CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Two years ago
THE SMELL OF charred metals and plastics filled the air, a cloud of debris billowing above Charlotte. A never ending stream of sirens pierced through the sound of the city’s regular lunch commuter traffic. A census of confusion tumbled around those not injured.
Earthquake?
Accident?
Explosion?
There wasn’t much time. Charleen was aware of this in one sharp rush. In one giant band squeezing her middle. In the hand she moved downward over a bulge that she’d never had before. She couldn’t see her feet.
This was wrong. There was something wrong. She’d been in the kitchen—her kitchen—making coffee. Contemplating how she’d prove this mess wasn’t of her doing. How she’d prove Amanda and Robinson could trust her.
Another vice of pain ripped through her.
“Breathe.” Dexter’s voice was above her, soothing. What was he doing here? Wherever here was. A hoard of sirens blasted the air, the sky a grayish tone, a billow of smoke coming from somewhere near the stadium. There was rubble beneath her feet.
“This is a joke.” She sucked in a slow breath. “I’ve died and gone to hell.”
Laughter came from Dexter’s mouth.
“You’re laughing? Right now?”
He pulled her into his chest as far as her stomach would allow, those strong arms holding her steady. “Tell me what to do.”
She didn’t know. Couldn’t think. Panic crowded in her body. Confusion wasn’t far behind. “You realize what’s happening, right?
“Stadium explosion.” The words were spoken with a calm. The kind that should’ve had everything inside her relaxing.
She couldn’t, every muscle tense.
Was this what Jo had meant? Had he known they might end up here? “We can’t change anything.”
Dexter pulled away. Tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, his fingers feather-light. “That should be simple, right? Since neither of us remember being here in the first place. I don’t. Do you?”
He was right. She’d been at the third precinct, sans pregnancy—when the blast rocked the city. He’d been—she didn’t even know. “Let me think.” The muscles in her abdomen tightened, every cell in her body following suit. Pain shot upward. Threatened to bring her to her knees.
“We don’t have time for that.” His hand, warm and gentle, found her stomach.
She sucked in a breath, her fist closing over a wad of his button-up. The same one she’d undone earlier. Tried not to curl into a ball at his feet. “Oh, God. Blake. He said the baby he helped deliver that day was breach.” She shook her head. “It’s not me.”
One eyebrow rose above the other. “You sure about that?”
No. She wasn’t sure about anything. “Blake would’ve recognized me.”
“You don’t look like you right now.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re pregnant for starters.”
Something hot gathered in her chest. “If that’s your way of saying I’m disgusting, you suck, Dexter.”
“Not even close.” His voice held soothing tones, a hint of something riding on the words. “The opposite actually.” More laughter came from his mouth. He tugged a lock of her hair forward. It was a dark brown. “And this.”
She grabbed it. How had it happened? When had it happened? Why?
“I prefer the blond.”
She stopped. He…what? “Have you lost your mind? Why are you so calm right now?”
“Because you’re here. You’re real.”
Had the letter spelled it all out? She spread both arms out, exasperation flowing through her veins. “Well, la-ti-da for y—”
A strangled cry erupted as Charleen’s arm connected with flesh. A string of curses came from beside them as a brown-haired woman dressed in a black shirt and light-colored jeans gripped her throat and fell to a crouch. One hand braced for impact on the concrete.
The woman who looked exactly like Amanda, but wasn’t. Beth crouched holding her throat.
“Really?” Shock tinged Dexter’s voice. “This is how this happens?”
An image of the day came to Charleen, sadness blanketing the view. A different view than they currently had. “Now you’re freaking out?” She shook her head. “You weren’t here last time.”
“And you know this how?”
Charleen pulled her gun from the holster at her hip—the one that barely fit there. “Like I know everything else.”
His gaze flicked to the gun. He lowered his voice. “You don’t know what she’s capable of. What could happen.”
“I do.” Better than anybody. A lot of things had died with the physical death of Beth’s body, but her general makeup and her mind remained. And Charleen had spent twenty-seven years—maybe longer—with the knowledge.
Using it. Honing it. Learning from it. Trapping criminals with it. Not stuck in a pregnant body with no recollection of the events that led them here.
He stepped toward Charleen—toward Beth. He couldn’t intervene. Couldn’t run around in the chaotic way she did without consequence. If she let that happen, there was no telling the harm they’d do. There was no telling the damage he’d cause to himself.
He had to go home. Stay safe. “Dex…”
His presence faded to nothing. As if her words had sent him somewhere. That couldn’t be the case, could it?
Charleen pressed the muzzle of her gun to the woman’s dark head of hair. Didn’t have time to wonder where he’d gone. She had to trust that a woman who should be dead might know what she was talking about. At least for this moment. “One twitch and I’ll pull the trigger.”
Beth didn’t move.
“Hands up where I can see them.”
Nothing happened.
There’d been confusion here. Panic. The emotions still flowed in her bloodstream. She’d worried she had the wrong woman. A contraction tore through her. Made her wish Dexter were here regardless of the mess around them. “Hands…up. Now.” Sweat dripped down her back. She took a breath. “Or I’ll pull this trigger and save a lot of people more misery.”
But she wouldn’t. Charleen wasn’t taking any more lives if she could help it. Compliance. She wanted it and nothing else.
Beth raised her hands, her head turning upward a fraction. Hazel eyes appeared through the curtain of her hair. “What do you want?” Her voice came out in a squeak.
“You came from the hospital?”
“What’s it matter?” Hatred flashed through Beth’s eyes. Hatred and self-loathing.
It had been a long time since Charleen had dealt with the live version of Beth. A long time since she’d been reminded which woman she preferred to deal with. “Pick me up. Carry me into the ER. Find Dr. Blake Fritz.”
“And if I refuse?” The words were clipped.
She was such a pain in the butt. At every turn. Alive or dead. “You won’t.”
“That’s a pretty big if for someone in your condition. I could easily knock you over and take off.”
Another contraction took hold, a bolt of electricity shooting through her entire body. She struggled to stay upright and keep the gun steady. Placed a hand against the stone wall of the hospital. “My child is breach. If I do nothing he’ll get wedged in my pelvic bone and suffocate.”
Beth’s eyes found Charleen’s stomach, a pale hue covering her face. Her kryptonite clear even in life. Indecision gripped almost stone-like features. “I pick you up, carry you inside.” Her eyes flicked to the hospital doorway. “Find this Blake character. That’s it. Nothing more?”
“You got it, sister.”
Beth’s lips formed a firm line. “I’m not your sister.”
“Thank God for small favors, right?”
Beth’s face scrunched together in disgust. “Put the gun down before you actually shoot me with it during a contraction.”
“Deal on everything except the gun. I’m a better shot than you so don’t worry about it.”
“I doubt that.”
Charleen shook her head. Couldn’t resist the flow of laughter that escaped her lips. “Please try me.”
Beth scooped her up, moved toward the doors and through them at the pace of an old woman, setting her on her feet inside them.
A contraction tore through Charleen. Dropped her to her knees. She fought the urge to bear down. She needed to wait. This child needed more time.
And then there were hands around her pushing, shoving. Instructions she had no idea if she was actually following. They were coaching her, exhausted, but working to save a child she hadn’t known existed.
A cry erupted in the chaos and then Blake put the infant on her chest. Charleen’s hands found his little body, snuggling him. He was covered in goop, his eyes opening as the nurse rubbed him with the towel swaddled around him. He had a thick patch of hair and wrinkles on his forehead that moved each time he heard a noise, straining for the source. His fingers moved toward his mouth, the flesh a healthy pink as he suckled them inside.
Her heart filled to capacity. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life.
“We’re gonna need to get them both up to maternity.” Blake’s voice held strain.
Her gaze found Blake’s. There was sweat on his brow. “He’s okay? I didn’t… He’s okay?”
“He looks good, Momma. Strong lungs. Looks ready to nurse. I’ll get you up to our maternity ward and they’ll double-check our work.”
The happy endings are easy. It’s the other faces.
They’d never end up in maternity.
She reached for Blake’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve done everything you can.”
He swallowed, the sound audible. “This little guy have a name?”
It whispered through her. “Elliot.”
Elliot Richard Knight.
___
He should’ve made her promise. That was Dexter’s first mistake. The thing that pressed him through the throng of travelers inside the Charlotte-Douglas International Airport. Past the TSA gates, one hand gripping the strap of his bag. He hadn’t found her only to lose her in this chaotic mess. If he had to repeat everything…
“You won’t, handsome.” Beth had appeared next to him the moment he’d deplaned. He’d just been too exhausted to deal with it. To say anything. Too busy sorting through the emotions swirling in his brain.
Had she given birth? Was she in trouble? Was that the point in time where he’d lost her? “I’m not a fan of the slingshot.”
“She needs you here.”
He stopped. Two teen girls bumped into him. Murmured apologies while giggling.
“Needs me here?” His heart quickened. “More than where we just were? She was in the middle of labor.” To a son he knew without a doubt was his. It was all somewhere in his mind. Locked away.
The most unbelievable of details wouldn’t surprise him right now. Maybe never again. One minute he’d been beside her, the next on that plane.
“Your son is alive and healthy, which is more than I can say for his momma, Dexter.”
He was talking about how he could end me…
Oh, God. Jo. He’d had her pinned up against a wall. Dexter took off at a run. Dodged around an elderly couple and a woman with a small child. Didn’t care about the looks he received.
He rounded the corner. Saw how Jo had her against the wall. Another man, similar in stature hovered nearby, a black Harley Davidson jacket covered his frame. She wasn’t struggling. No one even noticed nor moved to her aid. His heart broke in a million different ways. “Vi!”
Her gaze hit his, fear trapped within. His fist connected with Harley Davidson’s jaw. He went down fast. Dexter repeated the motion on Jo. The force made him stagger to the side. His grip loosened on Charleen’s throat. She sagged downward, hitting the floor hard. Beth went to her immediately, her hands touching Charleen’s throat.
Jo caught himself and turned toward Dexter, knife out. His gaze never wavered. It was familiar. Cold. Calculating. “It’s so nice to see you again. This time I’ve got a real knife, Chaplain.”
What the…?
He missed.
“Wittemoore?” No. He was in prison for murder and arson. Not this man who’d been trying to blackmail and kill Dexter’s wife and her family.
That was wrong. It had to be. He’d have been informed if there’d been a break.
“You don’t have any Correctional Officers watching your back.” Jo took a swipe at him, the edge of his knife blinging in the overhead lights. Dexter sidestepped the gut blow. Jo stalked forward, his weapon slicing across Dexter’s upper arm, the wound not yet fully healed. Pain ripped through it.
The rage in his gut drowned it out. He grabbed the other man’s wrist and twisted. The knife clanged to the floor. Dexter kicked the weapon toward Charleen. Jo followed it down as agony tore across his face, a smile still sliding across his lips.
“Touch my wife again and see what happens.”
She wiped her mouth. Fumbled for the bloody weapon, then clenched it tight. Her gaze connected with Dexter’s. The building around them shifted. Disappeared even quicker. Person by person.
Jo smiled. “What are you going to do about it? Any of those promises you made? That mission you both uphold.” He shook his head. “You can’t stop me.”
Charleen struggled to stand.
“I can. I will.”
“What are you going to do? Scour the prison for me? Question me about events that never happened? They’ll think you’re nuts. Bring me Elliot and this all goes away.”
A drop of blood oozed from Dexter’s arm and fell to the floor. It faded to nothing. To their right, Jo’s double rose from the ground. Withdrew a Glock. Then he moved toward Dexter, the gun in his hand stark against his pale skin.
Charleen rushed forward. Beth stepped into his path.
“What the…” The other man halted.
Charleen kicked the back of his knee. Sent the knife in between two of his ribs. A cry erupted from him. She grabbed his armed hand as he went down and sent a blow into his elbow. Aimed the gun toward the ceiling a millisecond before it went off. Bits of plaster rained downward as she twisted the weapon from his grasp.
And then both men were gone. Charleen looked down at her fingers. Wiggled them. Splotches of red covered her left hand all the way to the tattoo on her wrist. The tattoo and the scar. The gun was still in the grip of her right hand. She flipped the safety.
She blanched. Dropped to her knees, her breathing erratic. He was at her side in an instant. Grabbed his bag and pulled a shirt from it. Took both weapons from her hands. Stored them inside and worked to wipe the blood from her fingers.
“I’m supposed to save lives.”
Beth squatted next to her. “It’s okay. Breathe, honey.”
“I’m supposed to save lives.”
Dexter heaved in a breath. His fingers found her chin, his touch gentle as he positioned her head so she was staring right at him. Maybe seeing him like he saw her.
Beautiful chaos. Brave craziness. Perfect.
She took a breath. Then she was in his lap, her arms winding around his neck, her face pressed into the juncture of his shoulder. “We have to get out of here.”