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The goons in Vegas.
Phil dying in front of her eyes.
Hank being shot.
All of it because of Sarah Jane's hunger for revenge.
Unable to make sense of the truth, she wrapped herself in an icy detachment and distanced herself from the death and misery surrounding her. Lost in a wispy cloud of numbness, she continued to kneel by Sarah Jane's body. A breeze teased her hair, lifting the ends until the strands tickled her cheeks.
“Excuse me, ma'am, the paramedics want to check you out.” A deputy loomed over her, holding out a hand.
Startled out of her daze, Beth shook off her protective mental gauze and emerged back into reality. She grasped the deputy's wide hand and pulled herself up, taking stock of the chaos.
Paramedics toting heavy duffel bags swarmed Hank and cut away the bloody mess of his jeans. Even from ten feet away, his knee looked like a mangled mess of shredded muscle, shattered bone and blood. Fighting back the worry-induced nausea, she brushed past the deputy and rushed over.
“Will he be okay?” She squatted down next to him.
The paramedic stayed focused on Hank's injury. “Looks like the bullet missed any major arteries.” He zipped up his duffel and stood. “Be right back with the stretcher.”
He loped through the trees and toward the highway at an easy, steady pace.
“Thank God you're alright.” If she hadn't already been kneeling, relief would have knocked her to the ground. She sent up a quick prayer for Hank, for her, for everything.
“It takes more than a crazy lady to take me out.” Hank's large hand engulfed hers. “You have to remember the women in my family. I've had advanced training.”
Humoring him more than anything else, she smiled at his joke. But the truth was they both would have died if his deputies hadn't arrived in time.
Her entire life she'd tried to encase herself in a protective bubble with the same single-minded conviction Sarah Jane had depended on for her plans of revenge. In the end, it had blown up in both their faces and she'd almost lost the only man she'd ever loved.
Lowering her face, she brushed her lips across his in a brief kiss of hope, of new beginnings.
“It's all over, Beth,” he murmured. “Everything will go back to normal.”
“But I don't want that. I want more.” Certainty struck her like a lightning bolt. “There are so many things I've missed out on and left undone. All because I was scared.”
He squeezed her hand. “Of what?”
“I was scared of putting myself out there, losing someone or something else. I went into estate law because it was low pressure. I loved the mental chess of being a trial attorney, but the risks were so high…”
Chest tight and throat raw, she stopped to swallow back the tears threatening to overflow onto her cheeks. Her abuelita had warned her all those years ago, but she hadn't understood. She'd been a scared eight-year-old with a broken spirit hiding in her bedroom. The bed had creaked in protest when her grandmother had sat down. She'd wrapped Beth inside her warm embrace and kissed the top of her head. “God doesn't give you your family,” she'd whispered, “he gives you the strength and courage to make your own.”
For so long, she'd walked the wrong path, but not anymore.
“I thought by regulating everything in my life, I was keeping myself safe, insulating myself. I never let go.” An unsure smile turned her lips upward. “Not until you.”
Hank contemplated her, saying nothing after her declaration. As the silence grew, a nervous energy fizzed along her skin and jumbled her stomach. Then a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. All of the tension whooshed out.
“I love you, Beth Martinez. When we get out of here, there's an Elvis impersonator I'm taking you to meet.”
“I have no idea what that means,” she laughed. “But I love you too. Always have. Always will.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Beth's nose twitched and the impending sneeze built until she couldn't hold it back any longer. The release sent a small cloud of dust up from the bookshelf where she'd plucked her parents’ wedding photo. Pivoting, she turned back toward the cardboard box on her walnut desk and dropped it in with the rest of her knickknacks.
“Bless you.” Ed Webster stood in the doorway of her office at Webster and Carter.
In the three months since she'd last set foot in the law firm, he'd lost weight. His cheekbones stood out in gaunt relief from the rest of his face and dark circles had taken up permanent residence under his eyes.
