Royal Rescue (22 page)

After the confession and the subsequent charges, Donny Peterson had killed himself, shortly before the trial was to begin, shortly before Josie’s brakes were cut. Why hadn’t she considered that those attempts might have been because of Donny? Why had she automatically thought the worst of Brendan? Maybe because she’d already been feeling guilty and hadn’t wanted to admit to how much to blame she’d been.

“And that is why I’m going to destroy them,” Donald continued.

“You’re a bad man,” CJ said again, and he kicked the man in the shin.

Josie tried to grab her son before the man could strike back. But he was already swinging and his hand struck Josie’s cheek, sending her stumbling back onto her father’s bed. Stanley Jessup caught her shoulders and then pulled her and his grandson close, as if his arms alone could protect them.

CJ wriggled in their grasp as he tried to break free to fight some more. “My daddy told me to p’tect you,” he reminded Josie. “I have to p’tect my mommy until my daddy gets here.”

Donald Peterson shook his head. “Your daddy’s not coming, son.”

“My daddy’s a hero,” CJ said. “He’ll be here. He always saves us.”

“It is a daddy’s job to protect his kids,” Donald agreed, his voice cracking with emotion. “But your daddy’s busy arresting some bad people.”

“You’re bad.”

“And he’s too far away to get here to help you.”

Tears began to streak down CJ’s face, and his shoulders shook as fear overcame him. He’d been so brave for her—so brave for his father. But now he was scared.

And Josie could offer him no words of comfort. As Donald Peterson had stated, there was no way that Brendan could reach them in time to save them.

They had to figure out a way to save themselves. Her father shifted on his bed and pressed something cold and metallic against Josie’s hip. A gun. Had he had it under his pillow?

After the assault, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to be prepared if his attacker tried again. But Donald’s gun barrel was trained on CJ. And she knew—to make her father and her feel the loss he felt—he would shoot her son first. Could she grab the gun, aim and fire before he killed her little boy?

* * *

T
HE CAMERAS HAD
still been running inside the van, and they’d caught the plate on the black SUV that had driven off with Brendan’s son and the woman he loved. The vehicle had a GPS that had led them right to its location in the parking garage of the hospital.

When they’d arrived, Brendan hadn’t gone down to check it out. He already knew where they were. So he ducked under the whirling FBI helicopter blades and ran across the roof where just a few nights ago he’d nearly been shot. Once he was inside the elevator, he pushed the button for the sixth floor.

It seemed to take forever to get where he needed to be.

His mom was right. He should have taken Josie here. He never should have let her and CJ out of his sight. And if he wasn’t already too late, he never would.

Finally the elevator stopped and the doors slowly opened. He had barely stepped from the car when a shot or two rang out. He fired back. And his aim was 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 with the truth, so Brendan should have trusted his daughter, too.

“He’s a powerful man with a lot of connections,” she said, “but still he didn’t know that I wasn’t dead. I hate that I did that to him. I hate what I did to you. I understand why you can’t trust me.”

“Josie...”

She leaned back and pressed her fingers over his lips. “It’s okay,” she said. “I understand now that sometimes it’s better to leave secrets secret. There will be no stories about you or your mother in any Jessup publications or broadcasts. And there will never be another story by me.”

“Never?”

Tears glistened in her smoky-green eyes, and she shook her head. “I should have never...”

“Revealed the truth?” he asked.

“Look what the consequences were,” she reminded him with a shudder.

“Yes,” he agreed, and finally he looked at the full picture, at what she’d really done. “You got justice for your friend—the girl that kid assaulted. If you hadn’t written that article, it never would have happened. And I know from experience that it’s damn hard to move on if you never get justice.”

“That’s why you went after all those crime organizations,” she said, “to get justice for what your dad did to your mom.”

“She gave up her justice for me,” he said.

“So you got it for her and for so many others.”

He shook his head. “No, Margaret got it for her. Go figure. But
you
helped your friend when no one else would. You can’t blame yourself for what the boy did. And neither should his father.”

“He needs someone to blame,” she said.

Just as the people in her new town had blamed her for her student’s death. Someone always needed someone else to blame.

“And so did I,” she added. “I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he agreed. “Because I would have never hurt you, then or now.” He dragged in a deep breath to say what he’d waited around to tell her, what he’d waited four years to tell her. “Because I love you, Josie.”

“You love me?” She asked the question as if it had never occurred to her, as if she had never dared to hope. Until now. Her eyes widened with hope and revealed her own feelings.

“Yes,” he said, “I love your passion and your intelligence and—”

She stretched up his body and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I didn’t think you’d ever be able to trust me, much less love me.”

“I don’t just love you,” he said. “I want to spend my life with you and CJ. No more undercover. I’ll find a safer way to get justice for others, like maybe helping you with stories.”

She smiled. “That might be more dangerous than your old job.”

“We’ll keep each other safe,” he promised. “Will you become my wife?”

“It will thrill CJ if his parents are together, if every day is like that day at my house,” she said.

That had been such a good day—a day Brendan had never wanted to end. His heart beat fast with hope. She was going to say yes....

“But as much as I love our son, I won’t marry you for his sake,” she said. “And you wouldn’t want me to.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. But before he could argue with her, she was speaking again.

“I will marry you,” she assured him, “because I love you with all my heart. Because even when I was stupid enough to think you were a bad man, I couldn’t stop loving you. And I never will.”

“Never,” he agreed. And he covered her mouth with his, sealing their engagement with a kiss since he had yet to buy a ring. But it was no simple kiss. With them, it never was. Passion ignited and the kiss deepened.

If not for the dinging of the elevator, they might have forgotten where they were. His mother stepped through the open doors, her eyes glinting with amusement as if she’d caught him making out on the porch swing.

“We’re getting married, Mom,” he said.

“Of course,” she said, as if there had never been any question in her mind. “Now, open the door for me.” She juggled a tray of plates and coffee cups and a sippy cup.

He opened the door to his son, who threw his arms around Brendan’s legs. “Daddy! Daddy, you’re still here.”

“I’m never leaving,” he promised his son.

“Gramma!” the little boy exclaimed, and he pulled away from Brendan to follow her to his grandfather’s bedside.

With a happy sigh, Josie warned him, “We’re never going to have a moment alone.”

“Our honeymoon,” he said. “We’ll spend our honeymoon alone.”

Epilogue