Promises to Keep (35 page)

Ninety-Five

The Blackhawk touched down
gently in the dirt, as close as he could get it to the hangar without being a danger, and he powered it off. It'd been years since he'd flown, but it was just like riding a bike.

Some things you never forget.

Sabrina sat beside him, quiet. She hadn't spoken since he'd lifted her into the helo before climbing in beside her. She'd looked out the window, broken hands clutched to her stomach, as if for safe keeping. Her hair was matted with blood, and long rivulets crusted against her neck.

“I love you.”

She turned her face toward him. It was dirty and bruised, eyes bluer than the ocean they'd just crossed shining back at him. “I love you too,” she said before popping the door open and jumping down from the Blackhawk. She didn't want to hear it: his speech about how she was safer with him gone, that she needed to forget about him and move on. The same one he gave her every time he left her.

He couldn't blame her. He didn't want to hear it either.

Waiting a few seconds, he let her gain a safe distance between them before he followed her across the dirt. She headed straight for Strickland and as soon as he saw her, he turned his back on the conversation he'd been having with Church and met her halfway. They stood close together, talking. Strickland looked at him over her shoulder and, for a moment, he thought he caught a smile.

“He cares for her.”

He cast a quick glance at Ben, who'd come up beside him. “So do you.”

“You caught me,” his partner said with a wide grin. “You really think she's better off without you?”

“I know she is.”

Ben didn't answer. They stood there watching Lark pack up his computer equipment and load it onto Ben's Lear while Church carried a roll of duct tape into the hangar. “My father is coming,” he finally said, casting an apologetic look between them.

“For me.” It wasn't a question.

“Yeah. That's why you're gonna be gone when he gets here.”

Michael shook his head. “Nice try, kid, but there's no place for me to go,” he said, watching as Sabrina allowed Strickland to lead her into the hangar. As long as Shaw had her, he would never risk leaving. He would do whatever Shaw said. They both knew that.

“Do you trust me?”

It was the second time Ben had asked him that, and he found himself turning his gaze on his partner. He had that look again. The
not
-Ben look that told you he was a totally different person than the one he pretended to be.

Christina appeared in the open door of a plane. Not Ben's, but the one he didn't recognize. Its destination was unknown. As soon as the girl saw him, she smiled and ran down the steps straight for him. He dropped to his knees and opened his arms, and seconds later they were filled with her. His heart swelled inside his chest as he let himself hold her, and when she laid her head on his shoulder he didn't pull away.

“Well? Do you?” Ben said, watching as he stood, arms still around Christina.

He looked down at Christina for a moment before meeting his partner's gaze. “Against my better judgment, yeah, I do.”

Ben laughed at him, clapping a rough hand against his back to move him toward the plane. Toward the unknown. “So get on the plane … and stop calling me kid.”

Ninety-Six

Sabrina sat quietly, watching
while Church ripped off a long strip of duct tape with her teeth and added it to the several layers sh
e'd applied to her ribs.

“Thank you,” she said, the words getting stuck between clenched teeth while pain spiraled through her rib cage to shoot down her spine.

“For what?” Church said, mouth full of duct tape as she did another rip-and-stick.

“For the Kevlar. For the tape.” She caught the other woman's gaze and held it. “For not killing Val like you were supposed to.”

Church stalled out for a second before she shrugged, looking down at the roll of tape to rip off another strip. “I didn't do it for you,” she said, avoiding eye contact while she smoothed the tape in place, pushing just hard enough against Sabrina's broken ribs to make her jerk.

“I still don't like you,” she said, waving off another round of duct tape.

Church grinned, setting the roll down on the workbench Sabrina was perched on. “Good, because I don't like you either.” She turned and headed out the door, shooting her a quick smile over her shoulder. “See you around.”

Sabrina laughed, the pressure of the tape around her ribs making the pain of it bearable. She looked at Strickland. He was leaning against the wall next to the door, and he turned his head when Church strolled past, watching her walk out the door.

“Somebody likes her, though …”

Strickland's head snapped back in Sabrina's direction, a red flush creeping up his neck. “I think one of us dating a government spook is enough, don't you?”

“We aren't government,” Ben said from the doorway. “Planes are prepped and ready—we'll be taking off in a few minutes.”

Home.

By this time tomorrow, she'd be back in San Francisco. Back to normal …

Back to a life without Michael.

“You mind giving us a few minutes alone?”

Strickland looked at Ben and then at her. She gave him a nod of assent, and he left, exiting the hangar and boarding the waiting plane.

As soon as Strickland was gone, she looked at Ben to find him watching her. She felt time bend, and she found herself back in that dark hospital room, Ben standing in the shadows. Telling her she had a choice to make. That he could fix her life if she'd let him.

“My father's on his way here, so we don't have much time,” he told her, moving into the room until he was standing right in front of her.

“Time for what?”

“For you to decide.”

She looked past him, out the hangar door to the pair of planes that sat side by side on the tarmac. She'd watched Michael lead Christina onto the smaller of the two. Strickland and Church had boarded the other. “Decide what?”

“Where you belong,” Ben said.

“I don't understand,” she said, even though her heart had begun an uneven knocking against her chest.

Ben smiled at her. “I think you do. My plane is headed to San Francisco.”

“And the other one?” she said, looking past him toward the plane she'd just watched Michael and Christina board.

“That plane belongs to a very powerful US Senator who is very happy and very appreciative to have is grandson back … and not too pleased with my father at the moment.”

“Maddox?” She looked over his shoulder again, suddenly understanding. “He's going to help Michael.”

“Did you know that Montana actually means
mountain
? They wreak havoc on cell phone reception … especially when you're living on an five-hundred-acre ranch surrounded by them without a cell tower within three hundred miles.”

Somehow, he'd done it. Ben had managed to get Michael out from under his father's thumb. Relief washed through her, “Thank you, Ben. Thank—”

“Michael is dead.” He gave her what she'd come to call his
I'm a very bad man
smile. “He was shot several times by Reyes before crashing that Blackhawk behind me into the water between here and the island. We managed a water rescue for the Maddox boy, but Michael was lost at sea.”

“Lark agreed to go along with it?”

“Agreed?” His smile widened. “It was his idea. He also spent the last several hours developing a scrambling program, just in case my father decides to blow his chip for the hell of it. Michael is dead,” he repeated, the smile fading into a look that told her just how much it was costing him to let his friend go. “And you can be too. But you have to decide right now, and once that decision is made, it can't be undone. Not ever.”

He was making sure she understood. She could have Michael. She could be with him or she could go home. Home to Jason and Riley. Val and Lucy. Whatever her decision, there would be no turning back. Whoever she chose to let go would be lost to her forever. It was a hard choice but it was
hers
—with Ben it always would be. That was the difference between him and his father.

Home
…

Sometimes it wasn't a place. Sometimes it was a person.

She levered herself up from the workbench to stand in front of him. “You're a good man, Ben—and a good friend.” She stretched herself, despite the pain, to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you … for everything,” she said before walking away.

“Take care of him,” he said, and she felt his eyes on her as she left the hangar and got on the plane.

About the Author

Maegan Beaumont is a native Phoenician, currently stuck in suburbia with her high school sweetheart and husband, Joe, along with their four children. She writes take-you-to-the-edge-of-your-seat thrillers and loves action movies and spending time with her family. When she isn't busy fulfilling her duties as Domestic Goddess, she is locked in her office with her computer, her coffee pot, and her Rhodesian Ridgeback and one true love, Jade.

Acknowledgments

To my husband, Joe: Thank you for always offering me the last cookie in the jar (even though I know you really want it) and for understanding that “I'm almost finished with this scene” translates to “You aren't going to see me for the rest of the day.” I love you … I guess. To my always entertaining, sometimes irritating, mostly wonderful children: Finding my balance between writer and mother has been my greatest challenge. Thank you for understanding and loving me, even when I get it wrong. To my ever increasing circle of writer-type friends—Cindy, Holly, Linda, Kristen, Mary, and Susana: Thank you for making me feel like less of a weirdo. With you, I have truly found my people. To my lovely canning wife, Melissa: Thank you for sticking it out with me. Being my friend is a tough job; being my wife makes you a saint.

To Les Edgerton: You were the first person to ever look at me and see, above all else, a writer. For that, I'd open a vein for you … preferably someone else's.

To Cathy Crowley, who has been my hero and my champion from day one: Thank you for your seemingly endless offers of support, enthusiasm and expertise. I thank you, my readers thank you, and most importantly, chapter 48 thanks you. To Mary Lillie, whose eagle-eye and attention to detail keeps me sane: You'll never know how much I rely on you to make me sound like I know what I'm doing.

To my agent, Chip MacGregor: Thanks for looking out for me and for talking me off the ledge when things don't go my way. It's comforting to know I've got you in my corner. To the fantastic team at Midnight Ink—specifically my badass editors, Terri Bischoff and Nicole Nugent: Thank you for the countless hours of hard work and dedication you put in, not just for me, but for all of us. Thank you for being our voice, our sounding board, our advocates, and our biggest fans.

And for you, Annie, who is always last but never, ever least: You were my first and most constant partner in this crazy, unpredictable, sometimes-painful-but-always-worth-it roller coaster we call life. Thank you for forgiving me when I'm being a self-absorbed asshole (which is most of the time) and for being the first person who ever leaned in close and whispered in my ear,
you can do this.
I love you, I do. Forever and ever.