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It was after eleven the next morning when Sam tiptoed out of her bedroom and made her way down the stairs. The scent of coffee warned her she wasn't the first one awake. She peeked at the sofa where Garrison had slept only to find the blankets neatly folded. She turned toward the kitchen table and saw him sipping coffee and reading her newspaper.
He looked up and folded the paper. "I hope you don't mind. I helped myself."
"Of course not."
"The pot's still half-full."
She filled her cup and joined him at the table. "Anything interesting in the news today?"
"Honestly, I was reading the movie and book reviews. I wasn't up for hard news."
"I can't blame you for that."
They sipped their coffee and chatted about nothing until Matty staggered down the stairs. "Where's my mom?"
Garrison stood. "She's in the office. We promised to send you in there when you woke up."
"Okay." He climbed the stairs again.
A moment later, Aiden came down. "What's for breakfast?"
Garrison shook his head. "Son, we're guests—"
Sam stood, tried to hold back her chuckle. "I was about to see what I have."
"What's the big deal, Dad? She knows we eat like pigs. She's been feeding us all week."
Garrison looked at her and shook his head. "That's true."
"Not pigs," she said. "Boys. The problem is, I don't eat like a boy."
"We're going to starve to death," Aiden said. "We shoulda grabbed the food from the fridge last night."
"Believe it or not," Garrison said, "your wise and brilliant father has managed breakfast. It should be arriving any minute."
Sure enough, not three minutes later—an eternity according to Aiden's growling stomach—the doorbell rang. Brady stepped inside with two huge sacks of food dangling from one wrist, a tablet in the other hand. "You guys hungry?"
"Famished," Aiden said. "Whatcha got?"
Sam took the food from Brady. "You rescued me. I had no idea what I was going to feed these guys."
"All I did was pick it up. Garrison ordered it."
She turned to Garrison and winked. "You're always one step ahead." After Sam spread the options across her kitchen counter, she pulled out dishes and silverware. Aiden and Garrison filled their plates with eggs, pancakes, bacon, and sausage. The scent must've carried up the stairs because Matty and Allison came down a few minutes later.
Matty filled a plate while Allison watched nervously.
Sam caught her eyes and gestured to the array of food. "There's plenty. Help yourself."
Allison did, and then Garrison introduced her and Matty to Brady, who was leaning against the far wall, watching the scene.
When everyone had filled their plates, Sam chose a half a bagel and spread some strawberry cream cheese on top. She sat at the bar and waved Brady over. He snatched a piece of bacon and sat beside her.
"You still mad at me?" she asked.
"I thought Garrison was going to take my head off last night."
She winced at the memory, could still hear Garrison's shouted accusation. "What were you thinking, letting her put herself in danger like that?" There'd been more, words she wasn't comfortable thinking, much less repeating, as Garrison's fury had erupted.
All Brady had said was, "I trusted her."
Brady had glared at her then. But Garrison had wrapped her in his arms.
Sam sipped her coffee and gazed at Garrison, who was seated between his son and Matty, eating like he hadn't had food in years, cracking jokes between bites. "He doesn't seem mad now."
"If anything had happened to you..."
"It's over now. Let's not."
Brady shook his head and bit his bacon. Yup, he was still mad. What had he expected her to do? Let that crazy man put a bullet in Aiden's head?
The thought had her setting her bagel down.
"When Rae hears what happened last night," Brady said, "she's going to kill me."
"She'll understand," Sam said. "She's been there."
Brady's look said he wasn't happy for the reminder.
"You forgave her," Sam said. "You'll forgive me."
"Maybe." He grabbed her bagel and took a bite. When he'd swallowed, he said, "Eventually."
Yup. He'd forgive her. Probably sooner than he wanted to.
When everyone had finished eating, Brady stood and cleared his throat. "I got some news. Not much..." He looked at Allison. "Have you been briefed?"
She shrugged and looked at Garrison, who said, "I told her most of it. I don't know that the boys know how Sam got away last night."
"Okay." Brady looked at Sam, shook his head again, and told the boys what Sam had witnessed in the parking lot of the body shop the night before. It was odd how the events he recounted seemed like they must've happened to someone else. Had she really witnessed a man's murder? Had she really left the scene, called Brady? Had she really done all that?
She must've, because the images were there.
She didn't know how she'd done it, but she had. Later she'd weep at the horror. And marvel at the miracle.
Aiden said, "Dude, that's like, nuts. I'm impressed."
Sam wasn't used to being called dude. She met his eyes and shrugged. "I was running on instinct."
"Anyway," Brady said, "the state police stopped the SUV last night and apprehended one of the men." He grabbed his tablet off the kitchen counter and turned it so Sam could see it. "Do you recognize him?"
The very black man with very black eyes and a scar on his neck was smiling in the photograph. He wore a suit and tie and stood beside a blue, red, and yellow flag. "That's him."
"Thought so. The guy's a foreign diplomat. He admitted to murdering your captor." Brady looked at the tablet. "By the way, your captor's name was Pratap Tambe. He was a U.S. citizen, lived in New York."
And now he was dead.
Garrison stood, took her hand, and leaned against the bar beside her. "You're saying all you have is a diplomat."
"Unfortunately," Brady said. "He's in custody for now. They'll have to let him go."
Wait, what? "They're going to let him go? How can—?"
"I know," Brady said. "It stinks. He has diplomatic immunity."
Garrison sighed. "Any luck finding his partner?"
"No sign of him."
Garrison said, "I guess the package wasn't found, either."
"We're assuming the second man took it and is trying to get it back to the DRC. The problem is, without a physical description of him, he'll be hard to find. All we know is he's black and has a French accent."
That was all she knew. She'd seen the man run away, thought maybe he was the same height as the diplomat. She should have turned, should have looked at him. She'd apologized for that. All Brady had said was, "And maybe then they'd have shot you."
She decided not to think about that.
"The guy's in the wind," Brady said. "But this diplomat"—he consulted his notes again—"this Robert Mutombo—"
"Wait!" It was the first time Matty had spoken. Everybody looked at him. He cleared his throat. "His name was Robert?"
"Yeah." Brady said. "Why?"
"Can I see the photo?"
"Sure." Brady handed the tablet to Matty. He stared at it, shook his head. "I met him. He threatened..." Matty looked at his mother, and his eyes filled. "He threatened to hurt you and Jimmy. I was going to call him as soon as we got the diamonds. I was going to betray Dad to save you guys. I never got the chance."
Allison scooted her chair closer and wrapped her son in a hug. "It's a choice you never should have had to make."
"I couldn't let him hurt you."
"Of course not."
Garrison cleared his throat. "How did he find Sam last night?"
Brady looked away from Allison and Matty and at him. "We'd thought maybe a tracker on Frank O'Brien's car, but forensics didn't find one. Maybe..." He crossed to Matty. "Do you have a cell phone?"
Matty nodded, pulled it out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to Brady. "He took it. Programmed his number into it."
"Ah," Garrison said.
Sam looked at Garrison, but he was watching Brady. "What?"
Brady did a cursory check, then handed the phone to Sam. "I bet you can find it."
"Find...? Oh. Tracking software?"
"Yup."
Sam pressed the settings icon, searched. "I found it. A tracking program."
Brady held out his hand, and she put the phone in it. "That explains how they found you."
"You're saying I'm the reason they found us?" Matty's eyes were wide as they darted between Garrison and Brady.
"Matty," Sam said, "who knows what would have happened if Prat and I had returned last night. It might be that this tracking software saved all our lives."
"Probably," Garrison said. "I can't imagine they would have let us go."
"Great. I accidentally helped." Matty's words were thick with sarcasm. "Except the whole thing was my fault to begin with."
The room silenced. Then Aiden punched his friend's shoulder gently. "Don't be an idiot. This isn't your fault. That dude Lionel and his goons, and that Robert guy, and...and—"
"My father."
Allison turned to face her son. "Your dad didn't do any of this on purpose. He was into all sorts of shady stuff, but he would never have hurt you. He loved you. He must have gotten himself in too deep."
"You think so?" Matty asked.
"I know so. He loved you."
Matty's eyes filled with tears again. Sam figured these boys hadn't cried this much since they were in diapers. But she knew how they felt. The relief, the horror, the images—she'd be fighting tears for weeks.
She looked up at her ceiling but whispered beyond it. "Thank you."