The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (110 page)

With what she hoped was a casual wave, Rebecca left the group and made a beeline for her assigned car. She was almost in when a call came from behind. “Rebecca! Wait.”

Brandt.

Why couldn’t he just let it go?

She stopped and turned to find Brandt limping over, an arm around his midsection. The medics in Israel had done an amazing job, however there was a limit to their abilities in the face of that much trauma.

“Rebecca,” he said much more quietly so only she could hear. The name reverberated inside of her. To hear it spoken with such tenderness just made her ache, and not in the good way.

She knew that Brandt wanted to have some kind of epic closure, but she just wanted to get the hell out of here. There was nothing more for the two of them to say.

“So, I overheard Vanderwalt say that Maria had been brought to London.”

Brandt’s face hardened. “Yes.”

“And that once the baby is born they are relocating her to North Carolina to be near your parents?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“That’s great,” she said as she put her hand on the car’s door handle. “Well then, I should get—”

Brandt grabbed her wrist. “Rebecca, we did it so wrong last time.”

Yes, yes the breakup had been a train wreck. The yelling. The tears. The slamming doors.

His grip loosened. “Can’t we just—”

“Brandt!” Vanderwalt called out as he trotted over.

“Not exactly the best time, Vanderwalt,” Brandt warned.

“It’s Maria,” the Brit said, smiling apologetically to Rebecca. “She has gone into labor.”

Fighting back tears, Rebecca pulled her hand out from under Brandt’s touch. “Go,” she choked out. “She needs you.”

Brandt still seemed torn. His body had turned toward Vanderwalt, but his feet were still pointed to her. It wasn’t until Lopez jerked the keys out of the chauffeur’s hand and shouted, “Get in. I’m driving!” that Brandt snapped back.

“Rebecca, I am so—”

“Just go,” Rebecca said as she opened the door to her own car. She slid into the backseat and slammed the door shut, glad for the darkly tinted windows. That way Brandt wouldn’t see her break down.

* * *

With one hand Brandt gripped the safety handle and with the other he held his ribs in place as Lopez made a ninety-degree turn going over thirty miles an hour. But at least the physical pain took his mind off of his heart’s ache.

Again. Forever.

He’d seen the look in her eyes. Whatever bridge they had tentatively formed over the last few days had ruptured just as surely as Maria’s water had broken.

“I think I’m going to have the guys start calling you ‘Papa,’” Lopez said.

“No, you aren’t,” Brandt stated flatly.

However, that didn’t change the fact that Brandt was about to be a father.

A father.
That so sounded like he was talking about his dad. Had he felt this churning of his belly at Brandt’s birth? Had he been as afraid and confused?

Of course his dad had actually loved his mom and they had been trying to conceive for five years before Brandt had made his appearance. Their “miracle baby” is what they’d called him. Even after the birth of his two sisters, he was still their miracle. What legacy could he give his child? How could Brandt be sure that despite the circumstances of his conception, his boy knew that he too was a miracle? And when was too early to start saving for a college fund?

Christ, a thousand thoughts competed for attention. Especially as the burner phone in his hand keep vibrating with each new text update. Maria was in full-blown labor. They’d let her start pushing. Dear God, it wouldn’t be long now.

His mouth went dry and his hands started shaking, actually shaking. He really wanted to chalk it up to all the trauma and drugs for the trauma, but Brandt knew it was because he was afraid. Perhaps more afraid than he had been in the cavern.

Wait, on second thought, maybe not quite that afraid, but pretty damned scared. Fighting was one thing, bringing a whole new life into this world was quite another.

Okay, on third thought, maybe he was more scared now.

Lopez made a fast left, across four lanes of traffic that had the green and skidded them into the St. Bartholomew’s Hospital ambulance bay. Brandt popped open his door and, oblivious to the jabbing pain in his side, hit the ER doors at a run.

As he passed by the nurses’ station he asked, “Maternity ward?”

“Third floor, follow the pink arrows!” a nurse shouted behind him, clearly used to panicked fathers-to-be.

He went to hit the stairs, but Lopez was right behind him, hitting the elevator button. “Dude, you do still want to be alive when you get there, right?”

Any other time Brandt would have scoffed, but adrenaline only got you so far.

The elevator chimed, sealing his decision. They boarded the elevator as Lopez hit the floor three button like a dozen times. In what possibly felt like the longest, slowest three-floor elevator ride in the history of mankind, Brandt shoved away everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours. And then shoved some more, packing away all the feelings that had been stirred and churned. His focus had to be on Maria and the baby.

It
had
to be.

Once the elevator doors opened, Brandt charged out, following the pink arrows. A scream like a bull in a fight to the death resounded through the hallways. That had to be Maria. He burst into the room only to find an Indian couple looking at him strangely.

“Sorry,” he apologized, wishing he could unsee what he just saw.

A nurse escorted him to the door. “Who are you here for?”

“Maria,” he said. “Mrs. Brandt.” Which still sounded incredibly weird. Like he was talking about his mom or something.

“Oh, she’s already delivered,” the nurse stated, pointing down the hall. “You’ll find them in room three twenty-four.”

“Is he…” Brandt couldn’t finish the sentence.

“They’re both healthy as could be, dear,” the nurse reassured him.

He turned on his heel and rushed down the hallway, not believing he’d missed his own son’s birth. Sure he’d been saving the world, but come on.

Bursting in the right door this time, Brandt took in the sight of his wife, his almost painfully beautiful wife and baby. That tiny red squished face. His son. He was about to hurry over to the bedside when he caught Maria’s frown. Nor would she look him in the eye.

Then the blue blanket slipped from the baby’s shoulder revealing his chest, and the huge port-wine birthmark splashed across his dark skin.

It took a moment for Brandt’s brain to catch up with the sight before him. He knew that birthmark. Brandt turned to find Lopez in the doorway, looking extremely blanched.

That’s where he knew the birthmark from. Lopez.

A sharp biting grief gripped his heart. The child wasn’t his. He
wasn’t
a father. Then a crashing sense of relief washed the pain away. The child was Lopez’s.

Maria’s eyes blinked as she cringed, clearly expecting some kind of berating.

Instead Brandt smiled, beamed really.

He removed his wedding band and handed it to Lopez. “They’re all yours, buddy.”

For the first time since Brandt had known the corporal, Lopez didn’t have a snappy response. And Brandt was in no mood to wait for one.

He had someone to see.

* * *

Rebecca finished recalibrating the micropipette. After being dropped off at her apartment, she’d snuck out the back and headed to her laboratory, only a block away. This might be the last time she ever got a chance to test out her “smart” gene theory. She might have lost Brandt, but she wasn’t going to lose her research as well.

The lab had a thick layer of dust from the blast that took out the stairwell wall, but otherwise the room had survived the assault well. And luckily she had a backup to her microblade. But only one. She doubted after this last debacle that she would get more funding any time soon.

Settling herself, Rebecca sat down on the stool and rolled it forward to the microscope. She only had to extract a few nanograms of any DNA left in James’s bone. After everything she’d been through she didn’t think a nanogram was much to ask.

The bone was still perfectly aligned in the grips from her earlier attempt. Rebecca could see that pocket of what looked like preserved marrow. Carefully she raised the microknife, taking care that the low flow suction was working perfectly before she committed to making the cut.

Closing her eyes, she counted to three, then opened them again, her hand on the controls. Just as she pushed the lever, the lab door burst open. She didn’t need to hear the expensive tip break off, she felt it shatter.

With a fury borne of so much more than her experiment ruined, Rebecca turned to the door. “What the hell do you—”

Her words died in her throat as she realized it was Brandt. And he was smiling. That made absolutely no sense.

“The baby,” he beamed. “It’s not mine.”

“What?” she stammered. “That doesn’t make any…What?”

He stepped closer. “Let’s just say I don’t think I was the only soldier Maria was comforting that mission.”

Rebecca still didn’t understand. Maria had sworn the child was Brandt’s. She’d sworn it to Brandt. To her parents. To her priest.

“No,” Rebecca said, taking a step back. She couldn’t go there. She couldn’t get hopeful and then have her world crash down again.

“Yes,” Brandt said. “You know that birthmark of Lopez’s?” Off her nod, Brandt continued. “The baby takes after Papa.”

The child was Lopez’s? Not Brandt’s? That couldn’t be true, could it?

“We’ve got to wait for DNA tests, but then I should be able to get an annulment quickly once they are in.”

“Annulment?” Rebecca repeated, feeling about half a mile behind the conversation. “No, you mean
divorce
.” Which meant there would be no divorce. Brandt was just that Catholic.

Brandt closed the distance between them. “No, I mean an
annulment
.”

“But by church law if you’ve consummated the marriage then—”

He took her hand. “Consummated? I haven’t even given her a peck on the cheek.”

Rebecca’s mind spun. They had been married for months. Brandt couldn’t mean…

“Maria and I haven’t had sex, Rebecca. Plus she lied about the baby. I’m getting an annulment.”

A sob she didn’t even know she was holding in broke free. Her hands flew to her mouth. She wanted to say so much but couldn’t come out with a single word.

“I’m in love with
you
, Rebecca,” Brandt said. “How could I be with anyone else?”

Not even his wife. She blinked several times, making sure this wasn’t a dream that would evaporate as soon as she woke up.

Brandt leaned past her to the shelf above her workspace and grabbed the engagement ring that had been sitting there so forlorn for so long.

“I think we need to put this back where it belongs.”

With only a slight wince he got down on one knee. “Rebecca, will you marry me?”

“Each time you ask me,” Rebecca choked out.

Brandt slid the gold, sparkling ring onto her finger. It felt even more delicious the second time. He went to rise, but struggled. Rebecca dropped to her knees, laughing, crying, still trying to believe he was truly hers again.

Then their lips met, and fire, as white and hot as magnesium, shot through her body. Oh yeah, he was hers.

Their kiss stopped abruptly as Brandt took in a ragged breath. “As much as I’d love to see where this is going…I think I might really need a hospital.”

Rebecca helped him up as blood stained his shirt. “And maybe some surgery, honey.”

“Yeah,” Brandt said, leaning into her, really leaning into her, nothing being held back this time. “Maybe that too.”

And Rebecca would be there, happily right by his side, never to be separated again. You know why? Because she was done with religious controversies. Done with historical mysteries. Really
done
.

To prove it to herself, as they as walked out, Rebecca hit the toggle on the microtome, grinding the tip into the sample, destroying James’s bone once and for all.

Goodbye, gunfights and magnesium fires.

Hello, wedding planning.

Epilogue

══════════════════

Undisclosed Location

9:46 a.m. GMT

Aunush roused, feeling the cool marble floor beneath her back. And the myrrh and frankincense? It smelled like faith incarnate. The sniper had somehow saved her and brought her home. She felt mildly guilty for deciding to sacrifice him, but it was hard to feel much of anything except relief.

Then she moved her arm to find a sticky pool beside her. A pool of blood. Her own blood. They had not even dressed her wounds. Her sniper had not saved her. He had condemned her.

Cracking her eyes open, Aunush realized she was surrounded by a circle of Disciples. Their long robes brushed the floor. Only the tip of their boots stuck out from beneath the fabric.

As she raised her eyes she found each of the women’s hoods back, revealing their faces. Aunush held back a sob. Had this been a disciplinary quorum, they would have had their features hidden far back within the folds of their robes.

No, this was an execution quorum. Aunush would have the chance to look into each of the women’s eyes before they condemned her to death. No great solace there.

“Aunush de Verante, you have committed the greatest sin against God,” the master’s voice resonated through the chamber. Her deep tenor filling the great hall. “You thought to know His mind better than He.”

The master knelt next to Aunush so that she might whisper harshly in her ear, “You thought yourself ‘She Who Sought and Found.’”

Aunush had no retort. No excuse. No rebuttal. Deep within every bone she had thought herself the one foretold. The one who would shepherd the Disciples’ Messiah into this world. Apparently her bones had been wrong.

“How do we know Aunush is not God’s agent in this?” High Disciple Havva asked.

The master raised her gaze to her fellow Disciple. “Because we know who the true shepherd is,” she said, then turned back to Aunush. “Her name is Dr. Rebecca Monroe.”