Chapter 18

 

“Put it on the desk.”

Lena felt a chill descend through her extremities at the sound of Phelps’ voice. It was faint because the speakerphone hadn’t been turned on, but she could still hear him.

“I did as you asked. If you have something to say to me, I assure you the theatrics are unnecessary,” Owen replied. She could hear the anxiety in his voice despite his efforts to keep his tone and volume even.

Lena’s heart rate spiked as she realized that, in spite of his goodbye, Owen had left the call connected for a reason. Either he wanted to make sure there was a witness to the conversation or…

Or he was in immediate danger and needed help.

Where the fuck is Logan? she wondered, beginning to panic in earnest. She muted the phone.

“Wyatt!” Her rib fractures made it difficult to draw the breath she needed to shout, but Wyatt heard her and opened the door.

“Ma’am?”

“Something’s wrong. I don’t know where Logan is, but Owen is in his office alone with Phelps. Call Logan’s cell,” she instructed rapidly. While Wyatt dialed, she turned her attention back to the phone, realizing she’d almost missed the next part of the conversation. She listened closely, scarcely daring to breathe as she fought to stay calm.

 

 

Owen’s gaze shifted back and forth between Phelps’ face and the barrel of the gun, his mind working quickly to decide the best course of action. He couldn’t get to the intercom button without reaching across the desk, but he’d left his cell connected so Lena could hear them. She could call for help…

“You know,” Phelps shook his head, tilting his head almost lazily. “Shit like this doesn’t just happen. Nineteen-year-old brats don’t run companies like GC. You didn’t work for it. You didn’t earn it. I’ve spent years struggling to get to the top, to succeed, while you two… You don’t deserve it. Either of you.”

Owen watched him nervously, noting the odd combination of facial expressions and body language. His stance was relaxed, almost nonchalant. But his face was another matter. His normally polite countenance was twisted into a scowl of hatred. The gleam of rage in his eyes reflected the fury that lay beneath his cold exterior, offering the only clue that he wasn’t as controlled and casual as he wanted Owen to believe. He was like a volcano churning beneath the sea, threatening to trigger an earthquake that would rock the foundations of everyone’s lives yet again.

Keep him talking, Langford.

“If you’re unhappy with the circumstances, we can discuss it like adults. There’s no need for the gun.”

 

 

A gun?!

The tentative hold Lena had been keeping on her panic promptly evaporated. Logan wasn’t answering Wyatt’s calls or texts, and she knew Shirley must be at lunch. She also knew the security briefings were generally held around midday, but surely someone had their phone on them. Wyatt would reach someone, and they would go to help. They had to. How long would it take them to get from the ground floor to Owen’s office?

Too long to make a difference if Phelps decided to pull the trigger.

“He’s got a gun,” she squeaked, the words sounding odd as she shook with fear.

Officer Wilcox, who had been standing in the doorway, exchanged a few words with Wyatt before calling dispatch on his radio. That might have given Lena a little hope were it not for the knowledge that the police couldn’t get there quickly enough either. A wave of nausea threatened to overtake her as she forced herself to keep listening to the discussion on the other end of the line. Her eyes were swimming with tears, silently pleading with Wyatt to get through to someone - anyone - who could help.

 

 

Phelps practically snarled at Owen’s words.

“You’re not capable of discussing anything like a grown-up until you actually grow up. What you’re going to do right now is respect your elder, shut the fuck up, and listen like a good boy.”

Owen remained still and silent, but his eyes darted quickly to the door and back. Is this really it? Is this how it ends? Phelps’ finger was caressing the black metal of the gun, and it was clear he’d lost his sense of reason entirely. He had to know there would be no way to get out of the building alive if he pulled that trigger.

I should’ve ended the call, Owen thought, cursing inwardly. Was it too much to hope that Lena couldn’t hear the conversation or that she’d simply hung up when he’d said goodbye? What if the next thing she heard was the gunshot that would take him from her forever? He remembered all too well the way he’d felt as he’d pulled her body from the fire and watched the EMT fight to revive her. This situation was no better. The thought of what she must be going through at that very moment sickened him, and he fought the urge to pick up the phone again to soothe her.

Just last night, he’d thought nothing could break them. He’d never been more wrong. She wouldn’t survive his death any more than he would’ve survived hers.

“Like any intelligent person faced with a new opponent, the first thing I did was look you up,” Phelps told him, controlling his tone better than his expression as he continued to monologue. “I had someone look into your past, and I’m pleased to say he discovered some interesting things. Like the fact that you weren’t always Owen Langford. Seems you’re the adopted child of Edward and Vera Monroe.”

Phelps tilted his head slightly, gazing at him the way a child studied a fly before removing its wings. Owen repressed a shudder and attempted to conceal his visceral reaction to the man’s words. He refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hit his mark.

“There was quite a scandal revolving around Vera Monroe a few years back. I remember reading about it in the paper, hearing about it at parties for a while… She beat and molested a teenage boy for years. They caught her red-handed, apparently. I can only imagine what that scene must’ve looked like.

“You know, I don’t remember her all that well, but I do recall that she was very attractive. I can’t imagine being a hormonal young boy and not being even the slightest bit turned on by her…” He let the sentence hang, smiling cruelly at Owen. “I wonder what sweet Lena would think of your relationship with your mother.”

“She already knows,” he snapped, no longer able to keep silent. He hated the sound of her name on his lips. Phelps’ eyes darkened maliciously.

“Ah, but does she know you liked it?”

Owen’s gut churned in revulsion, and he knew Lena would be feeling the same if she were indeed listening. He pressed his lips shut, refusing to answer.

“What I want to know is how a little fuck-up like you is now in charge of a multi-billion-dollar corporation? I’ll admit, I didn’t see that one coming. You played your hand well. You know, I always assumed you were with Lena for the normal reasons. I mean, if what’s between her legs is as hot as the rest of her, well… I can imagine she must be into some very scandalous things as well, if she’s managed to hold your interest for more than five minutes...” Again, he trailed off, dangling the bait as though trying to make Owen give him a reason to shoot him.

Despite the faulty assumptions Phelps was making, his barbs were still finding their intended target. Snide comments about his past, Owen could handle, but insults toward Lena were another matter. He worked hard to contain his anger and forced himself to remain silent. Phelps grinned again, sensing a victory.

“You’re a smart boy, so I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the effect such nasty rumors would have on the company. On Nathaniel Gardner’s legacy. Our clients would be out the door so fast it would make your head spin. GC would fold, and your lovely fiancée would be utterly devastated. And it would be all your fault.”

He’d practically spat the word ‘fiancée,’ and Owen didn’t much like hearing him say Nate’s name either. Phelps was shifting a little on his feet, betraying his growing impatience, and the movement escalated Owen’s anxiety. He sensed that Phelps was coming to the end of his speech, and still the door hadn’t opened. Where the fuck is Logan? Or anyone?!

“I know you don’t want that. You don’t want to hurt that sweet girl who’s already been through so much…”

Phelps’ jaw clenched as he lifted the gun a little higher, aiming it directly at Owen’s head. The unmistakable sound of metal on metal echoed through the room as he pulled back the hammer.

“So, here’s what you’re going to do.”

 

 

Lena trembled violently as she listened to the exchange. Silent tears of anguish streamed over her cheeks, and the air felt thin. She struggled to draw each breath, which only pushed her heart rate higher, setting off the alarm at the nurse’s station. Wyatt squeezed her hand, holding his phone to his ear as he tried yet another number at GC. He moved aside when a middle-aged nurse rushed into the room, flustered and confused by the unexpected change in her patient’s condition.

The nurse, whose name tag identified her as Beth, began to take Lena’s vitals quickly, pausing only to press the red call button on the bed rail.

“I think you’re having a panic attack, ma’am. I need you to try to calm down. Everything is alright.” Beth was looking at Wyatt for an explanation as to what had happened, but he was too focused on his task to answer.

And Lena couldn’t calm down. She had passed the point of no return the moment she’d realized Phelps had a gun trained on the man she loved. Her mind struggled to process the one-sided conversation she was hearing while a new, terrifying reality settled in.

Once again, she was losing a loved one to cruelty and circumstance, and once again, it was her fault. She had sent Owen to GC in her place, and now he was going to die in her place as well.

Lena gasped, desperate for oxygen, for resolution, for intervention. Her hands pressed instinctively to her broken ribs, and her vision blurred. She paid no heed to the doctor and nurses who were converging upon her, and she barely registered the mask they strapped to her face. Their words were gibberish beneath the ringing in her ears. All of her focus was directed at the phone in her hand and the conversation taking place just a few miles away.

She felt as though she were in the path of a speeding freight train that thundered toward her carrying more death.

Always more death.

 

 

In another part of the GC headquarters, Logan was giving his weekly report, oblivious to the rhythmic vibrations of the phone he’d left in the pocket of his jacket, which was hanging over his chair. It wasn’t until the landline in the small conference room began to ring that the briefing was interrupted.

The few minutes Wyatt had spent trying to get through to someone on the security staff had felt like hours, and he experienced a premature surge of relief when Matthews, the GC head of security, finally answered one of his calls.

“Where the fuck is everyone?! Phelps is in Langford’s office with a gun! Get up there now! The cops are on their way!”

No sooner had Matthews relayed the message than Logan broke into a sprint, followed by several others on the security staff. They piled into the express elevator, each checking the weapons they’d holstered beneath their blazers. Logan had acquired his concealed-carry permit only two days ago, but the gun was his own. It felt familiar, like an extension of his hand, and although he hadn’t yet had time to go to the practice range, he didn’t doubt his marksmanship.

Logan slammed his hand against the button for the top floor and cursed loudly when nothing happened. The extra minutes it would take to catch one of the six standard elevators could be the difference between life and death for Owen, but it would still be faster than taking the stairs. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds for one of the other elevators to reach the ground floor. They all watched the numbers tick slowly upward, and Logan forced his mind into the zen-like state that had served him so well during his years in the Army. Once the elevator doors slid open, they hustled through the lobby past the shocked receptionist and proceeded down the quiet hallway. They moved like a trained combat team, and although Logan was the newest among them, no one argued when he took point.

Owen’s office door was closed, but Logan managed to open it just a few inches without drawing the attention of the room’s occupants. Timing was everything; causing a disturbance could easily lead to fatalities in a hostage situation. They listened, armed and ready, to the angry words of the CFO.

“You don’t want to hurt that sweet girl who’s already been through so much… So, here’s what you’re going to do.”

 

 

Owen’s heart thundered in his chest, sending the blood rushing through his ears at such a volume that it was difficult to hear Phelps’ next words. He couldn’t help the confusion he felt as he listened to the older man lay down his demands.

Blackmail? That’s what this is about? Owen was puzzled but almost relieved… Or at least he would have been if there hadn’t been a gun pointed at his head.

“You’re going to tell that entitled little bitch that you can’t do this job. That you’re not cut out for it. And neither is she. In fact, you think it would be best to start looking for a buyer. Better to keep the company intact under a different owner than to let her father’s legacy die with him, as it surely would under your direction. I don’t care what you have to say to convince her. That’s your problem.”

“She’d never sell. Especially not to you,” Owen growled.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the door swing open silently, and Logan crept into the room, his gun trained on Phelps’ back.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to get the company for a bargain price after she’s dead,” he taunted.

“Think again, asshole.”

In the split second it took for Phelps to turn his head toward him, Logan fired a shot, sending a bullet through the hand that held the gun. Owen ducked below the desk instinctively, but Phelps’ gun didn’t go off. It fell to the floor and skittered across the granite, and Phelps collapsed with a howl of pain, clutching his bloody hand.

“Get some cuffs on him right now!” Logan urged his colleagues. “You alright, man? Er… Mr. Langford?”

Owen’s heart was pounding as he attempted to calm himself, and his limbs shook slightly. He nodded to Logan as he stood and reached for his phone.

The call was still connected.

“Lena? Are you there?” Nothing. He pulled the phone back to double check, but the call timer was definitely still running. Fuck. Did she hear all of that? “Baby, talk to me! I can’t hear you.”

There was a shuffling noise, and he held his breath as he waited for the reassuring sound of her voice. There was an odd sort of groaning in the background, and the person who answered him wasn’t who he’d expected.

“Sir, this is Wyatt. I apologize. The phone was muted. Is everything alright there?”

“Everything’s fine now. Where’s Lena? Is she alright?”

“Uh…” Owen fought the urge to scream. “Ms. Gardner is being treated for a panic attack, sir. Just a moment.”

Owen cursed as he searched frantically for his keys and wallet, listening as Wyatt tried to reason with Lena. With a jarring sensation of dread, Owen realized that the strange muffled noises he was hearing were screams. Lena’s screams.

“I gotta go,” he shouted to Logan, ignoring the snarling man his friend was holding at bay. “Lena heard everything. She’s losing it.”

“Go. I’ll be by later. And hey, the express elevator’s down. Take the other one.”

Owen was out the door without another word, pushing through the crowd of concerned employees who had gathered after hearing a shot fired. The elevator took him to the parking garage within a few minutes, but there was nothing to be done about the traffic. He knew it would take him at least fifteen minutes to reach the hospital, and he drove with his phone on speaker, trying to make sense of the chaos that was taking place in Lena’s room.

“Ms. Gardner… Lena! He’s alright. Owen is okay!” Wyatt was shouting loudly over the voices of what Owen assumed must be nurses and doctors, but the muffled screaming continued.

The sound shattered him, and he didn’t even feel the tears leaking from his eyes as he wove through traffic at a dangerous speed. There were no words to describe the noises coming from his love in that moment. It sounded like she was wailing, screaming, and sobbing all at once. The sounds punched a gaping hole through Owen’s chest, and his terror grew exponentially.

He knew her body couldn’t withstand this, and one of the doctors seemed to agree with him.

“We need to get her sedated.”

“No!” Owen shouted. “Wyatt, tell them to stop! No sedation yet. At least not until I get there. Tell them to page Mary right now!”

He pushed the gas pedal down further as he listened to Wyatt relay his instructions. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve defaulted to a doctor’s judgment, but he couldn’t let them sedate her now. He knew Lena better than anyone else, and he knew that all she needed was to see him. If they forced her to sleep, they would merely lock her in a nightmare from which she couldn’t wake.

Owen cursed the other drivers and honked rudely, maneuvering his Mustang in and out of traffic at nearly twice the legal speed. Lena was still weeping bitterly.

“Put the phone up to her ear, dammit! Let her hear my voice!”

The muffled cries grew louder, and he fought back a sob of his own.

“Lena! I’m right here, baby! Listen to my voice! I’m on my way. You’re going to see me in just a minute, alright? You’ve gotta calm down, Lena. Breathe!”

Between her own crying and the shouted communication going on around her, she didn’t seem to have heard him, and Owen realized that regardless of whether or not he was still on the line, Lena’s brain had dropped the call. Her screams became hoarse and labored, but above the din, he heard another familiar voice and felt a surge of hope.

“What happened?!”

 

 

“Acute panic attack, Dr. Langford. Her fiancé said no sedation until he gets here,” one of the nurses explained, raising her voice to be audible over Lena’s gut-wrenching sobs.

“What?! Her BP is too high! She could have a stroke!” Mary leaned over Lena’s bed and put a hand to her cheek. “Lena! What on earth…?” Her eyes found Wyatt, who was still holding the phone to Lena’s ear. “What happened?!”

“There was a shooting at GC, ma’am.”

“Is Owen--?!”

“He’s fine, but he was in the room. He’s on the phone trying to talk to her, but… She was panicking even before the shot was fired, and hearing it pushed her into hysterics. She’s been like this ever since.”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes at most.”

“Give me the phone. She can’t hear him anyway.”

“Please help her!” Owen shouted. “I’m almost there.”

“We’re trying, Owen. She needs to be sedat—”

“Not yet. Please. Just give me three minutes. She needs to see me to believe it.”

He was right. The sight of Mary had begun to calm Lena in minute degrees, turning her screams into moans and soul-wracking sobs. Her vision was tunneled, her throat was tight, and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything anyone was saying. They were just voices, all blended together and shouting over one another. None of them could penetrate the haze of pain that had swallowed her whole.

She’d lost him. The boy with the sad, green eyes. The man with the beautiful soul. She’d sent him to die in her place. It should’ve been her instead. Just like Mom... and Dad…  Through her endless tears, a woman’s face hovered in front of her.

Mary. She didn’t even get to adopt him.

Lena felt like she was deep underwater, aching from the pressure and unable to hear properly. Her world was growing steadily darker, both literally and figuratively. Her light was gone.

Mary framed Lena’s face with her hands and spoke as loudly and as clearly as possible, just as she’d done for Owen in the ER nearly two weeks ago. His panic attack hadn’t been life threatening, but Lena was at risk for serious complications due to her other injuries. This had to stop now.

“Lena, I want you to focus on my voice. On my face.” She glanced at the monitor and instructed one of the nurses to turn up the oxygen level. “Listen, Lena. You need to breathe. I don’t want to have to sedate you, and I know you don’t want that either.”

But I do. I want to sleep and never wake up.

“Come on, now. Breathe with me, okay? In and out.” She nodded as Lena began to cooperate between her sobs. “Good girl. Breathe In… And out… Again…”

The noise level in the room had diminished, but no one moved, watching as Lena struggled to regain control of her most basic function.

“Keep breathing… Just like that. Owen is safe, Lena. He’s alive, and he’s unharmed.”

Lena began to shake her head, more tears spilling over her cheeks.

“Yes, he is. He’ll be here any minute. You watch that doorway,” she gestured over her shoulder. “He’s on his way right now.”

Lena’s eyes shifted reluctantly to the open door, not daring to hope that Mary was right. It would be the worst sort of cruelty if she were lying only to calm her temporarily, and she didn’t want to think the sweet, benevolent woman would be capable of such a thing. Lena’s chest ached sharply as the other doctor touched his stethoscope to the side of her rib cage. She wasn’t coherent enough to wonder what he was doing or even to give much thought to the pain.

It was nothing to the pain in her heart. In her soul.

A scuffling could be heard from the hallway, along with a voice shouting for bystanders to get out of the way, and quite suddenly, the owner of that voice stood panting in the doorway.

Owen.

Lena’s bloodshot eyes widened in amazement, and Owen all but shoved Mary off the bed in his haste to get to her. Lena was still sobbing, but the sound had changed. It wasn’t the wailing of a fractured soul but rather tears of acute relief and love. Owen’s arms were around her, his chest heaving with the same emotions that had her trembling from head to toe. She clenched him so tightly that he knew the effort must be hurting her, but he didn’t attempt to break her hold.

“I’m okay, baby. I’m okay. I’m so sorry…”

He murmured the reassurances against her cheek, her neck, her forehead, her hair… But Lena wasn’t satisfied with that. She ripped off the oxygen mask with shaking hands, ignoring the protests of the others in the room.

“I thought… I thought he…”

“I know,” Owen pressed his lips to hers in a flurry of quick, hungry kisses, but he held the mask to her face again as he continued. “It wasn’t Phelps who fired the shot. It was Logan. He shot Phelps in the hand, and they had him in cuffs when I left.”

“They got him?!” she squeaked from beneath the mask.

“They got him, baby. It’s over.”

He gathered her in his arms again and kissed every accessible inch of her tear-stained face while most of the others left the room quietly. Mary hovered for just a moment to watch the stats on Lena’s monitor fall to healthy levels. It hadn’t been the worst anxiety attack she’d ever witnessed, but knowing Lena as she did had made it traumatic nonetheless. The woman who was being rocked in her son’s arms now seemed like a completely different person, and Mary smiled in relief as she gave them their privacy. Lena would need another round of tests to be sure she hadn’t suffered a setback in her recovery, but that could wait just a little while.

For now, what Lena needed more than anything was to feel Owen’s arms around her, to hear his heartbeat, to gaze into his beautiful, green eyes… She needed him. Her constant.