Asking for Trouble (25 page)

Kelley continued to cry as his heartbeat slowed until, finally, he went still.

The forecast said rain, but the clouds disagreed and blew through Lantano Valley as if the sun's rays chased them away. The brilliant blue sky was accented with fluffy marshmallow clouds—as if Brandon had painted the day himself.

Morgan stood graveside, her hand wrapped around Kelley's tiny one, her gaze drifting over those whose lives had been touched by one little boy. Friends from school, their parents, and students from the martial arts class he'd just started. His teachers, intermingled with the Julianos—Liza and Gina, who stood to the side with Drew, Theresa and Daniel and their sons. The Fiorellis' grown children had come as well. The construction workers who had helped with the house had come, along with Kent and his partner, Craig; even Oscar, their UPS delivery man, and Evan.

Everyone was there.

Except Gage.

She didn't think her heart could hurt so much, but hour by hour, minute by minute, she was surviving. Just as her father had said she would. Maybe not living, but surviving.

Morgan glanced over to where her father, brother, and sister stood, knowing they must be feeling what she did—that the past and present had intermingled in a perverse and horrific way.

Sheila worried her. Finding Brandon that day, not being able to help, had changed something in her and created a distance Morgan wasn't sure how to breach. She was afraid this time Sheila was broken and that she might never fully mend.

Save for being questioned by the man she loved, Morgan's fears about revealing her connection to Nemesis had been for naught. Somehow, in the midst of her betrayal, Gage had protected her. Her family had stood by her, defended and sheltered her just as she should have known they would.

And yet, surrounded by those who cared about her, all those who wanted to help—it wasn't enough.

Her mind attributed the feeling to Brandon's loss, but her heart screamed Gage's name in response.

Flowers cascaded over Brandon's casket. Her little man had loved being outside, his hands in the dirt, his face smudged as his mouth split into a wide, crooked grin.

Once again the tears flowed free. She was done fighting herself—she had other fights that needed winning. Other children who needed saving. The center would do that. She'd make sure of it. It would be enough. It would have to be.

She stared down at the coffin, her heart twisting as she drew in a shuddering breath.

Coffins shouldn't come so small.

The minister spoke of the fragility of life, the promise of innocence and eternal life, and while Morgan had told him about Brandon, there was no way to capture what he'd been to everyone who loved him. To try made it all the harder to accept he was gone.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and realized Sheila was letting her know the ceremony had ended.

People moved away. Kelley shivered beside her, and Morgan bent down to button her new coat, tugging the purple velvet hat down over her ears as she wiped away the little girl's tears.

“He's an angel now.” Kelley looked up to the sky. “You said he'd be able to see us every day. Do you think he likes my new party dress?”

“Yes.” Morgan smoothed her hands down Kelley's arms. They'd had a girls' day yesterday—just her and Kelley and Lydia, but Morgan knew Brandon had tagged along in spirit.

“Come on, Kell.” Drew stooped down and picked her up. He met Morgan's gaze and Morgan saw the man he was becoming. He had a long way to go. He'd still be difficult, but at least he was here. Part of the family now.

“Give me a few minutes?” Morgan asked her family as cars pulled out of their spaces and headed to the Fiorellis' to celebrate Brandon's life. As a tribute, they'd gone ahead with the birthday party he would have enjoyed today, including the giant bouncy house.

Now the healing could begin.

Morgan stood beside the casket, breathing in the fresh air despite the tightness in her lungs. She placed her palm against the soft, polished wood.

She held the batch of daisies she and Kelley had picked from the Fiorellis' garden this morning. She placed the wilting flowers on top of the mound of red and white roses.

Tears splashed onto her hand. “Be a good boy up there.” She kissed her fingers then touched them to the casket. “We'll miss you.”

When she turned around, she found Gage standing under a nearby tree.

She started, stunned, thrilled, terrified. He'd stayed out of sight, as if he didn't want to be seen. Or didn't want to see her. But if that was the case, why was he still here after everyone else had gone?

He didn't move, simply watched her. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop her lips from trembling. Dare she hope? Dare she believe?

When he walked forward, her heart skipped a beat. He looked so handsome in his black suit, shirt, and tie. He'd combed his hair straight back, wore dark sunglasses that sat stark against the olive complexion of his skin.

She'd wanted him here so much it had been a palpable ache, yet she couldn't help but worry that he'd brought his anger, resentment. But in that moment, she didn't care. All that mattered was that he was here.

He took off his glasses as he reached her. “Beautiful service.”

“I'm glad you came.”

He stood not two feet away from her, yet it felt as if miles separated them. “How are you?”

She met his gaze and was startled to find his eyes devoid of hostility and instead filled with every kind of love she'd ever dreamed of. “I've missed you.”

He let out a harsh laugh, looked up at the sky. When he looked at her again, there was a smile on his lips. A smile. That was enough. “I missed you, too.”

He opened his arms, and Morgan did what she'd dreamed of doing since their fight the other morning. She walked into them.

The second he wrapped her in his arms, she knew she was safe. That she was forgiven. That she was loved.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to trust you, to tell you the truth, but I couldn't see a way out. I didn't think you'd understand—”

“I might not have,” he said. “Before. But I do now.”

“I never wanted you to have to choose between your job and—” Morgan reached into her pocket and pulled out the inspector's badge he'd left with Brandon in the hospital. “I was hoping I'd have a chance to give this back to you.”

Gage closed his hand around hers and the badge. “I won't be needing it.”

“What?” Dread pooled thick and deep in her chest. “But you love being a cop. An inspector,” she corrected. “Did they fire you? Because of me? Oh, Gage, no—”

“They didn't fire me.” The words were spoken without bitterness or sadness, but rather with a strength and confidence that surprised her. “No, I liked being a cop when I started, but I haven't for a long time. I stayed because I didn't know what else to do. Didn't think I could do anything else. I didn't want to take any chances.” His gaze shifted to Brandon's coffin. “But he showed me otherwise.”

“But what about the case? What about Nemesis and the task force?”

“They'll get him,” Gage said as Morgan searched for doubt in his eyes and found none. Instead, she saw peace. Acceptance. “Nemesis will slip up, but it won't be me who brings him in. Dealing with Kolfax opened my eyes. He's been on the job too long. He's bitter, angry, obsessive, and obsessing over the Nemesis case is what drove Brady to an early grave. I won't go down that road. I can't. Not when I see a much better way to spend my life.”

Morgan's breath hitched in her chest. “But you've worked so hard—”

“Stop trying to talk me out of not being a cop, Morgan.” He captured her face in his hands, lowered his forehead to hers. “It's not who I am anymore. I want to be happy, and I'm happy when I'm with you.”

“What will you do?”

“I might go back to school. Get my contractor's license. I've already talked to Kent to get some ideas. What do you think? I loved working on the house that Saturday. Bringing it back to life. I can do that with other homes. It wouldn't be as rewarding as what you do, but—”

Morgan kissed him, quick, hard, and with every ounce of love in her heart. “I love you.” Then she laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in years. “I was so afraid I'd never get the chance to say that to you.”

“I love you, too, Morgan,” he whispered against her lips.

Gage wrapped his arms around her so tightly she feared she'd never breathe again, and she'd be okay with that. “Just promise me no more secrets. No more lies. Not ever again.”

“You understand why I couldn't tell you, right?” She pulled back, gripped his arms in her hands until her knuckles went white. She needed to know because she couldn't let it come between them again.

“Because you had to.” He stroked her cheek. “Because if you hadn't risked everything to save those kids, you wouldn't be the woman I love. The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.” Was that nervousness she saw jumping into his eyes? Doubt? Gage glanced around, grimaced a bit. “Not the setting I'd hoped for, but since I met you, nothing's gone according to expectations.”

“What—”

“I stopped by your father's this morning for some financial advice. You know, to cover all my bases.” He pulled out her grandmother's engagement ring. “He thought I might know what to do with this. A wise man, your father, suggesting I turn today into a happy memory. I suppose I could wait and do this later. Somewhere less maudlin and, you know, where we'd be surrounded by our families—”

Morgan wasn't quick enough to stop the sob/laugh from escaping her throat. Nor could she stop staring at the ring she never thought she'd see again. The ring she'd sold to Randolph earlier in the week.

Tears blurred her eyes as she thought of her father finding out about her final transgression. And how fitting it seemed to be reminded of hope and beauty and love in the middle of a cemetery, where so many of her loved ones had been laid to rest. It might not be ideal for most people. But for Morgan, this moment couldn't have felt more right. Besides, who better to witness this moment than the spirit of the little boy who had helped bring them together? “Where did Dad—? How did he—?” She couldn't seem to find the right question to ask.

“A very nice man named Randolph called him a few days ago to say you were in trouble. That's how you paid back what you'd taken from the account, isn't it? You sold your grandmother's jewelry?”

She nodded, blinded by the sun sparkling against the stone, touched that Randolph had called her father and that her father had entrusted the ring to Gage.

“Only one way you get it back,” Gage teased. “Don't make me look like an idiot, Morgan. Yes or no?”

“Yes or no what?” she asked. Then she grinned.

“Of all the times for you to get traditional on me.” Gage sighed, set her back, and dropped to one knee. “Morgan Elizabeth Tremayne, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She pulled him up and in, stopped before she hugged him. Then she froze. “Oh, God. Oh, no.” She covered her mouth as laughter bubbled over tears, watching confusion then fear mar his handsome face. “Yes, of course yes I'll marry you. But about those secrets you didn't want me to keep?” She bit her lip, struggling to find the right words. “I think I need to tell you about the deal I made with your mother.”

The Fiorelli house was filled with family and friends celebrating Brandon's life and mourning his loss, an odd combination of reluctant happiness and gut-churning grief amidst music, laughter, and tears.

It was a fraction of the sorrow that had encapsulated Sheila from the second she'd found Brandon lying unconscious in his room.

Feeling invisible, she'd climbed the stairs and stopped in the doorway of Brandon's room, the unbroken part of her expecting the little boy to race into her arms and challenge her to a ferocious game of Monopoly. Instead, her arms felt empty, as if the life had been drained from her. Taken from her.

The anguish she'd sworn she would never experience again suffocated her.

The cowboy bedspread and matching pillows had been straightened, the sheriff's badge throw rug that had cushioned Brandon from the wood floor set back in place. The toys, the coloring books, the conglomeration of crayons and markers lay scattered about as if waiting for their master to return and put them to use.

But Brandon wasn't coming back. Just like her mother wasn't coming back. Just like her brother.

Had it really been less than a week since she'd brought the Old West to life on the far wall of Brandon's room? How she'd loved sketching out the sheriff's office, adding weathered detail to the rickety swinging saloon doors, filling in the lines with thick, glossy bright colors so as to transport its cowboy-obsessed resident into the world of his dreams. She'd filled every brushstroke with love, wanting Brandon to know how much he meant to her, wanting to give him everything he'd always wanted.

The heaviness in her chest had yet to lessen. Why was it that whenever she surrendered to the gift she'd been given, whenever she let the happiness take over, someone she loved died?

The question turned her legs weak and she stumbled to the bed, staring at her last creation without seeing. The room spun and she closed her eyes, reached out to grip the soft pillow hard enough for her nails to dig through the fabric and into her palms. At that moment, Sheila both hated and admired her sister. That Morgan could put her heart in jeopardy with every child she took in, every child she tried to save.

How did she see past the possibility of losing them? How did she survive it time after time? Sheila couldn't do it. Not again. Never again.

“Sheila?”

Somehow, thankfully, her father's sympathetic voice cauterized the wound in her heart.

She swiped a hand under her eyes, felt the tears that had escaped her control and shifted into her composed, presentable self. “Hi, Dad.” She hated the crack in her voice. Tremaynes were strong. Tremaynes didn't crumble under pressure. They didn't surrender to emotions.

Tremaynes got the job done. She blinked and another tear slipped free. How did she have any tears left?

“You did a beautiful job on this.” Jackson wandered closer to her painting. For an instant, she let herself bask in her father's pride, but not long enough to dampen the urge to grab a paint roller and paint the entire wall black. “You have your mother's touch.”

And another knife to her heart. “I was never as good as she was.”

“She believed you were better.” Jackson shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored pants as he glanced at the floor, a sad but amused smile on his face. “It's why she wanted you to study in Europe. She saw your potential. Hoped one day you would embrace it.”

Bitterness tickled the back of her throat. “I've always been more comfortable copying others' work. It made forging the notarization on the so-called amended bylaws easier.” She grabbed hold of the opportunity to change the subject. “Thankfully Nathan found those note cards from Nemesis when he accessed Morgan's computer to find out what she'd done. She saved all our butts even if she doesn't know it. Speaking of Morgan, is she here yet?”

“She arrived a few minutes ago with Gage.” The smile on her father's face widened and the cloud of melancholy lifted. “No official announcement yet, but if Gage's mother's attentiveness is any indication, we can expect one soon. Morgan's wearing your grandmother's engagement ring.”

The joy flooding Sheila's system was tempered by irritation. She huffed. “Thank God Randolph called you.” The idea of her grandmother's collection being sold to strangers, or worse, to their fellow Lantano Valley residents, stoked the fire in Sheila's belly. She'd make sure Randolph was rewarded somehow.

“Would have been suitable payback, wouldn't you say?” Jackson said. “If it wasn't for Nemesis' arrogance and miscalculations, Morgan never would have been put in the position of having to do so.”

“Contrary to what the police believe and what you might think, Nemesis was a team effort,” Sheila reminded him. “You needed, we all needed something to focus on after Mom—” She cleared her throat. “After last summer. Nemesis was an inspired creation, Dad. Lantano Valley needs him, and we've done a lot of good. Besides, it wasn't as if we knew Van Keltin was stupid enough to hide drug money in his clients' homes.” Knowing the mob-lawyer would have to choose between solitary confinement in prison or the witness protection program kicked fragments of her pain aside.

“Losing myself in Nemesis didn't rid me of the grief over losing your mother, Sheila. It delayed it. But you're right. Knowing what we know, given the information we're privy to, I think we were onto something. It doesn't change the fact that Nemesis almost cost your sister her freedom, not to mention the man she loves.”

“Yeah, well, imagine the position she'd have been in if you'd let her in on the family secret.” Feeling steadier now, Sheila kicked her legs out, crossed her ankles, and leaned back on the bed. She could do this, block out the pain, turn it off. She'd done it before.

“You've always had an exceptional talent for saying ‘I told you so' without uttering the words.” Jackson bent to pick up a drawing off the floor, then appeared to think better of it and left it where it was. “You were right. Neither your sister nor your mother would have understood what we've done. Catherine believed, and Morgan still believes, in the inherent good in people. That people, when faced with a choice, will do the right thing. You, me, and Nathan, we know most people need a push in the right direction.”

“More like a kick in the—”

“There you two are.” Nathan leaned around the doorframe, slapped his hand on the wall. His smile faded as he looked at Sheila and then his father. He stepped inside, closed the door and lowered his voice. “I know those looks. I thought we agreed not to discuss Nemesis outside the house. You've got cops not to mention the D.A. downstairs. Any one of whom—”

“Relax, Nathan.” Sheila sighed. “No one's paying any attention to Nemesis at the moment.”

“Lucky for us,” Nathan muttered. “I was thinking we need to ditch the last of that cash we got from Van Keltin and his clients. We don't want anyone else getting tagged by the Feds. Especially that Kolfax guy. He got a little too close, if you ask me.”

“He did indeed. But we're still here. Mail the cash to Evan,” Jackson said, and smiled as he chuckled. “Better yet, since you've perfected your method of breaking into secure facilities, deliver it personally. Be sure to include a thank-you note letting him know Nemesis is going on an extended vacation.”

“And what is Nemesis going to do on this vacation?” Sheila asked, desperate for a new task. A new target. Something, anything to take her mind off her grief.

“My darling daughter.” Jackson reached his hand out for her. “It's time for Nemesis to reinvent himself.”