Page 94 of Unexpected Complication

“I lived on the streets long enough, Cian, that I learned a couple of, ah, tricks.”

“Tricks?”

She waggled her fingers.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You pickpocketed Orson?”

She nodded and Michael chuckled.

“He hated being touched. How’d you get close enough to take out his remote?”

“It was your girl’s idea—and so simple, it was perfect. When I, ah, dragged her into Orson’s office, literally kicking and screaming, I made sure to push her—hard—right in his direction.”

Skylar took up the story. “I fell into him, and while he was sputtering and pushing me away, I pulled out his remote and dropped in a new one Rex, I mean Michael, picked up on the way back. He knew what Orson’s looked like, and the last thing Orson expected was me exchanging it. When he hit the button, the only thing that happened was some garage door in the neighborhood opened.” She smirked. “As soon as I was alone, I pulled the other remote apart and smashed it.”

My breath caught. “So, the things in the room? His—” I swallowed heavily “—trophies?”

Michael leaned forward. “They’re all safe, Cian. All bagged and safe in lockup. Except—” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a clear bag “—this one. Skylar begged me to get it for you. She told me the story.”

He handed me the bag, and, with shaking fingers, I opened it and tipped the contents into my palm. For the first time in years, I held my father’s pocket watch in my hand. I traced the crest engraved into the gold, over and over, unable to speak.

It hit me. It was over. Really over. I didn’t have to live in that world anymore. The one thing that had gripped me for years—the need to rid the world of the man who murdered my father—was done.

Orson was dead. His empire destroyed. Sean had already told me of the ripple effects of the operation. There were arrests, other busts, drugs seized, and the halt of Orson’s latest endeavor—illegal arms—which was why Michael had become involved.

I was done. I no longer had to chase a criminal. Or be a ghost. I could live my life now, free from the past. Move forward.

I could do it with the woman tucked into my side—my Kitten, my Skylar.

My own little MacGyver.

Leaning over, I opened her hand and pressed the watch into it. “Thank you for this.”

She smiled up at me. “Sean is working with them to get all the items back. He explained how you want as many as possible back into the hands of family members.”

I looked at Sean, who nodded in agreement. “We’ll see what we can do. We’ll help with closure for them as much as we can.”

I looked down at the watch, gleaming dully in the light as it sat in Skylar’s hand. “It’s important. Something so small can help so much.”

Our eyes met. Sean, the man who missed his brother, my partner who stood by me, my uncle who stepped in and took care of me, guided me, and was always there for me. He was my family.

It was over for him as well.

It was time for both of us to start looking forward.

Chapter 22

Cian

A few days later, I was released from the hospital. Skylar had been discharged already but refused to leave. She stayed in my room, and no one said a word. I had no idea what all Sean had promised the hospital, but I didn’t care. When she was there, I could sleep. If she left the room and I drifted, the nightmares came—hard and fast. Orson, Anthony, my father, and Skylar—all mixed in with blood and pain. I couldn’t save either my father or Skylar, and I would wake up, hoarse from screaming and trying to get to them. Only Skylar could calm me down. I had a feeling the hospital was glad she was with me.

Michael came by a lot, which was great, until I realized it had far more to do with the pretty dark-haired nurse named Dawn than it did with his worry over my well-being. I did notice how much easier his smile appeared when she was around and how often he laughed in her presence, so it was a good thing in the end.

I was glad to be released—free from the IV and constant checkups—the sounds and smells of the hospital. I felt better simply being back at the farmhouse, Skylar tucked beside me on the sofa. The nightmares eased off—although I wasn’t sure they’d ever stop.

The next couple of weeks were spent mostly with Frank going through the entire operation. Statements, procedures, mistakes—it was all laid out, pored over, dissected, and analyzed. Sean was there, backing me up, as was Harper, miraculously back from the dead. Michael came in his official capacity, adding in his own accounts of the events. Once everything was finished—considering how many criminals and drugs had been removed from the playing field, plus the fact that a major organization had been dismantled, and the head of it deceased—the operation was considered a success.

Both Sean and I immediately resigned. Harper had already done so. Sean handed over the passcodes for the accounts where Orson’s money had gone, including the five million Orson had advanced to “Anthony.”