While tracking my thumb over her frantic pulse, I say, “I’ll arrange for someone to talk to Isla. She’s so strong, she’ll get through this, Rae. I have no doubt of that.”Because she’s as brave as you.
Regan locks her eyes with mine, knowing there’s more. She’s right.
“Perhaps you could talk to someone as well?” When she attempts to flee, I tighten my grip on her hand. “There’s no shame seeking help about what happened today. You’re an attorney, not a special agent. But even if you were, I’d still order you a psych workup. It doesn’t matter who you are in this industry, if you fire your gun, you get time with the shrink.”
“Okay.”
I balk, stunned at how quickly she submitted. This isn’t like Regan at all. She must be more panicked than she’s letting on.
The reason for her quick agreement comes to light when she says, “We’ll do joint sessions.”
“What?! I’m not going to a shrink.” I hear my words twice when they bounce off the medic walls before returning to echo in my ears.
Regan leans forward, bringing her nose to within touching distance of mine. “What’s good for one is good for all, Mister Fancy Pants.”
My shock at her licking the tip of my nose frees her hand from mine. With a grin that shows she’ll make me uphold my pledge, she exits the medic truck. “I’ll call Dr. Avery en route to the hospital. I hope the Bureau pays well for a bullet wound, Alex, as her services don’t come cheap.”
“Rae. . .”
I growl when my attempt to chase her down for the second time is foiled by the clinking of steel against steel. She’s cuffed me to the gurney like a criminal, leaving the real perp free to smirk at me from behind rapidly closing doors.
“Rae!” I rattle the cuffs three times. “You’re going to pay for this!”
The fury slicking my veins dampens when Regan replies, “God, I hope so,” a mere second before the ambulance doors snap shut.
Epilogue
Alex
I shake my head when a drink menu is tilted my way.
“One whiskey on the rocks, three cokes, and. . .” Isaac shifts his gray eyes to Callie, Isla, and Addison. “Water?”
My chest swells high when they boo his suggestion before screaming the demand they’ve voiced many times today: “Mickey Mouse milkshakes!”
With a grin, Isaac returns his eyes to the waiter at his side. “And three milkshakes, please.”
The waiter jots down our order before snagging the menus from the table and sauntering away. When Isabelle shifts her eyes to Isaac, shocked by how Callie, Isla, and Addison have been bouncing off the wall the past ten hours, Isaac shrugs.
“I tried. They didn’t want water.”
I chuckle—inwardly.I’d never let Isaac think I like him by laughing for real.
Alright, I’ll give credit where credit is due. Things between Isaac and Vladimir were as Regan stated twelve months ago. Their one-time deal had nothing to do with shady operations and everything to do with Callie.
Although I suffered a bullet compliments of Kristin’s surprise attack, against doctor’s orders, I traveled with Ayden to Las Vegas to secure Callie a little over eleven months ago—although Isaac will never be aware of that. I asked Regan not to mention it to him. I don’t know why. Probably because I don’t want him to think he owes me anything. I’ve also never been overly good at admitting I’m wrong.
My disdain for Isaac will always remain—it’s a macho, alpha thing I can’t explain—but the FBI’s investigation into his empire is now closed. Although Regan would have handled my absence with the strength I saw in her the day my eyes landed on her, I’m pleased to say my crew’s focus didn’t shift far from Ravenshoe. Now instead of being based out of an office building across from Isaac and Regan’s nightclub, we’re smack dab in the middle of Hopeton—an easy forty miles from Regan’s penthouse. Not that commuting matters since we live in a three-bedroom shack in the burbs.
I really shouldn’t say shack. Our house might be one fourth the size of Regan’s penthouse, but its decked out with the latest and greatest gadgets, TVs, and furniture that make my eyes burn from looking at the price tag. Although my living conditions have had a massive upgrade since Regan joined my life, the portion of my closet not filled by her “designer babies” still house my despised JC Penney suits and five-dollar ties. They say the smell makes a man, not his outfit, so I’m testing a theory—much to Regan’s dismay.
I stop watching Isla twirl with Regan when the waiter sets down an ice cold glass of Coca-Cola in front of me. Isla has really come out of her shell the past week. I’d like to take credit for her blossoming personality, but I’m sure Regan has more to do with it than me.
What Regan suspected last year was true. Isla witnessed what her mother had done to her father. Thankfully, it wasn’t in person. With Dane’s suspicions growing, he started a video journal two months before his death. He talked about everything and anything: the love he had for his girls, his physical therapy, and how Kristin had started excluding him from family events a few months prior to his death. She even went as far as moving the dining table to a room he couldn’t access in his wheelchair so he could no longer join them for dinner.
That last part utterly gutted me.
Dane loved his girls, so to have them taken away from him like that while still living under the same roof would have been horrible for him. I wish he would have spoken up. I understand he thought most of Kristin’s anger resided around his inability to take care of her as he once did, but I would have assured him that wasn’t the case. It is unfortunate Dane’s pride stopped him from doing that. It is also what got him killed.
