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“Have you forgotten Rory’s possible connection to all of this?”
Beatrice glanced up. “I’ve considered it.” The former assassin had more enemies than she did, both in the field, as well as in important government positions. Another potential hornet’s nest. “I’m letting him look into those.”
Vivi winked. “Gives him purpose. Something to focus on and not wallow in helplessness.”
“Keeps him from self-detonating,” Beatrice added.
“You would have made a decent psychologist.”
She laughed and sat back. It was time to find Cal and Sloane and enjoy a family dinner. “I’ll leave that to you, Dr. Montgomery.”
Vivi offered a gracious bow. “Do me a favor?”
“Sure, anything.”
She gave Beatrice a knowing once-over. “Don’t be like Rory and decide you’re at fault for this.”
“Why would I?”
“You and Rory are alike in that way—you blame yourself for far too many things. You weren’t to blame for your mother taking her own life. Not to blame for Rory being temporarily paralyzed and choosing to stay in the wheelchair far longer than he needed to. When I first met you, your emotional quotient was one of the lowest I’d seen, mostly because you’d had a rough time with your mother and you’d shut down feeling anything for anybody. Since I’ve worked here, I’ve noted that it’s risen considerably. You’ve created your own family and that’s the best medicine ever, but you take what happens to each of them personally, even when you know you can’t control outside conditions.”
Especially then.Illogical. She knew that, but it didn’t change anything. She could be as illogical as she wanted when it came to the people she loved. “Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good, Doctor. No offense to your profession, but honestly, all the hours I spent in therapy talking about my childhood didn’t do me any good.”
Vivi nodded, acknowledging it. The gleam in her eye suggested she thought that she could have helped, though. “What did?”
Beatrice couldn’t help but smile as she remembered Cooper Harris and her stint in San Diego. “I sort of fell into a family with the SCVC Taskforce with Cal, Rory, and Emit during an operation that turned into a goatfuck. It’s how Rory ended up in that wheelchair.” The memories of that night—of seeing the violence wrought—were etched forever in her brain. “Each of them, that team, made me a better person because they gave me hope, allowed me to believe in the goodness of people again. I learned to trust them to have my back, to lift me up when I needed it, not beat me down farther.”
“And you’ve taken that and made it a key component for SFI.” Vivi offered a thumbs up. “You’ve done good, B.”
Beatrice smiled even broader. “We’re just getting started.”
SIX
Rory tucked Amelia into bed in the sparse room as soon as they’d landed. The place hadn’t been used in a while, but someone had brought a plant and hung a serene landscape on the wall. It had taken some maneuvering to get her into a comfortable position between the boot and her sensitive neck. Finally, they’d found the best combo of pillows to pad her head and elevate her leg.
She’d asked him to stay until she fell asleep, then acted embarrassed by the request. He’d reassured her that he’d stay until she kicked him out if she wanted, and she’d gathered her courage and insisted he leave. “I’ll be fine.”
He’d countered. “It’s normal to feel out of sorts after an attack and to hate the idea of sleep. We’re most vulnerable then. Besides, I’d like to stay for a few minutes, just to be sure you don’t need anything.”
While she’d tried to keep up her bravado, he’d seen the relief in her eyes. She’d instantly fallen asleep once he’d sat next to the bed, and that was good—she needed rest.
He’d been too keyed up, though. Down in the gym, he’d ran through a punishing leg workout that had his knee barking in pain.
Good. The new injury had fired up his entire leg and lower back. Montgomery thought his disability was mostly in his head—he would put that to the test.
The grueling workout might set back his recovery, but it had at least cleared his mind. Emotions he didn’t normally let surface had been front and center since the attack. He kept reliving the fear and anger he’d experienced, seeing Amelia lying face down in that alley. Felt his inability to get to her without resorting to crawling.
Fuckin A. If he had to crawl, so be it. He’d do it all over again.
The helplessness it had generated was not easy to overcome. He hadn’t felt so, dare he even think it,impotent—god, he hated that word—since he’d taken those two bullets to his spine and woken up in a hospital, his legs paralyzed. The debilitating back pain and endless consults with experts, who’d assured him it would simply take time and physical therapy to regain his strength and mobility, had created a deep well of anger that had never been extinguished. He’d tried for a while to hold onto hope. Mostly for Beatrice because she was so damned bullheaded and kept insisting he could reinvent himself as she’d done.
That was a pipe dream. He’d been a lot of things in his life, took on the role of many different personas when undercover. So many, in fact, he wasn’t sure he even knew who he really was.
Propping up his leg on a nearby stool, he let go of a bit of the tension in his shoulders and touched his keypad. Stupid thing brought him comfort. From here, he could control everything, unlike outside these walls.
His bat cave, as he referred to it, was a semi-circular desk with multiple screens, phones, and a single toy figurine—Batman. The character had been a hero to him as a boy and he’d strived to be like the fictional champion. Moving in the shadows, conquering evil, bringing justice to those in need.
Dusting off the masked toy, he realized he, too, needed to clean up. Not just a shower and a change of clothes, but his mind. He’d neglected that anger, those buried emotions, always close to the surface. Everything was all tangled up. Rory hated chaos.
