ma’am,” Marshal McCall said, sounding relieved. “It will make our task much easier.”
“I’m not doing this for anybody but my children,” Grace insisted. She glared over at Dylan. “Naturally, we won’t be housed together, particularly once the final divorce decree comes through. And the quality of the schools will have to be at least as high as the one Kyle and Beth attend here.”
“Of course.”
It occurred to Dylan to wonder how many witnesses tried to dictate terms to the U.S. marshals in charge of their relocation. His guess would be very few. Nor did he think it likely that the authorities would comply with Grace’s demands, particularly since she was simply collateral damage rather than an actual eyewitness to the crimes against children that they’d uncovered.
He wisely kept his opinions to himself. The time would come when Grace would have to take whatever accommodations were offered and be thankful, no matter what. It didn’t take much imagination to figure that her ire would then be directed toward him.
Dylan didn’t care. All he could hope for at this point was that his loved ones would remain unharmed. Enough innocent victims had already suffered for his mistakes.
He had no secret death wish, yet he’d made a solemn decision when he’d realized he’d been shot. If he had to pay with his life for his sins, then so be it. Anything, as long as his family was safe.
“I’ll need to pack, of course,” Grace said, organizing her thoughts and making mental lists of all the things she’d have to do before she’d be ready to leave St. Louis. “I suppose we can have the kids’ school transcripts forwarded later.”
Marshal McCall cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you can’t go home again, Mrs. McIntyre.”
“What? But I have to. There are a hundred things I need to see to—canceling the newspaper delivery, stopping the mail, calling my friends to say goodbye. Everybody at church will want to pray for us, and I’ll need to touch base with my mother, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her jaw dropped. She looked into each of their faces, finally settling on Dylan’s. “You knew all this, didn’t you? That’s why you came to see us. You wanted to fix it so we’d have to run off with you.”
It made no difference that her husband was shaking his head. She didn’t believe him.
“Well, it’s not going to work,” Grace declared. “I don’t care how much trouble you’re in or how many government agencies interfere in my life, I am never going to change my mind about you or about the divorce. It’s too late for us, Dylan. Way, way too late.”
Added to that declaration was her intense disappointment in his character. While they’d been married, she had mistakenly put her trust in him. Had accepted his excuses and explanations without question, over and over again, until she’d become numb to his lies.
Well, that kind of naïveté was in the past. She was wise to Dylan’s tricks. He was never going to be able to fool her again.
Leaving her friends and former life was going to be hard, yes, but not nearly as difficult as it had been to accept the truth about the husband she had once idolized, then take the necessary steps to sever their relationship.
It had nearly killed her spirit when she’d finally given up and filed for divorce. Now, in spite of the ongoing heartache, she was glad she had done so. The more distance she could put between Dylan and their children, the less his warped sense of right and wrong would exert a negative influence upon them.
The kids had to come first. As their only respectable, upstanding parent, she owed it to them—no matter how great her personal sacrifice.
One fleeting glance at Dylan told her it was going to be huge.
FOUR
By the time the paramedics had finished bandaging Dylan and had given him an injection of antibiotics, his arm was truly throbbing. It had occurred to him to wonder why it hadn’t hurt when he’d first felt the bullet’s impact. The ambulance attendants had explained that the initial shock had temporarily deadened the area.
They fashioned a sling, passed a prescription to one of the marshals and had him sign a release before they packed up and left.
Inside the black van, plans were in the making. He sat back and listened as best he could while battling the distraction posed by his pulsing arm. He’d put on a brave front for his wife and children but was rapidly approaching the moment when he was either going to have to take a pill or lie down. Or both.
He shifted his position, hoping to find relief. Instead, a stab of intense pain made him wince. And, of all people, Grace noticed.
She stared and scowled. “I thought that was just a flesh wound.”
“Still hurts,” Dylan admitted. “I’m okay.”
“That’s not how it looks to me,” Grace said, transferring her attention to Marshal Serena Summers. “Can’t you give him something for it?”
“We will. As soon as he’s been properly debriefed,” Summers said. “We’re taking you to a safe house until we can process your paperwork and arrange for permanent transfer. Do you have any friends or family in Texas?”
Grace shook her head. So did Dylan.
“In that case, we’ll proceed as planned.”
Dylan could tell by the expression on his wife’s face that she was already having second thoughts. When she said, “Hold on a minute,” he figured the marshals were in for a talking-to.
If she had not been cradling Brandon, Dylan knew Grace would have jumped to her feet in confrontation mode. “This safe house. If we go there, where will you put Dylan?”
“In the safe house,” McCall answered.
“Not with us, you won’t.”
Dylan was afraid both marshals were going to laugh, particularly when Grace made a disgusted-looking face at him. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have been ready to join them.
“Mrs. McIntyre,” McCall said calmly, “it’s our job to protect you from criminals. We’re not marriage counselors or psychologists. We will provide accommodations that will keep you and your family safe. I suggest you stop thinking of yourself and start considering your children.”
The look of abject astonishment on Grace’s face was a sight to behold, one Dylan knew he would not soon forget. In the following moments she went from amazement to anger, then to resignation and finally penitent surrender.
Nodding, she said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I suppose he’ll behave since his arm is hurt.”
The bullet wound was not the only place Dylan was hurting. He cast sad eyes on his wife and slowly shook his head, taking care to move the rest of his body as little as possible. “I have never abused or even threatened you, Grace, and I’m not about to start now, with or without a bullet hole in my arm.”
“I never said you had.”
“You
