Hold on Tight (32 page)

Nothing. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. It was so cold—he was so pale, and the EMT was working furiously, and she felt dizzy with grief, exhausted and running on adrenaline at the same time.

She hadn’t seen Chris before she’d left the scene. Those final moments were a part of a hazy memory, where time had stood still and she willed him to take the shot.

“He’s coding!” the EMT called to the driver, and then he began CPR.

“We’re here,” the driver called back as the bus jolted to a stop.

“Agent Michaels, you’re going to have to let go and step aside,” the EMT instructed as the doors opened and the stretcher holding Kevin was pulled away from her.

She waited until the path was clear and went to jump down herself, but a cramp hit, low, pelvic—not good. She took a deep breath.
Cramping under stress is normal
, she reminded herself, but it took hold of her again and then she felt the bleeding.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” One of the doctors grabbed her arm.

“No. I’m pregnant. I don’t feel well. Cramping.”

“Get another stretcher over here,” he yelled. “Take some breaths—we’ll get you on a monitor, check things.”

“My father—”

“They’re working on him,” he promised as he eased her onto the stretcher and wheeled her through the ER. “Ma’am, I’m going to give you something to stop the cramping. Nothing that will hurt the baby. It’s just going to make you sleepy.”

“Okay.” She felt the IV needle prick her skin, watched the doctor work fast to set up the fluid, and then everything was blissful.

She woke with Chris next to her in the hospital bed, his face also on her pillow. He looked exhausted, but not sad.

“The baby?”

“Fine. It’s fine. Mild cramping. Some spotting. Not unusual, given your recent exertion. They did an ultrasound,” he assured her.

She nodded, closed her eyes as grateful tears spilled from them.

“However, the doctor wants you on bed rest if you can’t control yourself in the future.”

She laughed at that. “I’m sure you told him you’d take charge.”

“I think you’ll do a damned fine job of that on your own.”

She was scared to ask, but she had to. “Kevin?”

“He made it through surgery, but he’s still critical. The next couple of hours should tell us what we need to know.”

She brought a hand up to his cheek. “Thank you. You saved them—saved him and PJ. Saved me. I would’ve forgiven you. You have to know that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m not used to this role—passive. Watching from the sidelines.”

“You did a hell of a lot more than watch, Jamie.”

“And I’m free … really free,” she murmured, hearing the wonder in her own voice at the thought of leaving her past behind her, really and truly. “When can I get out of here? Because I’m ready to start living.”

He gave her a small grin. “Stay and rest until we hear about Kevin. Then we’ll go home. Because we’ve got a wedding to go to—Jake’s getting married on Friday.”

His hand rested on her belly and she covered it with her own. “Me, I’m patient … but not for much longer,” he told her. “I’m marrying you, Jamie.”

She shifted so she could look him directly in the eyes. “That’s good to know, because I already planned on it.”

He’d remain in the New York hospital recovering for at least a week, and so PJ had flown them home in order to be there for Jake and Isabelle’s wedding in the morning.

“I’ll grab something to snack on, then.” She opened one of the cabinets and stopped short. She closed it and opened another and had the same reaction

“Problem?” Saint asked.

She shook her head no, her eyes wide and innocent. Too innocent. “I just didn’t know you liked sugared cereals so much.”

“Well, I do. I need to start adding more sugar to my diet.” Saint didn’t look her in the eyes, concentrating on stirring the rice in front of him.

“That’s why you have those boxes of cookies in the cabinet.”

“Yes. That’s exactly why.” He turned back to the stove to stir the gumbo and heard her chuckle a little. He put down the spoon and turned to her again. “Don’t you dare think that you have me wrapped around your little finger, Patricia Jane. I may be in love with you, but no one has ever done that to me and no one ever will.” Even Emeline hadn’t been able to do that. But PJ …

He sighed.

“I’d never think that, Saint,” she said softly, her eyes shining a little with tears—and aw, fuck …

“Just because I bought a few of your favorite cereals—”

“Eight of my favorite cereals,” she pointed out helpfully.

“—and a few boxes of cookies—”

“I counted sixteen boxes.”

“—does not mean that you have me wrapped around your finger,” he finished triumphantly.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” he moved closer, still attempting to glower.

She lowered her head to his chest. “For babying me. I can’t believe you … I mean, you actually …” She swallowed hard, unable to finish.

“Are you going to baby me for the rest of my life?” she asked finally. It came out as more of a joke, but God, the way Saint looked at her took the laughter right out of her and replaced it with a longing she hadn’t realized was there.

“Yeah, I think I might just do that,” he drawled. “Is that a problem?”

She opened her mouth to tell him that it would be, that she’d never allowed that to happen and never would. But what came out was something unexpected—unexpected and real. “No, it’s not a problem at all.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said gruffly, and yes, it was settled, but it was certainly not over. Not by a long shot.

The chaplain, in turn, put his hand on Kenny’s arm. “It’s okay. I’ve known Jake for a long time.”

Nick snorted and Jake made the
You see?
motion. Kenny simply shook his head—and next to Jamie, Chris laughed.

It was so good to hear him laugh. It made her grab his hand a bit tighter and he responded in kind.

“Yes, Jake, you can get married now,” the chaplain told him. “Let’s just make sure Isabelle’s ready, okay?”

“She’s ready,” Jake muttered.

Last night, Jamie had finally met Isabelle and Kaylee. And then Kenny Waldron joined the party, and really, no one had gotten to sleep much before two that morning. Jake, who had never gone to sleep, insisted on going out to get donuts. With Isabelle.

The ceremony was to take place just before sunrise. The chaplain from the base had arrived at the house just after four, and Chris woke Jamie, who’d rubbed the sleep from her eyes and pulled on the dress she’d borrowed from Kaylee.

All three of the brothers and she and Kaylee and Isabelle stayed in the house last night, as well as Chris’s father.

Saint and PJ arrived just after the chaplain. Jamie couldn’t ever remember seeing her sister that happy. Then again, she couldn’t remember being this happy herself.

Kevin would make a full recovery. They had some repairing of their relationship—and Kevin had to face his supervisor regarding their case—but they’d get through it. They always did.

“Izzy’s ready,” Kaylee said, coming into the living room.

“Then let’s begin. Everyone, please, take your places,” the chaplain requested as Isabelle came around the corner and into the living room.

Jake wore a suit, not his uniform—Isabelle’s request, Jamie knew—while Isabelle wore a simple white column dress, hair loose, feet bare.

Perfect. It was simply perfect.

Jake—loud, wild Jake—the second he saw Isabelle, he completely melted right before their eyes. Jamie swore there was a collective sigh, and suddenly there wasn’t a dry eye in the room.

All the danger, the fear, the pain … in this room, none of that mattered. It was only about Jake and Isabelle and their love—their commitment affirmed in this simple ceremony—and it was the most beautiful thing Jamie had ever seen.

“They’re so beautiful together,” she whispered to Chris as Jake and Isabelle spoke their vows quietly to each other, as if they were the only two people on earth.

Right now, she supposed they were.

“They’ve been to hell and back together—it’s only made them stronger.” His hand rested on her belly. From across the way, Chris’s father winked at her, and yes, it had all been worth it.

No matter what happened now, she and PJ had a new family they were a part of—they had brand-new lives.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the chaplain said.

And Jake did, in a sweeping, heart-stopping gesture that was as romantic as it was primal.

Jamie was the first one to clap, and then the others joined in as the newly married couple broke apart, smiling.

And then Jake opened the sliding glass door that led out onto the back deck of the house and they all trailed outside, stared out toward the woods as the sun began to rise over the trees.

Jamie felt the lump form in her throat as she thought about why they were having the ceremony this early. Chris told her about Jake and this tradition of watching the sunrise, how Jake did it every single morning as a child so he could know he’d survived another day. How all three brothers—and their father—now did it every single morning too, no matter where in the world they were.

A tradition she would now be a part of as well, because standing here in the soft glow of dawn, she knew for sure that they were all survivors. And with Chris’s hands on her belly, she knew that whatever she might’ve lost in the past was nothing compared to the family she’d just gained.

The hairs on the back of his neck had risen half a mile earlier when he’d heard the familiar thump of the quiet bird over the roar of his bike. Now his gut tightened in tandem with the heavy whir of the rotors and
fuck
, he’d thought this was over and done with.

He’d had nearly five months of freedom, having been assured that his debt was paid in full, which meant there would be no more black ops jobs involving the CIA and this fucking helo from hell following him. But he’d been down this road before—after five years—eight years—ten years. The promise of release had never been kept, eleven years and counting.

It’ll never be fully paid. You knew that … you just didn’t want to believe it
.

And still he pushed on, trying to ignore the past that wouldn’t let him forget.

He’d only been back from a mission with Delta Force for forty-eight hours, on leave for the past twenty and headed to visit Dylan Scott—a man he’d met through Delta and his best friend—in the Catskills when he’d been tracked.

One of these days, Gabriel Creighton—CIA chameleon extraordinaire—wouldn’t be able to find Cam anymore. The chip that had once been implanted in Cam’s right forearm was only as big as a postage stamp and as slim as one too—and was long gone. He’d convinced himself that Gabriel couldn’t track him without it.

Obviously, Cam had been way fucking wrong.

He didn’t have to wonder what his life would be like if he’d never met the man—he’d still be in jail, serving two consecutive life sentences. And he despised Gabriel more than his father, which was really damned hard to do, considering his father had framed him for the murders and left him to rot in a maximum-security cell.

For eleven years, Gabriel had been both mentor and taskmaster. Cam had never asked Gabriel for anything, not a single goddamned favor.

The favors Gabriel insisted Cam provide for him were always dangerous and usually above the law. Jobs that necessitated a non-CIA operator with insider information, which Cam indeed was, hiding in the job of a Delta Force operator.

If Cam’s immediate supes knew what the jobs he did for Creighton really entailed, they’d never let on. And so Cam lived and worked, waiting for the magic number—the time limit Gabriel had imposed on him when Cam had been nineteen and willing to do anything to get out of that cell. A limit that only Gabriel knew.

Now he stared down at the mark on the inside of his left forearm—the result of a tattoo that had been lasered off. It wasn’t completely erased, was still as much of a reminder as it would’ve been.

That was the thing about pasts: You could never fully eradicate them, and fuck it all, he’d tried to more than once.

Finally, he stopped the bike on the edge of one of the small cliffs and pulled as close to it as he possibly could. The wind whipped him, making it hard to hold on to his footing, never mind the heavy metal between his legs.

The stealth hovered, unable to land, but more than willing to block him. And as he stared down at the dark, cavernous chasm ahead of him, he knew his choices were limited. Going down would be the coward’s way out—and he was anything but.

He’d never let go of the idea of vengeance; he tasted it like a fine wine on his tongue—it ran heated through his blood, slamming his veins with a barely concealed fury.

In all his years of military service, he’d saved a lot of people, killed more, and prayed for salvation daily.

In so many ways, he’d never left the ten-by-ten cell where he’d lived for twenty-three months, four days, and ten hours. At the time, he’d been wary of his rescuer, but he’d assumed things couldn’t have gotten worse.

He’d been so fucking young—fear and bravado mixed together in a heady combination. He’d been a punk, a fighter, willing to do anything to stay alive. He had kept his pride during those years; he’d refused to let prison take that from him, the way his freedom had been ripped from him.

It had been all he had.

He finally turned around on the mountain, as he had eleven years earlier when the police chased him between a rock and a hard place. That night, the police had impounded his bike.

Cam knew that a good operative never left anything behind. He revved his bike and let it ride over the edge without him, listened as it screeched and crashed against the mountain walls below.

And then he walked to the helo and used the ropes they’d lowered to climb aboard.

Two years of max security had taught him many things: that life wasn’t fair, that typically the bigger you were, the more shit you talked and the harder you went down. That this life wasn’t for the weak. His time in the Rangers and Delta Force had refined those teachings until his mind functioned like that of the elite warrior he was, but make no mistake, he was still that same damned punk—and he wouldn’t take Gabriel Creighton’s shit anymore.

This time, he would shoot the messenger Gabriel always sent, no matter what the job entailed, and then he would walk away and deal with the consequences—any and all, because the yoke around his neck had finally tightened to where he could no longer breathe.