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There was a new metal gate barring entrance to the courtyard, this one thicker and taller than the old one. A new keypad rested on the brick facade.
Nick keyed in the code and the gate buzzed. They stepped into the courtyard, Alexa’s gaze immediately drawn to the new doors, the brick around them still charred black.
The doors were open, the sound of an electric screwdriver whirring from inside the kitchen.
They stepped inside and were greeted by a cacophony of construction. Two men were hanging cabinets while a third installed a new dishwasher. Primer marked the walls, and the wood floor had been pulled up to reveal the plywood subfloor.
Julia appeared in the adjacent living room. “You're here!” She came toward them. “It’s a mess in there. Come into the living room.”
They crossed over into the other room and Julia enfolded Alexa in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulled back. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’m pretty tired,” Alexa confessed. She’d spent the last ten days in the hospital, sitting vigil next to Nick’s bed, waiting for the doctors to give him the all clear to go home.
The first bullet hadn’t done much damage, but the second round had come dangerously close to his heart, damaging one of his arteries as it ricocheted through his body. It had taken two surgeries — one six hours long and another smaller surgery to stop internal bleeding from the first one — to keep him alive.
In between there had been countless interviews with the police, for both her and Nick. They’d managed to steer clear of the feud with Walker and claim a random attack to explain the killing of the men in the stairwell, but Alexa didn’t think the police had bought it. That she and Nick had been involved in two crimes in such quick succession — the break-in at Alexa’s apartment and the assault at the hotel — didn’t help, and the fact that Nick’s weapon had been registered hadn’t shaken their suspicion.
Thanks to the power outage at the hotel, the cameras had been out during the attack, which meant all the focus was on Nick and Alexa. Now that Nick was out of the hospital, the police would be back for more interviews, and there would be even more scrutiny on MIS.
“Now you can rest.” Julia leaned in to give Nick a careful hug. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Thanks,” he said.
Ronan appeared at the entrance to the hall that led to the rest of the house. He was holding a blanket-wrapped bundle Alexa assumed was John Thomas, the infant dwarfed by Ronan's massive size.
“Ro,” Nick said.
Ronan nodded. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Nick said. “Still sore, but I'll live.”
Ronan handed the baby to Julia and shook his brother’s hand. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Alexa held her breath as Ronan turned his eyes on her. Their conversations in the hospital had been short and to the point: updates on Nick’s condition and on the investigation, requests for things to be brought from home to make Nick more comfortable, advice for Julia about the questioning by police.
Now he stared at her long and hard, and she wondered if Ronan would ever really forgive her. Julia had made the point that the AG’s office wouldn’t have been investigating MIS without Elise’s case, but Alexa doubted Ronan saw it the same way.
What had happened at the Murphy house — what had happened to Nick — was Alexa’s fault through and through.
Still, she'd done her part. She'd killed the man who'd been trying to murder Nick, had pulled the trigger against every law-abiding instinct in her body, had exposed herself to the investigation by the police. That had to count for something.
She looked at Ronan. “Thanks for having me here.”
A beat of silence passed. Then two.
“It’s our pleasure.” He pulled her into an embrace. “Welcome home.”
29
Nick forced himself not to grimace as he sat back in the conference room chair. His shoulder wound didn’t bother him much anymore, but the wound in his chest still felt like someone was drilling a hole into his heart every time he moved.
“You okay?” Alexa asked. “Want some water or something?”
He looked over at her, sitting next to him in the MIS conference room. “I’m fine.”
They looked up as Declan entered the room. His hair was neat, his clothes unwrinkled despite the early hour. The fire had seemed to shake him, and he'd been home more often lately, hanging out with the rest of the family in the living room for their reality TV and takeout binges and keeping whoever was cooking company in the renovated kitchen.
“You’re on time,” Nick said.
