Sweet Talk (31 page)

She nodded. Grayson took her hand and strode past John. She waved to him as she was being pulled through the door.

A door opened on every car that was parked across the street, and cameramen and reporters came running. Grayson noticed a blue Honda opposite the apartment entrance. It hadn’t been there when he’d arrived. The sedan was squeezed in between two vans. As Grayson hurried Olivia around his car to get to the passenger side, out of the corner of his eye he saw the door of the Honda open and Carl Simmons step out into the street.

Olivia was blinded by camera lights. She put her hand up to shield her eyes, unaware of the danger.

Simmons swung his right arm up, and Grayson saw the glint of steel. He moved so quickly, Olivia didn’t have time to brace herself or react. He threw her behind him, and she fell to her knees before he flattened her with his body. In one fluid motion, he covered her and trained his gun on Simmons.

He shouted to the reporters, “Get down, get down . . .”

“What—” was all that Olivia could utter. Grayson had knocked the wind out of her. Gunshots stopped her from asking questions. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed Grayson wouldn’t get hit. Protecting her, he’d made himself a target.

Camera lights illuminated the scene that was unfolding. Simmons ran toward them, shooting again and again, trying desperately to get Olivia. Grayson fired only one shot. That was all he needed. The bullet sliced into Simmons’s black heart. His arms flailed, his legs buckled, and he crashed spread-eagle to the ground, face-first.

The noise was ear-piercing. People were screaming and running every which way. Olivia’s heart pounded in her chest, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Grayson lifted her, checking to make certain she hadn’t been hit by one of Simmons’s bullets. Her dress was ripped all the way up to the top of her thigh, her elbow was scraped, and she was shaking from head to toe.

Grayson’s eyes showed fear mixed with his rage. “Are you all right? Did he—”

“I’m okay,” she whispered, surprised by how weak her voice sounded. “What happened?”

“Carl Simmons.”

Stunned, she asked, “He’s here?”

“He’s dead. Can you walk? I want you to get inside. Tell John to lock the door. Don’t talk to anyone. Just sit and wait for me. I need to get to Simmons’s gun—”

“Go,” she said.

John held the door for her, blocking two eager reporters from entering. He bolted the door behind her and led her to the security room behind the desk. “No one will bother you here, and you can watch the street, see what Agent Kincaid is doing.”

Grayson ran across the street. Pushing reporters out of his way, he knelt beside Carl to check for a pulse while he called it in.

Others had called 911 already. Within bare minutes, police and agents filled the street. Olivia waited patiently, but her chest was getting tight, and she knew she was going to be in trouble if she didn’t use her inhaler. She then realized she didn’t have her purse. She must have dropped it when Grayson pushed her. John found it under the car and brought it to her, and once she’d used her inhaler, she felt immediate relief. She put her head back, closed her eyes, and tried to calm her racing heartbeat.

She thought about Grayson and how calm he’d been while that maniac was shooting at them. He was completely in control, until it was over. Then his composure turned into fury that Simmons had tried to hurt her. He had put his life on the line to save hers, she realized, and her eyes filled with tears at the thought of what could have happened to him.

Knowing it would be some time before Grayson was finished, she went back upstairs. She stripped out of her clothes, washed her hands, and cleaned the cut on her elbow. She slipped into her silk robe and curled up on the sofa to wait for him.

He arrived a half hour later and found her standing at the kitchen window, looking down at the street.

“Is he really dead?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What was he thinking to come here? With all the reporters . . . He couldn’t have thought he’d get away with it.”

“He wanted to die, but he wanted to kill you first.”

“He really hated me, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. You stopped him from destroying more innocent people’s lives. The world’s a better place without him.” Grayson tossed his tie on the table. “You took your clothes off,” he commented.

“Yes.”

He took a step toward her and stopped. “It’s not too late. We could catch the end of the party I guess.”

She took a step toward him. “I don’t want to go out. I could fix dinner . . . microwave something. Are you hungry?”

He slowly looked her up and down, smiled, and said, “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

Lifting her into his arms, he walked into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.

THIRTY-THREE

G
rayson wouldn’t leave Olivia a
lone. He was determined to marry her, and nothing she could do or say would change his mind. He had listened to her protests for two months, but he was persistent.

“If I were to get sick again, you’d have to suffer with me,” she argued. “Are you ready for that?”

“How about I toss you out if you get so much as a cold?”

“I’m serious.”

“What happens if I get sick?” he countered.

The question gave her pause. “I’d take care of you.”

“Marry me.” He was backing her into her bedroom while he made his demand. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you. You’re going to marry me.”

She promised to think about it. He knew what that meant. She’d be thinking about it six months from now.

“When you wake up, you’ll have a ring on your finger. I’m done waiting.” He pulled her to him and began to undress her.

“You think I’ll sleep through you putting a ring on my finger? I’m a very light sleeper, Grayson.”

“When I’m finished with you, you’re going to be so exhausted, you’ll sleep through anything I do to you.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. He began to make love to her with gentle caresses and slow, wet kisses. He soon became more demanding, and he brought her to the brink again and again, but each time he pulled back and made her wait. When she finally screamed for release, he gave in. The last thing she remembered was Grayson leaning over her and whispering that he loved her.

He stayed over that night and slept with her wrapped in his arms. When Olivia woke up, he was in the kitchen. She could smell bacon, and she could hear him whistling. She rolled onto her back and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. She saw the ring then, a gorgeous emerald-cut diamond.

Grayson heard the rich, joyful sound of laughter coming from the bedroom. It was music to his ears.

He had his answer.

THIRTY-FOUR

T
heir wedding was to be a small affair in her aunt Emma’s living room. Olivia couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted to invite her mother and her sister, but Natalie made the decision for her. She called late one evening, and her voice was absolutely frigid.

“Still blaming me, Natalie?” Olivia asked.

“You are to blame,” her sister said resentfully. “I don’t think Mother or I will ever be able to forgive you.”

“Have I asked for forgiveness?”

“I have a message.”

“Oh?”

“The message is from our father. He has such a kind heart.”

“Right.”

“He said he’s ready to forgive you, but you have to face him when you apologize.”

There was dead silence on the phone for at least twenty seconds. Then Olivia began to laugh. Some things—and some men—never change. Logan Weston was one example; Robert MacKenzie, another.

* * *

It was such a beautiful spring day, Emma decided to have the wedding outside in her garden. By the time she finished with the caterer and the florist, the yard looked like a wonderland.

Dr. Andre Pardieu walked Olivia down the aisle. Her maids of honor were Collins, Jane, and Samantha. Olivia had told Grayson that Samantha had to be at the ceremony, and if she couldn’t get leave, then everyone would go to Iceland, and they’d get married there.

Grayson in his tux set her heart on fire. This beautiful man loved her. As she walked toward him, she felt as though she were floating. All her worries had vanished. She was no longer afraid of what might come. With Grayson at her side, she could face anything. He was her lover, her friend, her strength. It would be all right to lean on him every now and then.

There was much to celebrate. Collins had finally received word that she could begin training to become an FBI agent, and she was thrilled. Ronan kept his distance, but Olivia noticed he hadn’t taken his eyes off Collins. She couldn’t wait to see what might come of the attraction.

Agent Huntsman was late for the ceremony, but he had the most wonderful excuse. He pulled Olivia and Grayson aside to share his news. “I’ve got a wedding present for you,” he began. “We finally caught up with that bitch, Gretta Keene. She was in New Mexico under an assumed name. She’s behind bars now. And guess who else?”

Olivia gasped. “Eric Jorguson?”

“That’s right. We nabbed him, too.” Huntsman couldn’t stop smiling. “We’ve got everything we need to prove Jorguson was laundering money, and now it looks like we’ll also be able to go after some of his other clients. It’s a mighty fine day, isn’t it?”

Olivia thought it was a fine day, indeed. Every one of Grayson’s buddies was drooling over Olivia’s three best friends. And the girls certainly knew how to flirt, even Jane, now that she was looking so radiant. She’d started dating again and was truly happy.

Ralph and his father were invited—Henry had put them on the list. Mary and Harriet were busy protecting the cake and keeping the boys out of mischief.

Ralph Sr. fell under Samantha’s spell. He hung on her every word. She was launching into “the story” when her friends joined her.

“There I was . . .”

Collins, Jane, and Olivia finished the sentence for her. “...in seat twenty-eight A on flight twenty-seven forty-three. . . .” Laughter followed, drawing smiles from the guests.

The photographer wanted a picture of the bride with her maids of honor. Olivia gathered them on the terrace. They stood together smiling into the camera. Sam whispered something the others found hilarious, and they had a good laugh.

Contentment washed over Olivia. The Pips were together again. They had come through the storm, and the sun was shining.

EPILOGUE

A
year had passed since the wedding, and Olivia had settled comfortably into married life. Patrick continued to keep the household running smoothly, and she helped with carpools and homework.

Grayson hadn’t committed yet, but he was giving serious thought to accepting a promotion at the agency. As an incentive, they had agreed to his demands: He could take on individual cases from time to time and not be tied to a desk, and Ronan would continue to be his partner for those investigations. The new position would mean that his work schedule would be predictable and he could spend more time with his family.

Olivia and Henry had become very close. Their busy lives kept them occupied during the week, so Olivia made it a point to reserve the weekends for family activities. One Saturday in late June, Olivia and Henry were at a local farmers’ market that was set up on the edge of a city park. She wanted to pick up some fresh vegetables for their dinner, and she’d promised Henry they would see the latest Transformer movie when she was finished. Grayson and Ronan were tying up a case, and Ronan was going to drop Grayson off at the park to meet them and spend the rest of the day with them.

Henry had one of his handheld game players and was trying to destroy aliens while Olivia and he strolled among the crowded stalls. She kept her hand on Henry’s shoulder, guiding him. They stopped in front of a stall containing fresh tomatoes. As she was sorting through them, she glanced across the market to the parking lot beyond. Grayson was walking toward her. Her heartbeat quickened, and her breath caught in her throat. Oh, he was such a handsome man. In all this time together, she still hadn’t gotten used to him. Whenever he walked through the door at night, she reacted the same way. Always with excitement and wonder. She thought it a miracle that he loved her.

He reached her and leaned down to kiss her. Henry was so intent on his game, he didn’t realize his uncle had joined them.

“Sorry I’m late. After all this time, Eric Jorguson wants to make a deal,” he explained. “It’s not gonna happen. He can’t give us anything we don’t already have.”

“I can’t despise the man,” she whispered so Henry wouldn’t overhear. “If he hadn’t attacked me, I never would have met you.”

“Not true,” Grayson said. And though he wasn’t usually poetic, he added, “We were meant to be together. I would have found you.”

*  *  *

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julie Garwood
is among the most critically acclaimed—and popular—romance authors around, with thirty-six million copies of her books in print. She is the author of numerous New York Times bestsellers, including
The Ideal Man
,
Sizzle
,
Fire and Ice
,
Shadow Music
,
Shadow Dance
, and
Slow Burn
. She lives near Kansas City.