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"Ah, yes. I'm familiar with Valley Tech."
Even as we continued our discussion, I was acutely aware of the wire hidden beneath my blouse. Each word he uttered, each revelation he made, was being recorded.
Suddenly, his eyes darted around the room, and I glanced over my shoulder to see what he was looking at, but I saw no one in particular—at least that I recognized. But the air in the room seemed to thicken. His once smug smile had all but vanished, replaced with a hardened frown that felt more like a precursor to a storm than a simple change of mood.
His eyes, once careless, were now honed into sharp instruments, probing, dissecting, scrutinizing. Was it a flicker of doubt that danced in those depths, or had the predator smelled a trap?
"Is there something you're not telling me, Ms. Thompson?" he asked. His eyes searched mine, and I felt a surge of adrenaline. Was this curiosity, or had he pieced it together? His question hung in the air, wrapping the room in tense silence.
"I believe there's been a misunderstanding, Mr. Tyree," I responded calmly, standing to my feet.
"What's going on here?” Clint quipped, his eyes darting around like a cornered animal. He had figured it out, and I braced myself for what would happen next.
A door inside the lobby with 'housekeeping' stenciled above it crashed open. I was shocked to see Brad storming in, accompanied by Downing, Butch, and Dave. Clint froze mid-step, his eyes widening in surprise. His smug veneer had morphed into fear—wide-eyed and pale.
With a piercing gaze, Agent Downing held his FBI badge high for Clint to see. "Clint Tyree, you're under arrest for industrial espionage and manslaughter,” he announced. His voice echoed through the room, and every pair of eyes turned to witness the spectacle.
Clint's eyes flickered from Brad to me, realization dawning on him. "This was a setup!"
"No, this was a confession, Mr. Tyree," I smirked.
But Clint was not one to go down without a fight. He threw a frantic look around the room. Finally, his eyes darted to the hotel's front door. However, Downing and Butch strategically blocked any escape attempts.
Clint's gaze then fell on a vase resting on a nearby table. With a swift move, he grabbed it and swung it towards Downing, attempting to clear his path to the exit. However, Downing dodged it easily, and the vase crashed into the wall, shattering into a million pieces. Then Clint tried to lunge toward the other guard. But Butch caught him mid-lunge with his quick reflexes, twisting Clint's arm behind his back.
The entire lobby had gone silent, many videoing the mayhem on their phones, watching the drama unfold as I ran into Brad's arms. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would take flight out of my chest.
As the cuffs found their home around Clint's wrist, a raw cry from Brad, primal and wounded, echoed in the chilling air, "Why, Clint? What has fueled this specter you've become?"
Clint, cornered, a creature caught in a relentless spotlight of revelation, lowered his gaze, the weight of his action sinking into him.
"To settle the score!"
Those four words rang out, heralding the conclusion of a gruesome chapter in our lives, the dissipating echo of Clint Tyree's looming shadow that had long darkened our existence at Rosedale Technologies.
Brad pulled me close, his breath warm on my cheek, "You did it, Court. You did it!"
"Can we go home now?"
ChapterTwenty-One
Brad
It was evening,and the sun had set. The shadows were appearing on the red-bricked wall of my garden apartment. The city of San Diego had slowed down, and the fading sunlight made everything look surreal. Clint Tyree had been caught a few days ago, and just yesterday Carter Brown had been indicted for three murders and counting. The excitement of the events were still in the air.
"Join me out in the garden!” Courtney gestured, sashaying in bare feet over the tiles, carrying a glass of iced tea.
As I sat back beside her in my lounger, my gaze wandered lazily over the space I had thought of as home. Then, with a comforting sigh, I let my eyes linger on Courtney, a soft smile playing on her lips as she settled next to me. Just moments ago, her confession still hung in the air, the weight of her words far more comforting than I would have anticipated.
"You know, Brad," she began, her voice soft but clear in the tranquil silence of our sanctuary, "the Circle T ranch was the only place I ever really called home. And then, I left for San Diego to work for Rosedale. I had my tiny apartment, and then there was Ariel's loft and the dorm at the University..."
Courtney let her words trail off, her gaze distant as if she was reliving those years. She was silent for a moment, lost in the memories. Then, she turned to look at me, her eyes filled with a sincerity that took my breath away.
"But this place," she continued, her voice barely more than a whisper, "this place... feels like home. More than any of those other places ever did. And it always has since Mom passed, even before... before we were us."
As I listened to her words, I felt a strong sense of love and appreciation for Courtney. Her words rang true and resonated with me. Looking around, I realized that the garden penthouse was no longer just a physical space but a symbol of our love and resilience.
I had always appreciated how my decorator's vision brought charm to my place with the lively play of colors on the walls, cheerful throws, and captivating artwork. However, it felt even more significant now that Courtney would be my bride.
