Redemption (16 page)

Deep inside, there was a sense of urgency, as if she needed to do something, but thoughts slipped through her mind like sand through her fingers and she couldn’t grasp what that something was. The backseat was roomy but her knees were beginning to ache from being folded up and she needed to walk around. On top of that, Garcia hadn’t allowed her to go to the bathroom before they left and the baby, thankfully active, had decided to use her bladder as a pillow.

Suzanne hadn’t said a word.

Garcia suddenly straightened. Hope’s heart lurched when she spotted John striding down the street. She got a funny feeling in her stomach, like butterflies that had nothing to do with the baby. He walked past the vehicle without looking inside and she stifled the urge to pound her fist against the window and scream his name.

At exactly three o’clock, Garcia and Suzanne got out. Cold air blew in bringing with it the sound of passing cars and even a few birds that had stayed for the winter. It was a relief to unfold herself from the SUV but her nearly numb legs buckled and she had to lean against the vehicle to get the feeling back.

John met them in the parking lot. The scene was so surreal, people going about their business as a terrorist and escaped convict stood in a parking lot. Hope wanted to scream at them to help her, to take notice, but at the same time she felt as if she were floating above everything, watching with detachment.

When they stopped in front of John, her stomach pitched and the world tilted. Her knees went weak again and only Garcia’s firm hold on her elbow kept her upright.

“You have the key?” Garcia asked.

John fished in his jeans pocket and pulled out the key, dangling it in front of Garcia, then snatching it back, closing his fingers around it.

“Give me what I want first,” John said.

Garcia put his hand on Suzanne and pushed her forward. Stunned, Hope could only stare at John who refused to meet her gaze.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. At least not how she thought it was supposed to go down. Was it? She wished her mind was working better because she had this strange feeling she should be doing something.

Suzanne gasped and shot Garcia a terrified look. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

Garcia shrugged. “The price of doing business, no?”

Suzanne’s fingers dug into Garcia’s arm. “You can’t do this. That’s
my
money.”

Garcia yanked his arm away. “It is my money now,
querida
.” His smile was evil, full of malice and something very close to glee. Hope shrank from him, her gaze going to John in a silent plea for help.

“What’s it feel like to be sold out by someone you trust?” John asked Suzanne as he dropped the key in Garcia’s hand. “Nice doing business with you,
amigo
.” He emphasized the amigo, drawing it out as if to mock him.

Suzanne squirmed in John’s grasp. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded with Garcia. “Please, Manco. I’ll give you more money. Whatever you want. Just don’t do this.”

John carted her off, leaving Hope with Garcia. Not once had he looked at her.

As Garcia led Hope through the bank doors, she stumbled blindly after him.

“What does it feel like to be his
puta
?” His breath brushed her neck as he chuckled. Hope tried to ignore him, tried to close her mind to Garcia’s hideous suggestions. Her leaden heart thumped against her rib cage and she rubbed it with her free hand, wondering if she were having a heart attack.

They waited in line and Hope absently watched as a teller counted out bills to a woman while in the next line a young construction worker cashed his paycheck. Garcia shoved something into her hand and when she looked down, she saw it was her driver’s license.

“What do you think John Callahan is doing to Ms. Carmichael, eh,
querida
?”

Hope turned her head away, refusing to allow him to goad her into saying anything. Her heart was heavy and it had nothing to do with the drugs. John’s abandonment cut through the narcotics. A powerful antidote to their mind-numbing qualities. He’d said he would help her. He’d promised. So what now? Was she just supposed to hand over millions of dollars to a terrorist?

The construction worker finished his transaction, stuffed his money in his wallet and walked out whistling.

Once again Garcia leaned close and whispered. “Is he torturing her as I tortured him? Do you think she will scream as he did?”

Hope closed her eyes and felt a tear trickle down her cheek. No, she didn’t believe it. Refused to believe John would abandon her for his own revenge. What was it he’d said? She struggled to remember. They had been discussing revenge and he’d said revenge was rarely worth the price.

The businessman in front of them signed a slip and flirted with the teller. In the background phones rang, people laughed.

Hope’s head began to ache and she rubbed her temple. What would happen if she started screaming?

As if sensing her thoughts, Garcia tightened his hold on her elbow and they moved to the front of the line.

“May I help you?” the teller asked with a wide smile.

Hope opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Beside her, Garcia smiled at the woman, a polished smile that showed off his perfect teeth and flashing eyes. He oozed the essence of Latino lover and the woman blushed. “My fiancé would like to access her safety-deposit box,” he said smoothly.

“Of course. Do you have the key?” She directed her question to Garcia who produced the key. “Meet me over there,” she said, nodding to a half door with a latch on it.

Garcia steered Hope to the door. She stumbled over a crease in the rug but no one seemed to notice.

The teller ushered Hope through and Garcia started to step in as well.

“Are you Charles Stewart?” the teller asked.

The name of her father, coming from this woman’s lips, startled Hope. Garcia hesitated, then shook his head.

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to wait out here. Only the owners of the boxes are allowed in. I’m sorry.” She sounded genuinely sorry as she took the key from him and Hope’s ID from her.

The vault was small, filled with floor-to-ceiling metal doors on one side and two tiny rooms for privacy on the other. The air was stuffy and Hope found it hard to breathe. Yet being away from Garcia seemed to clear her mind a bit. “I need help,” she whispered to the teller. “That man—”

“You’re a lucky woman,” the teller said as she put both keys in the box and turned them. “He’s gorgeous. And that accent.” She sighed as she pulled the box out and placed it on a table. She patted Hope’s arm. “It will be all right,” she said before leaving.

Hope lunged and caught the woman’s sleeve. “Please. You have to listen to me—”

Suddenly an arm came around from behind her and snaked across her upper body as a hand covered her mouth, cutting off her words.

“Hope, it’s Luke Barone,” the voice said from behind her.

Hope stilled, her eyes going wide as she recognized the name of John’s best friend. He quietly pulled her into one of the small rooms people used for privacy and stepped in front of her. “Are you all right? Did Garcia hurt you?”

She shook her head but the movement hurt. “H-he gave me something. Drugs.”

Luke gently pushed her into a chair and squatted in front of her. His clear gray eyes searched her face. He was as tall as John but not nearly as bulky. Was dark compared to John’s light. But even through the differences, Hope could see the resemblances. It was in the eyes. Luke Barone had looked at death and then beaten it, just as John had.

“We’ll get you checked out as soon as possible,” he said. “Meanwhile I need you to stay in here. Do not leave this room until I come for you.” He paused as he studied her once more. “Do you understand me, Hope?”

She tried to nod but a sharp pain made her wince. Slowly the fog that had shrouded her thoughts began to lift, but as it did, it made her weak. “John?”

“He wanted to be here but he had to do the swap for Suzanne. Believe me, Hope, it took all my considerable powers of persuasion to keep him from you.” She blinked and Luke cursed. “Hope, are you understanding any of this?”

“Yes.” Her relief was enormous. Even though she hadn’t wanted to believe John would leave her with Garcia, she hadn’t been sure. Suzanne in his clutches had to be a powerful lure.

Luke straightened from his crouched position. “Stay here. Either John or I will come for you.”

Outside the vault, voices rose as people scuffled about. Luke disappeared through the doorway. When Hope stood, the room spun and she had to brace her hand on the small table.

The voices quieted until there was only one left. Calm, steady, a voice Hope had come to love.

“It’s over, Garcia. Put the gun down.”

She made her way to the door and peered out. The tellers, the construction worker who she’d thought was cashing his check, the businessman who’d flirted with the teller, Luke and John, all had guns pointed at Garcia, who had an arm around the friendly teller’s neck and a gun to her head. The woman’s face was white with terror, her eyes darting around as her fingers clawed at Garcia’s arm.

But Garcia wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at John and something inside Hope pushed through the drugs, clearing the way for an anger such as she’d never felt before. Garcia’s taunts and innuendos hadn’t affected her as much as seeing him with John, smiling that cruel, sadistic smile that she knew lived in John’s nightmares.

“I want my money and safe passage out of the country,” Garcia said.

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” John shot back.

Hope looked behind her and spotted the long metal box that contained everything Garcia wanted. The money that had driven Suzanne to sell arms to the wicked. The money her father died for and John had suffered because of.

Ignoring the nausea churning in her stomach and knees that threatened to give out with each step, she grabbed the box by its handle and walked to the center of the bank. Luke tried to grab her as she passed but she sidestepped him. “Manco Garcia.”

Garcia spun around, dragging the terrified teller with him. Hope held up the safety-deposit box. “This what you’re looking for?”

“Hope, no.” John’s voice was low but the control was edged with panic.

“You want your money?” she taunted the terrorist.

Garcia’s gaze flicked between her and the box.

“Let the woman go. Take me.”

“For God’s sake, Hope.” John took a step forward but was stopped by the businessman.

“They won’t let you out of this bank alive, Garcia. Unless you have me with you.” She didn’t know who or what was putting the words in her head, but she was glad they were there. This was going to end. Today. She was tired of running. Tired of living in fear. Tired of it all.

“Shoot him,” someone yelled.

“
Hold your fire,
” John shouted back.

Hope and Garcia stared at each other. The people around her began to dim, the edges of her vision blurred and her head swam. “Let the woman go,” Hope said softly. “Take me.”

John made a sound somewhere between anguish and outrage. Hope curled her fingers tighter around the handle of the box. Garcia released the teller and she stumbled away, sobbing. One of the female agents grabbed her and they disappeared into an office.

Now there were just the two of them, alone in a circle of men and women with guns pointed at them. Curiously, Hope didn’t feel afraid. Maybe because she was finally taking charge.

“Hand me the box,
querida
.”

Hope shook her head and tried to hide the wince of pain. “If you want it, you have to come and get it.”

He looked at the crowd, all federal agents, Hope assumed.

“Don’t do this, Hope.”

She glanced at John and could see the truth in his eyes. If the agents started shooting, she’d be caught in the crossfire.

Garcia stepped forward.

“It’s your only way out alive.” She willed him forward, sensing she didn’t have much time. Her legs began to shake and cold sweat bathed her forehead and rolled down her back. The heaviness of the metal box kept her rooted in reality.

Garcia lifted his chin, pulling his arrogance around him like a shield. She could see he understood what was happening. If he didn’t come to her, he’d be shot. Yet he knew she had some plan up her sleeve but couldn’t figure out what.

She blinked to clear her vision and he was suddenly in front of her. His quick movement caught her off balance and she swayed.

A grin spread across his face and something inside her broke open. A fury she’d never felt before flowed through the ragged opening, filling her muscles with the strength of ten men.

With a cry of rage, she lifted the box and swung. Metal collided with skin and bone to make a sickening crack. Blood splattered and Garcia went down. As the agents swarmed around him, Hope stumbled back, the box falling from her fingers. She stared at her feet where papers had scattered.
The
papers.

Hands gripped her shoulders, held her steady. Slowly she lifted heavy lids. John looked at her, emotions she didn’t have the energy to identify crossing his features.

“You deserve peace,” she said before her knees buckled and she sank to the ground.

***

“How is she?”

On the other end of the line, Luke made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

John leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He felt pain everywhere, but most especially in his soul. “I don’t want to play games, Barone.”

“How do you think she is? She’s about ready to fall apart. For some odd reason, she’s been spending a lot of time with Kate’s brother.”

Eric McAuley, US Marshal. The “businessman” inside the bank. Eric and Hope had a lot in common. They’d both lost loved ones so it was natural they would gravitate toward each other. Didn’t mean John had to like it. Didn’t mean he’d do anything about it either.

“How’s the baby?” he asked.

“The baby’s still active and the vital signs are good.”

He couldn’t help his rush of relief. As soon as Hope and Garcia had walked up to him in the parking lot, he’d realized she’d been drugged. His anger had been tremendous and it’d taken all his willpower to go through with the plan when what he’d wanted to do was wrap his hands around Garcia’s neck and squeeze the life out of him.

His blood had run cold when he saw her walk right into the middle of everything with guns pointed at her, that damn metal box clutched in her hands, eyes flashing a temper he’d never known she possessed. And when she’d collapsed into his arms, he’d never felt such stark fear. After the fear came the anger. She’d been an idiot to put herself and her baby in danger. If he hadn’t known he loved her before, he did then. And he could have seriously strangled her.

It’d been a brilliant move. Something he’d grudgingly admitted only after everything was over. But it was her last words that had made him run.

You deserve peace.

She’d done it for him. Risked everything so he could find peace. What she didn’t know was that without her in his life, he’d never find that peace. And that’s what made him run. The thought of needing her that much had scared him. Little did he realize the separation he’d forced between them was worse than the fear.

“The funeral for Charles Stewart is tomorrow,” Luke said.

“Is it?”

“Damn it, Callahan. Snap out of this. She needs you.”

John lifted his head and stared at the beige wall of the hotel room he’d rented three days ago.
She needs you.
He hadn’t wanted to be needed a week ago. Hadn’t wanted the responsibility that went with that emotion. Now he couldn’t seem to get away from it. Because he needed her too.

But… It was complicated. Or maybe he was making it more complicated than it needed to be. He didn’t know. He just knew he was afraid. Afraid to take that final step. “How’d you do it?” he asked Luke.

“Do what?”

For a moment he couldn’t speak through the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “Come back from the dead.”

“Ah.”

He didn’t need to say more. Luke would know. Luke would understand.

“It hurt like hell,” his friend admitted. “But Kate made it okay. Hope can do the same if you let her.”

If he let her. That’s where he always got tripped up.

“John.”

“Yeah?”

“Go to Hope.”

Go to Callahan.
The words echoed in his mind. Her father had sent Hope to him for protection and in a bizarre twist of fate, she was the one who had saved him. He disconnected his call and stared at the wall.

Go to Hope.

It sounded so damn simple.

***

Hope stared at the churned ground, an ugly slash that reminded her of everything she’d lost. A cold wind blew but she didn’t shiver, just pushed a few errant strands of hair out of her eyes as she stared at her father’s grave.

The mourners had left. There hadn’t been many since her father had lost so many friends because of the Carmichaels. There’d been more media than anything, but thankfully, Luke’s men had kept them away.

The Barones had become her rock over the last four days and she couldn’t even begin to express her gratitude. Kate had stayed with her at the hospital through endless, terrifying tests to determine what Garcia had injected her with and if it harmed her baby. Thankfully, the baby was healthy.

She’d been introduced to Kate’s brother, Eric. Ironically, it’d been Eric she’d gravitated to, recognizing the bleakness in his gaze, sensing he understood her loss. Only Eric would let her sit quietly, lost in her thoughts. Only he seemed to understand.

Manco Garcia sat in jail, awaiting trial. Suzanne Carmichael was back in prison. Thanks to Ramon and Tómas who had been picked up at the old hotel Garcia had used to keep Suzanne in, they’d found her father’s body. Charles Stewart had been buried in a shallow grave in the woods behind his house. Luke and Kate wouldn’t let her identify his body, opting to use dental records instead. She’d been grateful.

They’d helped with the funeral preparations, fielded calls from the media and sat with her during the endless police questioning, but when she’d asked about John, they became tightlipped. Kate had seemed more sympathetic, Luke irritated. But the only thing either of them had been able to tell her was that John was busy being debriefed.

She’d believed it at first. But it’d been four days and she’d held out the irrational hope he’d show up at her father’s funeral. Through her grief, she’d surreptitiously scanned the crowd, searching for his distinctive head of hair.

She bent and touched the cold ground. “I love you, Daddy.” For the umpteenth time, tears filled her eyes and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. Whatever he’d done, he hadn’t deserved this—brutal death, his body discarded. She missed him so much it was a constant ache inside her. John had said it would dim but sometimes she wondered.

She placed a single red rose on the heap of dirt.

A scarred, yet still-beautiful hand placed another next to it.

She looked up into guarded navy eyes. He reached down to help her stand, the feel of his hand on her elbow both comforting and heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry I missed the funeral,” he said, standing awkwardly in front of her. He shifted, putting the bulk of his weight on his good leg. “I blew it, didn’t I?” When she didn’t answer, a pained look crossed his face.

The wind blew a piece of her hair across her mouth. John hooked it with a finger and gently tucked it behind her ear, his gaze following the movement. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Hope. It about killed me to walk away from you outside that bank. If there had been any other way, I would have taken it.”

“I love you,” she blurted out.

He froze, his gaze zeroing in on her. “What?”

“I love you.” Hope held her breath. She didn’t really expect a response. After all, John Callahan was a man who liked his solitude and she was definitely a woman in which very soon solitude would be a thing of the past. She took a step away. “Thank you for coming. And thank you for everything you’ve done. I know it wasn’t what you had planned.” She couldn’t miss his wince. She hadn’t meant to dredge all that up, just to express her gratitude. But it went far beyond gratitude. She and her child owed John their lives and no amount of words or gestures could express her appreciation.

“When you crashed into my life, I was desperate.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t even think I understand it all that well. I just know that after you, things changed. Everything wasn’t dark and depressing anymore and I looked forward to waking up in the morning to see your face.” He stared into her eyes. “I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t want to wake up feeling so alone it physically hurts.”

She licked dry lips. “Wh-what are you saying?”

He looked at her as the birds chirped in the trees and far off a car passed on the road below them. The cold January wind blew but she felt insulated from it. “I’m saying I want to live. I’m saying I love you.”