Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
That’s all I need to hear. I know how big this is. I know how dangerous this is. I know he means what he’s saying. So I do just what he wants: I pull my gun, and I shoot him dead.
Savage steps to my side. “Look, man. I’m glad he’s dead, but that was kind of anti-climactic. I wanted the assassins’ battle, two warriors beating each other’s asses. Lights. Cameras. Action.”
I ignore him and walk to Mick, squatting down to search his body, finding nothing, not even a wallet. Savage calls his team and says, “Move in,” allowing a search and seizure of the house where Mick has been operating. But they won’t find anything. Mick is too smart for that. But Nicole is too smart to have nothing on Mick. I walk back into the bedroom, grab the box I’d found in her ceiling and open it. There, I find photos and documents that prove Mick to be the spy that he was. I also find a passport with my name on it and Mick’s photo.
I will soon be free of all charges.
Ashley will soon be free, too. Free to stay or to go. Free to leave me. Free to live the life she’d chosen before I chose her.
Chapter forty-four
Ashley
Aaron doesn’t return that night. I practice shooting. I pace. I practice some more. It’s midnight when there’s a knock on my door at Savage’s place, and I yank it open to find the man himself. “He’s safe. Nicole’s dead. Mick’s dead. Aaron was flown to CIA headquarters for debriefings. It happened suddenly. They stripped his communication devices. He’s safe, though, and so are you.”
“How do you know he’s safe?” I ask, a nervous wreck all over again. “The CIA believed he was a traitor. They kill people. What if they kill him?”
“We got the proof needed to clear his name.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“When will he be back?”
“When they’re done with him. He said to give you this.” He hands me an envelope.
I accept it and stare at my name written on the front in Aaron’s writing. “You can stay here as long as you like,” Savage says. “Stay until he comes for you.” He eyes the note in my hand. “You gonna read that?”
“Alone,” I reply.
“Ah. So, get lost, Savage. Got it.” He backs away, and I shut the door, ripping open the envelope and reading:
It’s over. You’re free. I’m including the key to your freedom. Take the money it leads you to and then choose. Start over or wait on me, and we’ll start over together. Just remember this. There was no one but you before I ever met you. There was no one but you after I met you, and there never will be. If you wait on me, I can’t promise you there will never be danger again. You know what my life will always be. At least, now I know that you are free to choose how to live, with me or without me. I love you.
—Aaron
Four weeks later…
A million dollars and an address. That’s what I found in the lockbox.
Huddling into my jacket, I stand on the North Carolina beachfront and stare out at the ocean, waves crashing onto the shore, the sun setting low over the sea. It’s been a month since I threatened to shoot Aaron over another woman. A month since I touched him. A month since I kissed him. A month since he disappeared. A month that I’ve waited for his return, worried that he’ll never come back. I decide, right now, that I will wait another week, and if he’s not back, then it will be time to decide, time to accept that he may not come back. My heart hurts with the idea, and I turn back to the house, ready to go inside. Ready to be anywhere but on a beach alone.
I make the short walk to the porch and reach the bottom of the stairs when I notice the curtains blowing inside the house, across the sliding glass door. I shut the door and I reach behind me to grab the gun in my waistband that is now my best friend, and freeze as Aaron steps through the curtains on to the porch: tall and gorgeous in black jeans and a T-shirt. I have to blink to ensure it’s him.
“Aaron?”
“Noah, baby. Noah to you.”
Relief washes over me mixed with joy and urgency. I’m up the steps and in his arms in about ten seconds. He grabs me, holds me, then cups my head and kisses me, and the taste of him is familiar and right, in every possible way. “Tell me you’re here to stay,” I order against his mouth. “Tell me—”
“I’m here to stay. I agreed to do one last job for the CIA, and they agreed to set me free. I’m free. You’re free.”