Unlawful Contact (33 page)

Although the Boulder County Jail, where they’d placed him in protective isolation, was a hell of a lot nicer than the state pen, he was still in a cage. With more felonies than he could count filed against him, he was likely to be in a cage for a long time. And now Sophie was pregnant. Hadn’t he warned her this might happen?

Then why do you feel so goddamned happy about it, Hunter?

He couldn’t help but smile. “Can you tell her I love her?”

“Do I look like fucking Cupid?” Darcangelo glared at him. “Besides, why would I do that when what I really want to do is knock your teeth out?”

And still Marc couldn’t wipe the idiot grin off his face.

August 25–Six months later

A
N ENTIRE SWARM
of butterflies in her stomach, Sophie walked up the steps of the Denver City and County Building, past the clicking cameras and the TV microphones. Reece walked slightly ahead of her, Kara beside her, holding her hand, both of them doing all they could to shield her.

“Is that Marc Hunter’s baby you’re carrying?”

“Did Hunter sexually assault you?”

“How do you respond to Ken Harburg’s claims that you and he dated briefly and that he is the father of your baby? Will you consent to a paternity test?”

That last question took her completely by surprise, and her step faltered. It wasn’t the first time Harburg had lashed out at her from his prison cell, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Though prosecutors were seeking the death penalty, Harburg’s case hadn’t yet made it to trial. And even if he was convicted and sentenced to die, most death penalty cases took at least ten years to wind their way through the appeals system. As long as Harburg had access to the media, he would find ways to strike out at her.

Kara took her hand, gave it a squeeze, whispered in her ear. “It’s okay, Sophie. We’re almost inside.”

But Sophie’s nerves were already on edge, and she felt positively sick.

After what seemed an eternity, it all came down to today. Today, the judge would sentence Hunt to God only knew how long in prison, and Sophie would know whether she and Hunt had a chance for a future together—or whether they were doomed to a life apart.

Reece opened the door for her, guided her inside, his arm in the small of her back. “Why don’t the two of you slip into one of the empty witness seclusion rooms for a while? We’re a good fifteen minutes early. I’ll save you both seats in the courtroom.”

“Good idea,” Kara said. “Save a seat for Tessa and Julian, too. Their babysitter canceled at the last minute so they’re running late and bringing Maire Rose. And look for Holly and the gang. They’re coming, too.”

Reece raised an eyebrow. “So, save an entire row?”

Kara kissed his cheek. “You’re pretty smart—for a man.”

They entered the sparsely furnished little room, and Sophie sank into a chair and let the tears come.

“It will be all right, Sophie.” Kara sat beside her, held her hand. “Remember how afraid you were for Megan? And that turned out better than anyone could have imagined, didn’t it?”

Sophie nodded.

Megan had been tried for first-degree murder, but the jury, touched by her heartrending testimony, had accepted her defense team’s assertion that she’d killed Cross out of fear for her own life and as the result of extreme mental duress—and had acquitted her. The judge, moved almost to tears, had sent Megan to live with Pastor John and Connie, rather than sending her back to the halfway house, arguing that the pastor and his wife had had more of a positive impact on Megan than the criminal justice system. He’d also mandated mental-health counseling and granted her visitation with Emily. To Sophie, it had seemed a miracle.

“You were afraid you’d go to prison, and they didn’t even press charges against you,” Kara reminded her.

Sophie laughed despite herself and pulled a tissue out of her purse. “Thanks to John Kirschner and Tom.”

The district attorney had sat through a few meetings listening to Kirschner and Tom rant about Stockholm syndrome, freedom of the press, source confidentiality, and the need for reporters to gather the news and had decided he had bigger—and easier—fish to fry. Sophie had returned to work the next morning to find her desk buried in flowers, a giant Get Out of Jail Free card hanging overhead.

But if things had turned out well for her and Megan, they hadn’t gone so well for Hunt. He’d been acquitted of murder—but convicted of almost everything else. And that’s what terrified Sophie.

“Kirschner says Hunt could still get a good twenty years or even more.”

“Yes, but he also said the judge might sentence him to ten and let him out in two to five on good behavior.” Kara put her arm around Sophie’s shoulder. “I know the convictions sound bad, but there are a lot of mitigating circumstances here. The judge won’t ignore that. Now take a deep breath. This stress isn’t good for you or your baby boy.”

Sophie wiped her tears from her face, filled her lungs with air, but still the butterflies swirled, the baby kicking restlessly inside her, as if he could feel them, too. “Thanks, Kara.”

“No problem. We’ve got a few more minutes, so take your time.”

M
ARC ENTERED THE
courtroom, scanning the crowd for Sophie as he always did. She was sitting in the front row directly behind his seat, surrounded by her friends. He could tell she’d been crying, and he wondered if it had anything to do with Harburg’s latest attempt to harass her or whether she was just worried about him.

The sight of her was like sunshine in winter.

She saw him and smiled, her face lighting up. Then she stood and turned slightly to the side so that he could see her beautiful belly.

Marc smiled back, warmed to the core. It still blew his mind to think a baby—
his
baby, their
son
—was growing inside her. Darcangelo had leaked him the ultrasound results last week, along with a small black-and-white ultrasound snapshot that clearly showed a baby’s face. Marc had been dumbstruck.

But it would be a long time before Marc would be able to spend time with Sophie or their baby. Today the judge would send him back to prison, and this time it was for crimes he
had
committed—perjury for lying about Cross’s murder; tampering with a crime scene for sending Megan away; criminal attempt for concealing his sister’s guilt; second-degree assault on a peace officer for his attack on Kramer; first-degree kidnapping for taking Sophie hostage; illegal possession of a firearm for stealing weapons; felony menacing for using said firearms when he’d escaped from prison; criminal impersonation for pretending to be a police officer; aggravated burglary for breaking into the Rawlingses’s home and borrowing their car. There were a few other little things tacked on there, but those were the highlights.

Sucks to be you, Hunter.

Then again, it could be worse. A year ago he’d been stuck in the state pen serving life without the hope of ever getting out.

He took his seat, unable to keep himself from turning to face Sophie, the “no contact” order be damned.

She scooted closer, reached out to touch his arm, and whispered, her voice breaking, “I love you, Marc Hunter. No matter what happens today, I’ll wait for you.”

It was the first time she’d spoken to him since the night he’d been shot, and the sound of her voice flowed over him like honey. But he needed her to know. “I want you to be happy, Sophie. I want you to feel free—”

“All rise.”

The judge entered, then took his seat, looking grim-faced. “Be seated.”

His Honor spent the first few minutes boring them all with a recitation of Marc’s convictions. “These are serious offenses. The defendant deliberately and quite effectively derailed the judicial process, delaying justice in the shooting death of John Cross for seven years. He then compounded those offenses by assaulting a guard, taking a hostage, and setting off the largest and most expensive manhunt in our state’s history. He broke the law repeatedly, with complete disregard for the consequences.”

You’re going down, and going down hard, Hunter.

Hadn’t he known better than to hope? He’d been through this before.

No happy endings.

“However,” the judge droned on, “these crimes took place in the midst of mitigating circumstances the likes of which this court has not seen before, circumstances for which the criminal justice system is at least partly to blame. The defendant’s sister, while still a minor, was subjected to almost ritual sexual abuse at the hands of men who’d been entrusted by the state with her safety. The terrible impact of that inexcusable violation cannot be underestimated.”

Jesus, the man liked to talk! Couldn’t he just get down to it?

“Furthermore, the defendant committed the majority of these crimes in the successful attempt to locate and protect his sister and others from those same men, believing, perhaps correctly, that the criminal justice system was uninterested in and incapable of protecting them. There is no doubt that he saved their lives, almost losing his in the process. In the course of his actions, the defendant demonstrated courage and loyalty. That he eventually surrendered himself and cooperated with police has also been taken into account during my deliberations.

“Will the defendant please rise?”

Here you go, Hunter.

Marc steeled himself, stood, met the judge’s gaze.

“It is the judgment of this court that you be sentenced to time already served—”

There was an uproar in the courtroom, drowning out the judge’s words.

Or maybe that was Marc’s pulse thundering in his ears.

What the fuck?

The judge met Marc’s gaze, smiled, gave Marc a little nod—then banged his gavel.

Time already served.

Was it over?

Marc heard cheers and shouts of congratulations, felt hands slapping him on the back—his attorney, Darcangelo, Sophie’s senator friend Reece.

“Let’s get those off.” The bailiff stepped forward with a silver key.

Still reeling, Marc watched as the shackles that bound his ankles were unlocked and the chain that encircled his waist was removed.

“Hold out your wrists.” The bailiff turned the key twice.

The steel fell away.

Marc was free—really, truly
free
.

And then Sophie was there—his beautiful, glowing, round Sophie. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she threw her arms around him, her body shaking as she wept.

Sophie. His Sophie.

Afraid she was dreaming, Sophie held Hunt tight, reluctant ever to let go. She felt his arms enfold her, felt his lips on her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, heard him whisper her name over and over again. It felt so good to touch him, so right to be close to him.

Then he released her—and slowly sank to his knees in front of her.

Carefully, as if he was afraid he’d hurt her, he pressed his palms against the hardness of her swollen womb, a look of wonder on his face. A lump caught in her throat, her heart so full she thought it might burst, she watched as he ran his hands over her, then leaned in and kissed her belly.

Then he looked up at her. “Marry me, Sophie. Today.
Right now
.”

“I know a minister who’d be willing to do the job.” That was Pastor John.

Was he here, too?

The courtroom filled with laughter—then drifted into expectant silence.

But there was never any doubt of Sophie’s answer. She smiled, laughed. “Yes! Yes, Marc Hunter, I’ll marry you!”

The room around them erupted with cheers.

Hunt stood, cupped her cheek. “Only happy endings for us from now on, sprite.”

She nodded. “Only happy endings.”

And when he kissed her, she knew that’s exactly how it would be.

One year later

“D
OES HE HAVE
any idea?” Tessa nodded her head toward Hunt, her hands full with wriggling sixteen-month-old Maire Rose, who didn’t want to have sunscreen put on her face.

With her daddy’s dark hair and her mother’s big blue eyes, little Maire, named after the Irish mother Julian had never known, was going to be a heartbreaker one day—if her very protective daddy let boys get anywhere near her.

Sophie shook her head, unable to hold back her smile, her sense of anticipation growing. “Not a clue.”

Tessa laughed. “I can’t wait to see his face!”

“Neither can I.”

She’d worked hard for this day, waited a long time.

Hunt had waited far longer—even if he didn’t know it yet.

Between Sophie’s bare feet, Chase played contentedly in the sand, sinking his little fingers and toes into the fine grains with the focus of a scientist exploring the mysteries of astrophysics—and periodically trying to fit a handful into his mouth. Now nine months old, he seemed a miracle to Sophie. He had Hunt’s green eyes, downy brown hair that curled sweetly at his nape and six tiny—and very sharp—teeth. And though he couldn’t yet walk, not without holding onto furniture, he was a speedster when it came to crawling.

Chase Orion Hunter had been born a week before Thanksgiving on a clear winter’s night in the house Sophie and Hunt had bought in Denver’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. Having been with Kara when she’d given birth to Caitlyn and Brendan at home and having stayed at Tessa’s side during Maire’s home birth, Sophie had known she’d wanted to have her baby at home, too.

She hadn’t regretted it. Hunt had been with her the whole time, holding her hand, giving her sips of tea, easing her from one position to another, rubbing her back, rocking her in his arms, his embrace holding her together. He’d told her he loved her a thousand times that night, his voice her anchor. And although it had been the most painful sixteen hours of her life, she’d never felt more cherished. When at long last, Chase had slid from her body in a rush of fiery pain, there’d been tears on Hunt’s cheeks. As she’d watched him cradle their newborn son, she’d known that she would be willing to endure it all again in a heartbeat.

The man who’d thought he’d die alone in prison had become a father.

The sound of giggles drew her gaze to the swings, where Kara was pushing her two youngest—Caitlyn, now four, and Brendan, two and a half—in swings. Connor, who had recently turned nine and didn’t want to play with little kids, dangled from the parallel bars like a monkey. In the shade of mature cottonwoods, Megan and Kat were setting out cake and ice cream for dessert, while Emily, a sunny little girl who was definitely in her terrible twos, painted one of the picnic benches with red popsicle juice, in which one of the adults—probably Holly because she was wearing white—would inevitably sit.

Beyond that, in the center of the park, the men played football. Hunt, Julian, and most of the SWAT guys formed one team, while Reece, David, and some of Julian’s vice buddies formed the other. It was a hot August Saturday, and the guys had long since shed their shirts, drawing the attention not only of women passing by, but from Holly and Natalie, who sat on a blanket, ogling them openly.

Sophie couldn’t blame them. She’d done her fair share of discreet drooling today, feasting on the sight of her husband, feeling the thrill of knowing that all of that man and muscle was hers. And she planned to make good use of it tonight.

She watched as the men gathered at the line of scrimmage, then surged into action at the snap of the ball. Julian dropped back and threw a pass that sailed above Hunt’s hands, then bounced off a nearby tree trunk.

“How about next time you throw the ball to me instead of the damned tree?” Hunt shouted, tossing the football to Julian.

Julian caught it. “How about you get the lead out and move your ass?”

Sophie and Tessa shared a smile.

“If you’d told me that morning in the hospital that Marc was going to become Julian’s closest friend, I’d have thought you were crazy.” Tessa released a now thoroughly greased Maire back into the sandbox and stowed the sunscreen in her diaper bag. “Marc is like the brother Julian never had.”

Sophie laughed. “You’d never get them to admit that.”

They might deny it, but Hunt and Julian
were
as close as brothers. They antagonized each other incessantly, kicked the crap out of each other in martial arts practice, tried constantly to outdo one another in everything from marksmanship to barbecuing to winning at Halo—but when the bullets started flying, they had each other’s backs, the tenuous connection that had been forged between them on that terrible winter’s night having grown strong during Hunt’s months on the force.

The day after Hunt’s sentencing, Chief Irving had offered him a job as a SWAT sniper, then had fought like hell with the feds so that Hunt could carry a gun again—something his status as a convicted felon otherwise prohibited. Chief Irving’s hard work had paid off when, during Hunt’s second week on the SWAT team, he’d neutralized an armed bank robber who’d shot a security guard and taken a five-year-old boy hostage.

“One shot, one kill,” the headline had read.

Hunt and Julian had been inseparable since.

“Oh, Emily, no, no! People have to sit there!” Back at the picnic table, Megan reached for the roll of paper towels and began to clean up the mess her daughter had made.

“Any news on her lawsuit against DOC?” Tessa asked.

With the help of John Kirschner, who’d taken Megan’s ordeal to heart, Megan had filed a lawsuit against the Department of Corrections for failing to protect her and the other girls against Harburg and his buddies—and for whitewashing and burying the rape investigation. At stake were millions of dollars in damages.

“Still tied up in technicalities. DOC is pulling every slimy trick in the book, but there’s no way they’re going to win this one.”

“That poor girl deserves every dime the jury gives her.” Tessa burrowed her feet under the sand and wiggled her toes for her daughter to see. “Julian told me she’s been to visit the other girls’ graves.”

Sophie nodded. “She said she needed to tell them what had happened, to let them know that Harburg and the others had been punished. Hunt and Pastor John went with her. Hunt said she broke down sobbing both times, and he almost had to carry her back to the car. Survivor’s guilt, I guess.”

“I can’t even imagine.” Tessa neatened the ponytail that held back her long, blond curls. “The preacher and his wife have been so good for her. She’s like a different person.”

“Hunt and I were just talking about that last night.” Sophie pried Chase’s sand-filled hand gently away from his curious little mouth. “Hunt thought he was helping her by taking the blame, but it turns out the thing that ate at her the most wasn’t the rapes, but the fact that he was in prison for a crime she’d committed. She told Connie that the only time she could live with herself was when she was high.”

“Well how about that? The truth really
shall
set you free.”

Yes, the truth had set Megan free. But it had also given Hunt back his life. Yesterday—a year to the day after Hunt’s sentencing—the governor had granted him a full pardon.

Today’s celebration was a family affair. But last night they had celebrated at a formal party Reece and Kara had hosted at Denver’s newest night club, Igneous Intrusion. It was, of course, Reece who had gained the governor’s ear, armed with his damning probe of the Department of Corrections that had revealed rampant corruption and prisoner abuse. The legislature had passed three bills under his direction. One forbade the shackling of pregnant inmates in labor. Another defined any sex between a guard and an inmate as rape, even if it was supposedly consensual. “When one person is in a cage, and another person holds the key, there is no such thing as consent,” Reece had argued powerfully on the Senate floor. The third bill set aside more money for medical care in prison, particularly for pregnant inmates.

Sophie had no idea how she would ever thank Reece for all he’d done. Because of him, Hunt could now live a normal life, free of the stigma of being a felon. Best of all, the chances that other inmates would suffer what Megan and Hunt had endured were greatly reduced. With Harburg losing appeal after appeal from his cell on death row and King sentenced to life in prison, this chapter in all of their lives was coming to a close.

And if Hunt was still occasionally haunted by his years in prison?

Well, she was there to pull him back from the shadows.

From behind Sophie came the sound of Kara’s voice. “Oh, my God, is that it?”

Sophie turned to look—and there it was, just turning the corner. Chief Irving was right on time. The sight of it brought an unexpected lump to her throat. “Yes.”

Tessa gave a squeal. “Julian is going to be so jealous!”

Holly and Natalie had noticed it, too, and were staring at something other than pecs and abs for the first time all afternoon.

Sophie stood, scooped Chase up, her sense of anticipation soaring. “Time for dessert.”

And what she hoped would be the surprise of a lifetime.

M
ARC NUDGED A
bit of ice cream into Chase’s mouth and watched his reaction to the cool, sweet taste—a look of bewilderment…wide, innocent eyes…little mouth opening for more. “You like that, don’t you?”

Marc pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s downy head, scooped another small bite from his paper plate, and slipped it into Chase’s mouth.

“I wonder what it’s like to be a baby and to experience everything for the first time.” Kat watched Chase with obvious fascination. “Every day must seem like stepping into a new world.”

Marc nodded. “I imagine so.”

A new world.

That pretty much described it.

He glanced around the table at the people who’d become his extended family—David, his fellow SWAT officers, Julian and Tessa, Reece and Kara, Holly, Kat, and Natalie. At one end of the table, Megan laughed over something David had said, while Emily dug her fingers into her cake, turning her dessert into an art project. Across from him Sophie chatted with Kara, a smile on her beautiful face, while Julian sat at the far end of the table, holding his sleepy daughter and flirting with his own wife.

This was his new world, a world that had once been as far from his reach as the stars. Instead of a living death caged by concrete and steel, he had a good job, a good boss, good friends, a precious baby boy, a wife he loved with the very breath in his body—and his freedom. A man couldn’t ask for more than that.

Sometimes at night, he found himself watching Sophie sleep, a part of him afraid all of this was a dream. But then she would reach for him, the heat of her touch driving everything from his mind except for how much he loved her. And if somewhere inside he still worried that he didn’t deserve her? Well, he was learning to ignore that voice.

Sophie had been his salvation, and he would spend the rest of his life loving her.

That’s all there was to it.

He scooped up another small bite of ice cream and laughed as Chase opened his mouth like a hungry baby bird. “You like this even more than you like your mama’s milk, don’t you? Don’t worry. I won’t tell her.”

Then Julian stood, tapping the blade of a pocket knife against an empty beer bottle. “I’ve been asked to say a few words, so I’d like to get it over with as soon as possible.”

What the hell?

Marc hadn’t seen this coming. “Sit down, Darcangelo.”

“Shut up, Hunter.” Julian cleared his throat. “A little over a year ago, we all had our lives turned upside down when Hunter here took Sophie hostage. Our lives got turned upside down again when we found out he wasn’t quite the bad guy we’d all believed him to be—and that Sophie actually
liked
him. Well, I can’t say I’ve ever understood women—”

The men laughed, while Tessa gave an indignant, “Hey!”

“Apart from my own lovely wife, of course.”

More laughter.

“But yesterday, Hunter had
his
life turned upside down when, thanks to Mr. Senator, Governor Rollins gave him an official pardon.”

Cheers and applause—and a big grin from Reece.

Julian raised his bottle. “Not many men have the guts or the skill to do what you did. You put your life on the line for the women you loved, and you prevailed. So here’s to you, Hunter, for being one of the good guys all along.”

“Hear, hear!”

“To Hunter!”

Holding Chase on one arm, Marc stood, met Julian’s gaze, and raised his own bottle, emotion swelling in his chest. Across the table from him, Sophie beamed. “Thanks, everyone, for the support you’ve given us. We couldn’t have gotten through this without you.”

More cheers.

Then Sophie stood—and pulled a bandana out of her back jeans pocket. “Now it’s time for your present.”

“Present?” As if a full pardon weren’t enough. “What present?”

“You’ll see—in a minute. Sit.” Sophie circled the table, covered his eyes with the bandana and bound it in place.

Shit!

He heard her cell phone key pad beep as she dialed a number.

“Okay, we’re ready,” she said.

Whispers. A toddler’s fussing. Holly’s unmistakable giggle.

And then—a deep, purring rumble.

The sound grew nearer and nearer.

A car? Sophie had bought him another car? But—

The rumble drew right up beside him, seeming somehow familiar…

Holy shit!
No, it couldn’t be!

Sophie pulled off his blindfold. “Surprise!”

The breath left his lungs in a gust—and Marc could only stare.

It was.

An old shiny blue ’55 Chevy Bel Air.
His
old ’55 Chevy Bel Air. The Chevy he’d driven to the Monument that summer night.

At the wheel sat Chief Irving, a broad smile on his face. He climbed out, held out the key. “Sophie thought you might want your wheels back now that you’re no longer a crook.”