pain and fear locked away where they wouldn’t add to mine. She held him, stroked his hair, and murmured nonsense as he sobbed. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. The force of his grief gripped her heart.
“My mother was right. Our family is rotten at its core. We hurt everyone we care about.”
“Listen to me. This is not your fault. It’s not.” She held on when he tried to pull away.
“I shouldn’t have come back. I put him, and you, in danger by coming back. I thought I could have a good life, that I deserved one with you. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re wrong. You deserve a beautiful life. You are not your father or your sister. Amelia did this. It’s her fault and only her fault. I’m sorry for you and your mom. You’ve both been hurt so much already. You have too much good in you to blame yourself for what she’s done. And our son needs you. I need you. And you promised you’d always be there when I need you. Remember?” She bent and took his face in her hands. “Don’t break my heart. Don’t let your sister or anyone else keep our family apart ever again. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
The door opened, and she stood ready to fight whoever threatened them now.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt. Agent Ragin is done with Brady, and his test results are back.” Michael smiled. “You can take him home.”
CHAPTER FORTY
“I’m going to take him up and put him in the tub.” Kylee unlocked the front door. “Would you call my parents? Let them know we’re home and I’ll call tomorrow? Then shut the ringer off. All of them. I want quiet tonight.”
“Sure, baby.”
He ran his lips over her temple before leaning down to where his son’s head rested on her shoulder and repeated the gesture on Brady’s brow. She didn’t wince at the endearment or the kiss. Good. Because I’m not going to let you stand between me and my family either. A promise is a promise. He waved to Agent Ragin, she’d given them a ride home as both their cars were in Kylee’s driveway, then closed and locked the door when her Range Rover pulled away from
the curb.
Someone had been here cleaning, Kylee’s sisters after they were told they couldn’t come up at the hospital, or maybe Retta. It was kind of them, making sure they came home to a house that feels and looks like it should. That’s what family does. Our family. That’s what she said while she’d held him, as he crumbled and she soothed without judgment. She offered comfort and understanding. She said she needed me.
He needed to believe she’d meant it. Needed the hope he’d get the chance at the life he’d always craved with the woman he’d always loved and the miracle they’d created together. Putting his faith in that, he picked up the phone.
A shadow moved in the kitchen.
He glanced at the ceiling. He didn’t want to worry her, didn’t want to scare Brady. It could be almost any member of her family still cleaning or dropping off food or an FBI technician packing gear. But something felt off. Why wouldn’t whoever is out there have called out a greeting when we came through the door? Unless they didn’t want us to know they were here.
He’d survived, in the army and then undercover, trusting his instincts. This isn’t someone who means well. He moved with stealth through the dining room, phone in hand, dialing from memory. And paused at the threshold. No fucking way.
“Put the phone down, Donovan.”
Shore stood in Kylee’s kitchen, his service pistol pointed at Jayson’s heart. What the hell? I’ll kill him. He stared from the gun to the man holding it.
“I said put it down. And get your hands up.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” He set the phone on the counter and did as he was told.
“Why couldn’t you just stay gone?” The cop’s voice shook with unbridled rage. “Everything would’ve been fine if you’d just stayed away.”
He wants to scream. His arm is shaking, his pupils are dilated. He’s fucking unstable. Stay upstairs baby.
“Thought you weren’t interested in her like that.”
“I’m not. This has everything to do with you. And Checcio.”