“Put the gun down.”
“Why?” Kade takes a step closer. “You were about to shoot Calder. Your son. My brother. Why is that okay, but this isn’t?”
“Because I’m your father.”
“You’re not a father.” The words come out raw. Anguished. “You’re a tyrant. You’re the thing we’ve all been afraid of our entire lives. And I’m done. I’m so done.”
Everything happens at once.
Roman swings his gun toward Kade.
Calder moves, shoving me backward, down, trying to get me out of the line of fire. He succeeds, but I can still see everything with horrifying clarity.
And Kade shoots.
The first shot catches Roman in the shoulder, spinning him. The second hits center mass, and I see the shock on Roman’s face, the disbelief that one of his own sons would actually pull the trigger.
The third shot puts him on the ground.
I’m on my knees, ears ringing from the gunfire, watching Roman Bishop bleed out on the expensive hardwood floor of his dining room. His gun falls from his hand, clatters across the wood. His breath comes in wet, rattling gasps.
Calder’s still standing over me, still between me and danger, even though the danger is dying three feet away. His shoulders are heaving, and when Calder finally looks down at me, his eyes are wild. Unfocused.
“Are you hurt?” His hands are on me, checking for wounds, for blood. “Saint. Are you hurt?”
“No.” I catch his hands and hold them still. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
Around us, chaos erupts.
Sawyer is on his phone, probably calling for medical help even though we all know it’s too late. Levi stands frozen, staring at Roman’s body like he can’t quite process what just happened. And Kade.
Kade drops the gun.
It hits the floor with a heavy thunk, and he sinks down next to it, knees giving out. His shaking hands cup his face. The realization of what he’s done finally hits him.
He just killed his father.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens blare. The FBI, probably. Or local law enforcement. Someone responding to the gunshots, or to Sawyer, or maybe whatever signal Calder managed before everything went to hell.
Calder pulls me to my feet, and I press against him, his heart hammering against my cheek. His arms come around me, crushing me close, and his trembling matches my own.
“It’s over,” he says into my hair. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
But I’m not thinking about safety. I’m thinking about the wire.
The small device pressed against Calder’s chest, still recording, still transmitting. Evidence. Proof. Everything the FBI needs to convict not just Roman, but potentially others. And Calder just admitted on tape to participating in illegal operations, to following Roman’s orders for years, to doing terrible things.
My husband might have immunity. Agent Reese might have promised him protection in exchange for his cooperation.
Or she might not. People lie. Agents make deals they can’t keep. And I’m not about to let Calder go to prison after everything we’ve been through.
I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He thinks I’m seeking comfort, seeking safety in the aftermath of trauma. He doesn’t realize I’m carefully sliding my hand up under his jacket, fingers finding the edge of his shirt.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
The wire is taped to his chest, right over his heart. I can feel the hard edge of it, the slight bulk that would be invisible toanyone not looking for it. My fingers close around it, and I hold still for just a moment. Thinking. Weighing.
Then I rip it free.
