by LENA DIAZ,
Another explosion sounded from outside. More dust rained down from the ceiling on top of them.
“Come on,” Jace ordered. “We have to go.”
She shook her head, still twisting and tugging to free her hand from Jace’s hold as she stared down into her father’s pain-filled eyes.
Jace swore and tossed her on his shoulder, then took off sprinting down the hallway toward the front of the building.
“No, no, no! Go back! We can’t leave him!” she yelled as she pummeled his back.
Oblivious to her struggles, he ran with her bouncing on his shoulder, down the front steps, out into a street that had been transformed into a living hell. The whole town seemed to be on fire, with explosions going off all over the place.
He pulled her off his shoulder and tugged her with him back toward the east gate, where the limo and Mercedes were parked just as the ground collapsed, taking both cars with it. He reversed direction, forcing her with him. “Other way, other way,” he yelled.
She glanced back at the jail, or what was left of it.
“Now, Melissa. Go, go, go!”
Her heart shattered as she turned away from the jail and ran with him toward the west gate. Pieces of burning wood blew out at them from a building as it collapsed beneath the flames. Jace jerked Melissa away, shielding her once again.
Whumpf. Whumpf. Whumpf. A powerful rhythmic noise sounded in the distance. Jace stumbled to a halt, drawing her with him.
“What is it?” Melissa yelled to be heard above the inferno surrounding them, the heat so intense she could swear her skin was blistering.
“I can’t believe it,” Jace yelled. “Look!” He pointed up at the sky. An enormous helicopter raced toward them, with two giant rotary blades, one at either end. “It’s a Chinook, a military helicopter.” He pulled her against his chest, blocking the dust as the chopper touched down in the middle of the street like a lumbering beast.
“Friend or foe?” she yelled.
Jace laughed. “Definitely friend.”
“How do you know?”
He pointed at the side door. The number eighty-eight was spray-painted in white. The number Ramsey always wore on his shirts, for his NASCAR idol.
Melissa smiled, tears clogging her throat. Austin must have had the pilot put those numbers there, something quick and easy that they’d all recognize and know was associated with the Equalizers. He’d come through for them.
He’d put an aircraft carrier in the middle of the desert.
“Come on,” Jace yelled.
Melissa shaded her eyes against the wind from the rotors and all the dust and let Jace pull her to the ramp that had lowered from the back of the chopper. She ran inside, and the pilot met her near the top of the ramp.
“How many more?” he yelled.
She turned around and realized she was alone. Jace was standing in the middle of the street a short distance away.
“Jace!” she yelled.
But he didn’t hear her. His back was turned to her.
“We’ve got a minute, two tops,” the pilot warned. “This whole place is going up.”
Melissa nodded and ran halfway down the ramp. She was about to yell for Jace again when she realized what he was looking at. Two men were running toward them between the burning buildings from the west end of town. They were coated in dust and dirt, but there was no mistaking their silhouettes. Mason and Devlin.
The chopper suddenly pitched forward, throwing her against the wall. Jace ran up into the helicopter and steadied her. “Hold this,” he yelled, handing her a tether clipped to the wall. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” she yelled over the roar of the fire and the rotary blades.
He nodded and checked on the pilot.
Mason and Devlin were running full tilt toward them now, fifty yards back.
Jace rushed to the ramp. “We have to lift off. The ground is too unstable.” He motioned toward Mason and Devlin. “Come on! Hurry!”
“Can’t wait any longer,” the pilot called back to them. The chopper tilted upright again. The ramp lifted off the ground a few feet.
Jace strapped one of the tethers to his waist, then took the rope still attached to his belt and tied off one end to the side of the chopper. Melissa followed his lead, wrapping her hands in the tethers closest to her.
Mason and Devlin reached the chopper but it was hovering too high now. Jace crawled down the ramp toward them and threw a line out for Mason, then grabbed Devlin’s hand with both of his and gave a mighty yank, swinging him up inside. Mason had almost made it inside using the line when both Jace and Devlin reached down and jerked him up into the helicopter. He thumped against the wall, and the ramp started to close. All three men fell onto the floor, laughing as they rolled against the walls.
“What a rush,” Devlin shouted. “We should do that again sometime.”
It was suddenly all too much for Melissa. How could anyone laugh when so much had happened, when they had nearly died, and Ramsey . . . and her father . . . had paid the ultimate price? She slumped down to the floor, her shoulders shaking as sobs wracked her body.
Jace crawled over to her as the helicopter lurched and took them away from the inferno below. He tried to take her into his arms, but she shoved him away.
“Don’t. Don’t touch me.” The hurt look on his face opened another crack in her heart which was so riddled with cracks that she thought it might shatter at any moment. She didn’t want to hurt him, but her grief was too raw, too new. And she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to look at him again without seeing those horrible last moments of her father’s life flashing in front of her eyes, and knowing that Jace had chosen to leave him there to die.
She covered her face with her hands and wept.
SCARCELY A WEEK after the Enforcement Alley debacle, Jace stood alone on a small rise in the same cemetery that he’d once toured with Melissa. She’d given him her trust that day and placed her life in his hands. And all she’d asked in return was one thing.
“If you ever hold my father’s fate in your hands, and you can’t show mercy for his sake, please, please, show mercy for mine.”
He’d failed her. And for that, he knew she could never forgive him. He’d never even ask her to. Because to ask forgiveness would mean he was sorry for what he’d done.
He wasn’t.
If he’d shown Cyprian compassion, if he’d shown him mercy, then Melissa would have died. And a world where Melissa Cardenas didn’t exist wasn’t a world in which he wanted to exist. So here he stood, like the stalker he’d once likened himself to when he’d tailed her through the Rocky Mountains. But unlike then, he had no intention of “stalking” her again. Today was the last time that he’d ever see her.
He stood far back from the temporary awning sheltering the crowd of mourners at Cyprian Cardenas’s memorial service, feeling like the worst sort of hypocrite. But after everything he’d shared with Melissa, after all the pain and joy, the triumph and tragedy, it seemed wrong not to be here, as a show of respect and support on one of the worst days of her life. Even though she didn’t even know he was here.
Devlin and Austin had offered to come with him. But he’d let them off the hook, knowing how hard it would be to stand here, even half a football field away, while the priest heaped praises on the man who’d caused so much turmoil in their family. And Mason, well, he hadn’t even offered. Why would he? Ramsey was his best friend. He was bitter and grieving, and had taken off for parts unknown with his wife, Sabrina, to try to heal.
Would Mason ever come back? Jace didn’t know, any more than he knew what would happen to the Equalizers. Home base had been shut down, at least for now. Devlin had put all of their activities on hold, to wait for things to settle, to see what the future without Cyprian would mean. With no one at the helm of EXIT Inc., and the Council decimated, would the government dismantle the enforcer program, as the Equalizers hoped? Or would they appoint someone new to revamp it, starting the vicious cyc
le all over again?
The idea that so many people had died under Cyprian’s tyranny and that the company could rise from the ashes sickened him. But he couldn’t ignore the possibility. Which was why, for now, he was staying in Boulder. Watching. Waiting. And if the phoenix rose again, he’d be right back in the thick of it, doing whatever it took to end EXIT’s reign for good.
A cold wind blew across the rows of graves, bringing with it the smell of impending rain—rain, not snow. An early taste of the coming spring, as if Nature itself were celebrating that the cold grip of evil, at least for now, had released its hold. The breeze swept down the knoll, shaking the poles that held up the dark green awning. It seemed like half the town had come, which was why the service was held in the field instead of the family mausoleum. All those people, come to mourn a man they’d never have associated with had they known the truth about him.
The service must have ended because people were getting out of their white folding chairs. They broke off in small groups, hurrying toward the parking lot, casting anxious glances at the dark clouds roiling overhead. All too soon, Melissa stood alone, her head bowed over the table that contained an urn and pictures of her father. There was no coffin. There was no body to bury. The explosions had seen to that.
And so Jace waited, near the stand of trees where he’d stood for the past hour, where he would continue to stand until she was safely on her way home in the waiting limo. He glanced up at the sky, which was looking more and more ominous. They were in for one hell of a storm.
Workers moved in, packing up the dozens of folding chairs into the back of a truck. When they finished, they huddled near one of the poles holding up the awning, restlessly shuffling from foot to foot, obviously waiting for Melissa to leave. But she didn’t seem to notice them. She didn’t move. She didn’t even look their way.
The first big fat drops of rain plopped down onto Jace’s coat. The workers gave up their vigil, leaving the awning standing as they drove off to wherever they went when not digging graves. And still, Melissa stood, head bowed.
Jace didn’t know how long he waited. But by the time Melissa raised her head, the rain was blowing in sheets, and he was soaked through. It didn’t matter. She mattered.
Thunder crackled overhead. Melissa jumped, as if surprised to find herself alone, the chairs gone, the storm raging. And then, suddenly, she turned . . . and looked directly at him.
He’d chosen this spot, far away, partially obscured by trees, thinking she wouldn’t notice him. But for some reason, she had. And now she was marching across the winter-dead grass, oblivious to the rain drenching her hair, running in rivulets down her beautiful face, staining the silky material of her black dress visible in the open neck of her coat.
She stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips. But it wasn’t anger that he saw in her eyes, in her expression. It was something . . . else.
“Jace.” Her voice was hoarse, raw, reminding him of the pain that he’d caused her.
“Melissa.” His hungry gaze drank her in, memorized the curve of her cheek, the exact shade of her almond-shaped eyes: walnut, he decided, with delicate flecks of gold and black. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?
“Have you been here the whole time?” she asked.
He hesitated, not wanting to hurt her even more. But then he nodded. “I’m sorry if I upset you by being here. I never meant for you to see me. I just . . . I had to know that you were okay.”
“Is that the only reason you came?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the rain. “To make sure that I was okay? Don’t you have anything else to say to me?”
I miss you. I can barely breathe without you. I would give anything to spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel even one-tenth of the joy that I feel just by looking into your eyes.
The apology she probably expected, wanted, needed, went unsaid. He loved her. God, how he loved her. But he couldn’t lie to her again. She deserved better than that. So he settled on a kinder version of the truth. “I wish there had been another way.”
Her mouth tightened. “Every day is a struggle for me, Jace.” Water dripped off her long lashes, her chin. She wiped her face, leaving a trail of dark mascara across her cheeks.
She’d never looked more beautiful.
As if propelled by an invisible force, he reached for her. But he stopped himself just short of touching her and dropped his arms.
The flash of pain in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees.
“I know that you tried to call, text, after . . .” She shook her head. “I wasn’t ready. I needed . . . I wasn’t ready. So I turned you away, ignored you. I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t apologize to me, Mel. You did nothing wrong. I’m the one who . . . I’m sorry, Mel. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. Losing your father, especially when you’ve already lost so many loved ones, has to be the worst possible thing you could imagine happening. I just wish that I could have—”
She pressed her hand against his lips, stopping him. “He’s at peace now. He’s where he always wanted to be: with my mother and my brothers. So, no, Jace. Losing him isn’t the worst thing I can imagine ever happening. Losing you, if I lost you, that would be the worst.”
It dawned on him that it wasn’t just the rain running down her face. It was tears.
“Have I?” she whispered. “Have I lost you?”
His breath caught in his throat. An emotion he’d thought forever gone for him started leaping through his veins, reawakening the pieces of his soul that had died, the same emotion he now realized he’d seen in her eyes when she’d first walked up the hill.
Hope.
His hands shook. Like a man dying of thirst, afraid to take the cup of water that would save his life for fear that he might spill it, he reached for her. And then she was in his arms, holding him tight as if she never wanted to let him go. And he was crushing her in his embrace, rocking her against his body.
“Thank God,” he whispered against her hair. “I love you so much.”
She shivered in his arms.
He forced himself to let her go. “You’re cold. And here I am selfishly keeping you out in the rain. Come on. We’ll—”
“Wait.” She grabbed his hands and stared up at him, oblivious to the rain and cold. “Say it again. Tell me you love me. Tell me you forgive me for turning you away when I needed you most. I was . . . broken. I couldn’t . . . I was afraid and I . . . I needed space . . . time. Or, at least that’s what I thought. But what I really need, what I’ve always needed, is you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Please say you forgive me.”
He stared at her in shock. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
She closed her eyes. “And?”
He slowly kissed each of her eyelids, her forehead, the bridge of her nose. “And I love you.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”
She pointed to her chin.
He smiled and kissed her chin. “I love you.”
She tapped her cheek.
His grin widened. He kissed her cheek. “I love you.”
She opened her eyes, and very, very slowly, touched her lips.
Just as slowly, and reverently, he cupped her beloved face in his hands. “I love you, Melissa. I will always love you.”
“And I’ll always love you, Jace. You saved me.”
“No, we saved each other.” He pressed his lips to hers.
The thrills don’t stop here . . .
Keep reading for an excerpt from
Lena Diaz’s first heart-stopping
EXIT Inc. novel
EXIT STRATEGY
Available now from Avon Books
Day One—11:00 p.m.
Sabrina crept into her moonlit living room and grabbed the arm of the couch for support. Her right hand, slippery with blood, slid across the cloth and she fell to her knees on the hardwood floor. A gasp of pain escaped between her clenched teeth before she could stop it.
She froze,
searching the dark recesses of the room, squinting to try to bring everything into focus. If the intruder was within ten feet of her, no problem, she could make out every little detail. But any farther than that and he might as well be a fuzzy blob on the wallpaper.
Had he heard her? She listened intently for the echo of footsteps in the hall outside, or the squeak of a shoe, the rasp of cloth against cloth. But all she heard was silence. In a fair world, that might mean the stranger had given up and left the house. But in her world, especially the nightmarish last six months, it probably meant he was lying in wait around the next corner, ready to attack.
The throbbing burn in her right biceps had her angling her arm toward the moonlight filtering through the plantation shutters to see if the damage was as bad as it felt. Nope. It was worse. Blood ran down her arm from a jagged, two-inch gash and dripped to the floor.
She clasped her left hand over the cut, applying pressure and clenching her mouth shut to keep from hissing at the white-hot flash of pain. She had to stop the bleeding. But there wasn’t any point in looking for something here in the living room to bind the wound. Only the couch and a wing chair remained of the antiques that she’d brought with her halfway across the country from Boulder, Colorado, to Asheville, North Carolina. She’d sold the other furniture, and even some of her sketches, to pay the exorbitant fees of the private investigators searching for her grandfather and the even more exorbitant fees of the lawyers.
She supposed the Carolina Panthers nightshirt that she was wearing might be useful as a tourniquet. But she didn’t relish the possibility of facing an intruder in nothing but her panties. The nightshirt was definitely staying on.
If only she still had a shotgun. Even half blind, she was bound to at least wing her target with the spray of pellets. But convicted felons couldn’t own guns. And thanks to her loving cousin’s schemes, that’s exactly what she was—a felon who’d brought shame to the great Hightower legacy. A felon who’d been forced through her plea bargain agreement to sell the gun collection that she and her grandfather had worked years to build.