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“Not cute, Casey,” Ryan warned. “Also not work related.”
“Not work related? Funny, I always thought that’s what offices were for. I assumed you two were having meaningful strategy sessions, the union of spiritual and scientific input.”
Ryan looked like he might hit her.
Casey arched a brow. “Did I put my foot in my mouth? Sorry. But I do own Forensic Instincts. I have to ensure that all the team members’ hours are spent effectively.”
“Not to worry. They are.” Ryan turned his back and walked over to the table they’d set up on the side, making sure the champagne they’d been given permission to serve was chilling.
Claire’s cheeks were pink, but she ignored the conversation entirely. Her relationship—or whatever it was—with Ryan was not something she wanted to talk about. It was all wrong, except when it was all right. It had no definition and it made no sense. It was sporadic and it was extreme, and its ambiguity was driving her crazy.
“I like the floral arrangements, don’t you?” she asked Casey, changing the subject even as she arranged the vases. “I think the pastel colors suit the couple.”
“I agree.” Casey nodded. “I think you did a beautiful job. I think Amanda and Paul will be very touched.”
“After all they’ve been through, they more than deserve it.”
Casey nodded again. It was hard to believe that three months had passed since they’d found out Paul was not only an adequate donor match for Justin, he was a strong one. Starting with that reality, and adding the scientific advancement of the purification process, it gave them solid reason for hope.
The next five days had been intense as Paul’s injections and preparations commenced, and he and Amanda hovered over Justin, continually praying that their tiny son would be strong enough to hang on.
He did. Somehow that precious little one-month-old baby continued to fight, as if he knew that help was on its way.
The big day arrived.
First, the four-hour procedure where Paul’s stem cells were collected. Next, the grueling ten hours of waiting while the stem cells were processed and enriched.
And finally, the crucial procedure they’d been waiting for—the IV infusion of Paul’s stem cells into Justin’s body.
It had been the longest fifteen minutes that Amanda and Paul had ever lived through.
They’d known it would be at least two weeks before they saw any evidence that engraftment had taken place. And even though Justin was closely monitored by the entire transplant team for any sign of complications, the ticking clock had been unbearable. Fortunately, there’d been no signs of graft versus host disease.
And then came the fateful day, four weeks later, when the heavens smiled down on them. Justin’s tests came back, revealing some good cells with early function—enough so that his oxygen requirements were decreased, and the chest tube could be removed.
A month after that, he’d been off the ventilator. And now, three months after the transplant, the infections were gone and Amanda and Paul were sitting down with Dr. Braeburn to discuss discharging Justin from the hospital.
There would be frequent follow-ups, but Justin was out of the woods and ready to begin his life—with his mother and father.
Who were ready to begin their lives as a married couple, and as a family. A fully healthy family, since Amanda had already undergone three months of her six-month treatment to cure her hepatitis C.
Even the cynical Ryan McKay couldn’t deny that this was the ultimate happily-ever-after.
The chapel was theirs to use for the brief but meaningful ceremony. Patrick was giving away the bride, and Marc was acting as Paul’s best man. Amanda’s dear friend Melissa was the matron of honor, and two of Paul’s close friends at the Bureau were driving in to attend the wedding.
But the most important guest of honor would be the four-month-old baby boy who’d be brought in by a nurse and allowed to remain in attendance as his parents were joined in matrimony.
It was the most precious wedding gift Amanda and Paul could be granted.
Immediately following the service, Justin and his newlywed parents would return to the pediatric unit. Very little in their routine would change between then and release day. Amanda and Paul would sit by Justin’s side, holding him, playing with him and marveling at the wonder they’d created—and the strength he’d exerted to survive.
But homecoming was imminent. Dr. Braeburn had given Amanda the green light, so long as she brought Justin in for his regular follow-up checkups. They were just waiting for some final blood results, and for a slightly less blustery day. Then, Justin would be securely buckled into his car seat and driven to Hampton Bays, and his new nursery in Paul’s cottage.
The small bedroom adjacent to the master had gone through a major renovation during these past months, and was now a bright and cheery room for a baby to thrive in. Amanda’s apartment would go back to serving as her workplace—a photojournalist’s studio, keeping the nursery for Justin to use on those occasions when he was with her while she worked.
The wheels of justice were turning, as the AUSA prepared his case against Lyle Fenton and key members of the Vizzini family. Congressman Mercer had resigned from office, citing family issues as the cause, and had privately agreed to testify against Lyle Fenton in exchange for not being prosecuted. The truth was that any favors Mercer had done for his “father” had been done under duress. He’d used his influence to sway political decisions, but he hadn’t bribed anyone or committed any egregious crimes. His guilt fell in the area of gray, and it was far easier to accept his resignation and his agreement to help the U.S. Attorney’s Office nail Fenton than it was to go after him and lose the sway his witness testimony would provide.
Paul was still working for the Bureau, only now he was in the Counterintelligence division at the Long Island Resident Agency. His undercover days were over, which suited both him and Amanda just fine. From here on in, he could be Special Agent Paul Evans, and Amanda could openly become Mrs. Amanda Evans. And Justin’s name was being legally changed on his birth certificate to read Justin Gleason Evans.
