by Pamela Clare
But Sophie hadn’t been thinking of herself. Dread coiled in her stomach, she asked the question, afraid to hear the answer. “Hunt—Marc Hunter…Did he…Is he…alive?”
Tessa nodded. “He’s in ICU. He made it through five hours of surgery. He’s still on life support, but the doctor said he expects him to pull through.”
Sophie closed her eyes and sank back into her pillow, relief rushing through her more potent than any drug, tears pricking her eyes.
Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!
Tessa took Sophie’s hand, gave it a squeeze, her voice soft and reassuring, her Georgia accent soothing. “The old preacher made it, too. His wife is with him. Nice woman. I hear she saved your life.”
Sophie nodded, tried to rein in her emotions. “I’m so glad! What about Harburg?”
“Alive and miserable. The round severed his spine, and his jaw had to be wired. He’ll spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair going potty through tubes and bags.”
That seemed a fitting, if woefully inadequate, punishment for rape and murder.
Tessa went on. “Gary King is fine. He lost a lot of blood, but they saved his leg. He told Chief Irving that he wants to make a deal with the DA.”
So that’s how it would play out. King would turn state’s witness in exchange for a lighter sentence and send Harburg away for life, maybe even land him a spot on death row.
Sophie drew in a steadying breath, tears somehow still leaking from her eyes and running down her temples. “And Megan?”
“She’s down the hall doing as well as can be expected, I’m told. Her baby’s back with her Mennonite foster parents.” Tessa handed Sophie a tissue. “You did it, Sophie. You found them. You helped save their lives.”
And slowly it began to sink in.
They were alive. They were all alive. And it was over.
Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thanks, Tess.”
“That’s what are friends for.”
There was a strained silence, and Sophie knew the moment had come.
She opened her eyes, met Tessa’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Tess. I’m sorry I kept secrets, and I’m so, so sorry that I put Julian in harm’s way.”
Tessa looked away, her expression troubled. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but now that you mentioned it…Your friends stood by you, Sophie. We’ve been worried sick about you. My husband put his life and his reputation on the line for you. Some day I hope you can make me understand why you didn’t trust us with the truth.”
And so Sophie tried.
She started at the beginning and told Tessa everything from that magic night twelve years ago at the Monument to the terrible moment when the helicopter had lifted off and she’d realized she might never see Hunt again.
Tessa listened, her eyes filling with tears when she heard the full extent of Megan’s ordeal and the truth behind Cross’s murder. And when Sophie, still so raw from last night’s horror, began to sob, Tessa took her hand, fingers clenched in friendship. “You go ahead and cry it out. God knows you’ve been through hell.”
And Sophie did, crying like she hadn’t cried since the night she’d found out her parents had been killed. “I-I love him, Tess. I love him so much!”
Tessa handed Sophie another tissue, took one for herself. “I can see that. You’ll have to pardon me, though, if it takes me awhile to warm up to him. After what he did to you, taking you hostage, holding a gun to your head…”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all the whole truth. At first it seemed irrelevant, and then I was so afraid that Hunt would get thrown back in prison and have to face that horror again or that he and Julian would end up shooting one another. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if one of them had hurt or killed the other.”
Tessa gave a little laugh. “So you were trying to protect them.”
Sophie nodded, then moaned and buried her face in her hands. “God, I bet Julian hates me now. He probably—”
A deep voice interrupted her. “Not a chance.”
She looked over to see Julian standing in the doorway—and found herself fighting a fresh wave of tears. “I’m so sorry, Julian!”
He crossed the room, stood beside the bed, rested his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Sophie. I won’t say I wasn’t angry, because I was. But mostly I was worried about you. I’m just glad you’re safe and this whole damned mess is wrapped up.”
He released her, walked around the bed, and bent down to kiss Tessa’s cheek.
Aware there was still a guard outside her room, Sophie steeled herself and asked the question she hoped Julian could answer. “I’m going to jail today, aren’t I?”
He grinned. “That’s what I came here to tell you. King is singing like a canary. He’s already bragged about planting coke on Hunter and putting heroin in your car. He also says he plotted with Harburg and Addison to kill you. Apparently, the heroin was meant to discredit you long enough for Harburg to arrange a hit. I expect the drug charges against you to be dropped by this afternoon. The DA might seek a warrant for criminal attempt—aiding and abetting a fugitive—but given the many layers to this case, that’s going to take some time to unravel. We’ll take you back to the station once you’re discharged to finish questioning you, and I expect you’ll be going home after that.”
Sophie took in this news, both horrified to think just how close she’d come to being murdered and relieved to think she might at last be going home. She held out her hand for the friend who’d done so much for her. “Thanks, Julian, for everything—especially for not shooting Hunt.”
Julian frowned. “I wanted to, believe me. For a time, I’d been looking forward to it.”
“When can I see him?”
“You’re both in police custody, and he’s in ICU. Not for a while, Sophie. Not for a good, long time.”
“Can we come in?” Kara poked her head through the door, Holly, Kat, and Natalie behind her.
Julian frowned. “Technically, she’s not supposed to have visitors—not even you, wife.”
Tessa looked indignant. “I’m not a visitor. I’m…well…”
Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Right.”
Taking Julian’s lack of an outright “no” for a “yes,” Kara and the others piled through the doorway, offering Sophie kisses and hugs and gathering around the bed.
“Are you up for telling us what happened?” Kara asked at last. “All I’ve seen is wild speculation on CNN.”
“I don’t even have all the details, and I’m covering it.” Natalie pulled out a notebook.
But Kat looked at Sophie uncertainly. “I can see you’re upset. We should let you rest.”
“To heck with that!” Holly plopped herself down on the bed. “Tell us everything—especially any juicy details having to do with that sexy man who caught a bullet for you!”
MARC KNEW HE was alive because he hurt so goddamned much. He opened his eyes, looked up into a woman’s face. Not Sophie.
Where was Sophie?
He tried to ask the question, but couldn’t speak.
Something was in his mouth, blocking his throat.
“Don’t try to talk.” The woman pushed buttons on some kind of monitor. “You’re in Intensive Care on a ventilator. If you remain stable, we’ll start weaning you off life support tomorrow.”
ICU? Life support?
That explained all the tubes and machines.
Shit!
“The surgeon removed the bullet from your chest and saved your lung, but it was pretty touch and go for a while. You had a few shattered ribs and lost a lot of blood. We gave you four units your first twenty-four hours here.”
How long had he been here?
“I’m just programming your morphine pump. You should be feeling less pain in a moment. If you’re not getting the relief you need, the call button is right here.” She guided his hand to a gadget clamped to the bed rail.
With a smile, she turned and was gone.
He wanted t
o push the button, to get her back in here, to write his questions to her on paper so he could get some answers. But then something warm slid into his vein, and he was dreaming again.
THE NEXT TWO weeks of Sophie’s life passed in a blur of interrogations, meetings with the district attorney, and court hearings. Because of King’s confession, the drug charges against her were dropped, but the DA was pursuing felony criminal attempt, pushing her to testify against Hunt in exchange for some kind of plea bargain. John Kirschner, her attorney, told her to stand strong, assuring her that the DA would’ve filed charges by now if he believed he could actually win a case against her.
But because she was still under suspicion of wrongdoing, she couldn’t return to work. Though Tom’s board hearing had resulted in Glynnis being fired instead of him—a result that had led to heavy drinking in the newsroom—the board was watching the outcome of Sophie’s case closely, and her job was still on the line. So instead of writing about the investigation that had nearly gotten her killed, Sophie was reduced to a background role, handing her research over to Natalie, whose reportage had gotten national exposure almost overnight.
“This is really your story, Sophie,” Natalie told her. “I feel bad getting the glory.”
“You’ve given me plenty of credit, Natalie. I’m just grateful to be alive, really. Besides, I have other things to think about right now.”
Like the horde of reporters that always lurked outside her apartment and followed her everywhere. Like the nightmares that kept her awake, the shooting replaying itself over and over again in her mind. Like the exhaustion that made it almost impossible to get through the day without a nap. Like the charge of first-degree murder the DA had filed against Megan and the long list of felonies Hunt now had to face.
God, she missed him! She missed him so much it hurt. She hadn’t seen him—not even a glimpse—since they’d loaded him into the helicopter. The judge had placed him in protective isolation and barred him from having contact with any of the witnesses in his case. Sophie found herself reliving the days they’d spent together, remembering his touch, remembering the sound of his voice, remembering what it felt like to fall asleep in his arms and wake up beside him.
It’s not so much where I want you, Sophie, as it is how. Nothing tastes quite like a woman, and no woman tastes like you.
Sometimes it seemed they would never be able to be together—if that was still what he wanted—and she’d spent more than a few nights crying herself to sleep.
“It’s just posttraumatic stress,” Kara told her.
“Of course he wants to be with you!” Tess said. “When a man takes bullets for you, it’s true love. Take my word for it.”
But by the third week, Sophie began to wonder if something else might be to blame—at least for the exhaustion. She wasn’t able to buy a test herself, thanks to the ever-present paparazzi—when they followed people into the grocery store that’s exactly what they were—so she made an appointment with her doctor, who ordered a blood test, then called her on the phone with the results.
“You’re pregnant.”
“I…I am?” Sophie had no reason to be surprised, but, even so, it took a moment for the news to sink in. “Oh, God!”
“Is this good news or bad news?”
Tears running down her cheeks, Sophie laughed. “It’s the best news.”
“Congratulations, then. Based on the date of your last period, your baby will be born sometime around November eighteenth. You should schedule a prenatal visit.”
Elated, Sophie made the appointment, then hung up the phone—only to realize she was going to have to hide her pregnancy from almost everyone. If the tabloids found out, they’d have a field day. And who knew what kind of legal ramifications this might have for her and for Hunt?
She dialed Tessa’s number, wondering if Tess would share her joy or chew her out. “Tess, I have the most wonderful news.”
MARC SHUFFLED INTO the interrogation room, cuffed by both wrist and ankle. He sat, waited. Why in the hell had he been brought here? He’d already told them everything he knew down to the most minute details. He’d thought the cops were done questioning him.
Darcangelo walked in, shut the door behind him—and gave Marc a dark look. “Sophie’s pregnant.”
The cop’s words hit Marc square in the forehead. “What?”
“You deaf?”
Marc shook his head, still stunned. “Is she…is she all right?”
“Well, other than being pregnant and unmarried and heartsick, sure.” Darcangelo shrugged. “I’m guessing you know when and how it happened.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t bother trying to explain to Darcangelo that Sophie had deliberately tried to get pregnant. Regardless of the choices she’d made, Marc had been the one who’d failed to wear a condom—more than once. The responsibility lay with him. “I do.”
Those precious days and nights seemed like a dream to him now—making love with Sophie, holding her in his arms, watching her sleep. He could still recall every detail of her face, the scent of her skin, the feel of her against him. The memories kept him sane.
Although the Boulder County Jail, where they’d placed him in protective isolation, was a hell of a lot nicer than the state pen, he was still in a cage. With more felonies than he could count filed against him, he was likely to be in a cage for a long time. And now Sophie was pregnant. Hadn’t he warned her this might happen?
Then why do you feel so goddamned happy about it, Hunter?
He couldn’t help but smile. “Can you tell her I love her?”
“Do I look like fucking Cupid?” Darcangelo glared at him. “Besides, why would I do that when what I really want to do is knock your teeth out?”
And still Marc couldn’t wipe the idiot grin off his face.
August 25–Six months later
AN ENTIRE SWARM of butterflies in her stomach, Sophie walked up the steps of the Denver City and County Building, past the clicking cameras and the TV microphones. Reece walked slightly ahead of her, Kara beside her, holding her hand, both of them doing all they could to shield her.
“Is that Marc Hunter’s baby you’re carrying?”
“Did Hunter sexually assault you?”
“How do you respond to Ken Harburg’s claims that you and he dated briefly and that he is the father of your baby? Will you consent to a paternity test?”
That last question took her completely by surprise, and her step faltered. It wasn’t the first time Harburg had lashed out at her from his prison cell, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Though prosecutors were seeking the death penalty, Harburg’s case hadn’t yet made it to trial. And even if he was convicted and sentenced to die, most death penalty cases took at least ten years to wind their way through the appeals system. As long as Harburg had access to the media, he would find ways to strike out at her.
Kara took her hand, gave it a squeeze, whispered in her ear. “It’s okay, Sophie. We’re almost inside.”
But Sophie’s nerves were already on edge, and she felt positively sick.
After what seemed an eternity, it all came down to today. Today, the judge would sentence Hunt to God only knew how long in prison, and Sophie would know whether she and Hunt had a chance for a future together—or whether they were doomed to a life apart.
Reece opened the door for her, guided her inside, his arm in the small of her back. “Why don’t the two of you slip into one of the empty witness seclusion rooms for a while? We’re a good fifteen minutes early. I’ll save you both seats in the courtroom.”
“Good idea,” Kara said. “Save a seat for Tessa and Julian, too. Their babysitter canceled at the last minute so they’re running late and bringing Maire Rose. And look for Holly and the gang. They’re coming, too.”
Reece raised an eyebrow. “So, save an entire row?”
Kara kissed his cheek. “You’re pretty smart—for a man.”
They entered the sparsely furnished little room, and Sophie sank into a chai
r and let the tears come.
“It will be all right, Sophie.” Kara sat beside her, held her hand. “Remember how afraid you were for Megan? And that turned out better than anyone could have imagined, didn’t it?”
Sophie nodded.
Megan had been tried for first-degree murder, but the jury, touched by her heartrending testimony, had accepted her defense team’s assertion that she’d killed Cross out of fear for her own life and as the result of extreme mental duress—and had acquitted her. The judge, moved almost to tears, had sent Megan to live with Pastor John and Connie, rather than sending her back to the halfway house, arguing that the pastor and his wife had had more of a positive impact on Megan than the criminal justice system. He’d also mandated mental-health counseling and granted her visitation with Emily. To Sophie, it had seemed a miracle.
“You were afraid you’d go to prison, and they didn’t even press charges against you,” Kara reminded her.
Sophie laughed despite herself and pulled a tissue out of her purse. “Thanks to John Kirschner and Tom.”
The district attorney had sat through a few meetings listening to Kirschner and Tom rant about Stockholm syndrome, freedom of the press, source confidentiality, and the need for reporters to gather the news and had decided he had bigger—and easier—fish to fry. Sophie had returned to work the next morning to find her desk buried in flowers, a giant Get Out of Jail Free card hanging overhead.
But if things had turned out well for her and Megan, they hadn’t gone so well for Hunt. He’d been acquitted of murder—but convicted of almost everything else. And that’s what terrified Sophie.
“Kirschner says Hunt could still get a good twenty years or even more.”
“Yes, but he also said the judge might sentence him to ten and let him out in two to five on good behavior.” Kara put her arm around Sophie’s shoulder. “I know the convictions sound bad, but there are a lot of mitigating circumstances here. The judge won’t ignore that. Now take a deep breath. This stress isn’t good for you or your baby boy.”