better.
The pseudo-orderly dropped to the floor, clutching his bleeding arm. His gun dropped, too. Brendan kicked it aside as he hurried past the man. The orderly wasn’t the one who’d driven off with his family. He wasn’t the one with the grudge against Josie.
That man was already inside and he had nothing to lose. Running the plate had tied it to the marshal to whom the vehicle had been assigned, and a simple Google search on the helicopter ride had revealed the rest of Donald Peterson’s tragic story. There was no point in calling out, no point in trying to negotiate with him. The only thing he wanted was Josie dead—as dead as his son.
So Brendan kicked open the door, sending it flying back against the wall. He had his gun raised, ready to fire, but his finger froze on the trigger.
The man holding a gun was not the marshal but the patient. The marshal lay on the floor, blood pooling beneath his shoulder. His eyes were closed, tears trickling from their corners. But his pain wasn’t physical.
It was a pain Brendan had nearly felt himself. Of loss and helplessness.
“See, I knew my daddy would make it,” CJ said, his voice high with excitement and a trace of hysteria. “I knew he would save us.”
Brendan glanced down at the floor again, checking for the man’s weapon. But Josie held it. He looked back at his son. “Doesn’t look like you needed saving at all. Your mommy and grandpa had it all under control.”
Stanley Jessup shook his head. “If you hadn’t distracted him with the shooting outside the door, I never would have been able to.” He shuddered. While the man was a damn good marksman, he wasn’t comfortable with having shot a person.
“Are you okay, Daddy?” Josie asked.
He grabbed her, pulling her into his arms. “I am now. A couple of nights ago I heard a scream and then a female voice, and I recognized it. But I didn’t dare hope. I thought it was the painkillers. I couldn’t let myself believe. Couldn’t let myself hope … You’re alive …”
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, her body shaking with sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
It was a poignant moment, but one that was short-lived as police officers and hospital security burst into the room. It was nearly an hour later before the men had been arrested and the explanations made.
Finally Stanley Jessup could have a moment alone with his daughter and grandson, so Brendan stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him. He walked over to his mother, who had insisted on coming along in the helicopter with him and the other agents.
“I’m going to get some coffee and food,” Roma said. “I’m sure my grandson is hungry. He’s had a long day.” She rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Brendan’s cheek. “So has my son.”
“It’s not over yet,” he said.
Her brow furrowed slightly. “Isn’t it all over? All the bad people arrested?”
“There’s still something I need to do,” Brendan said. For him it wasn’t all over. It was just beginning.
She nodded as if she understood. She probably did; his mother had always known what was in his heart.
Josie didn’t, but he intended to tell her.
After patting his cheek with her palm, his mother headed down the hall and disappeared into the elevator, leaving him alone. He had spent so much of his life alone—those years before he’d joined his mother in witness protection. Then all the years he’d gone undercover—deep undercover—for the Bureau. He’d been young when he’d started working for the FBI, since his last name had given him an easy entrance to any criminal organization the Bureau had wanted to investigate. And take down.
He had taken down several of the most violent gangs and dangerous alliances. But none of them had realized he was the one responsible.
If the truth about him came out now, his family could be in danger of retaliation—revenge like that the marshal had wanted against the Jessups because of the loss of his son.
Pain clutched Brendan’s heart as he thought of how close he had come to losing his son. CJ had told him how he’d tried to “p’tect” his mommy as he’d promised. The brave little three-year-old had kicked the man with the gun.
He shuddered at what could have happened had Josie obviously not taken the blow meant for their boy. She’d had a fresh mark on her face.
As she stepped out of her father’s room and joined him in the hall, he studied her face. The red mark was already darkening. He found himself reaching up and touching her cheek as he murmured, “I should have kicked him, too.”
She flinched. “I used to worry that CJ was too timid,” she said, “but now I worry that he might be too brave.”
“Are you surprised?” he asked. “You’ve always been fearless.”
“Careless,” she corrected him. “I didn’t care about the consequences. I didn’t realize what could happen to me.”
He’d thought that was because she’d been spoiled, that she’d been her father’s princess and believed he would never let anything happen to her. Now Brendan realized that she’d cared more about others than herself.
“You’re the brave one,” she said. “You’ve put yourself in danger to protect others. To protect me. Thank you.”
He shook his head. He didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted her love.
“I thought you might have left with the others,” she said, glancing around the empty hall. “With your mom …”
“She’s still here,” he said. “She’s getting food and coming back up.” The woman had made a life of feeding hungry kids—food and love.
“I’m glad she’s coming back,” she said. “CJ has been asking about her. He wants his grampa to meet his gramma. I think he thinks they should be married like other kids’ grandparents are.”
A millionaire and a mobster’s widow? Brendan chuckled.
“I’m really glad that you’re still here,” she said.
His heart warmed, filling with hope. Did she have the same feelings he had?
“I owe you an apology,” Josie said. “It was all my fault—all of it. And my mistakes cost you three years with your son.” Her voice cracked. “And I am so sorry ….”
He closed his arms around her and pulled her against his chest—against his heart. She trembled, probably with exhaustion and shock. She had been through so much. She clutched at his back and laid her head on his shoulder.
“My father knew who you were,” she remarked. “What you were. From his sources within the FBI, he knew you were an agent. If I’d told him what story I was working on when the attempts started on my life, he would have told me to drop it—that there was no way you could be responsible. I should have known….”
“He knew?” Brendan had really underestimated the media mogul in resources and respect. He could be trusted
