As soon as the trap door hit the walking stick it stopped. Nick wasn’t sure how the safety mechanism worked, but he was happy it did—Lucy wasn’t claustrophobic, but she’d go nuts if she was trapped with no way out. Not that that excused her for even thinking of abandoning him here and heading off into danger.
“Any sign that Gleason got the message?” she asked Nick as she leaned down and peered through the narrow gap below the trap door.
“No idea,” Nick answered. He sounded pissed off and knew it, but he didn’t apologize—from the stiffening of her shoulders, Lucy had heard the emotion in his voice.
“The wolves are gone. Maybe the noise of the trap door clanging scared them off?”
Nick could only hope it hadn’t carried far enough to invite human predators.
“I wish I understood why this was all happening,” Lucy continued, as she spun around the narrow space to sit beside him, between him and the door. “I thought maybe Davenport had found the buried gold Gus told me about, but then why target Bill? Plus, Davenport didn’t even get here until a day after Bill went missing. And if his men who were here first found the gold, why bring the GPR unit? Why not just dig for it?” He could barely make out her features in the dim light. She touched his hand, and he pulled his away. “Nothing makes sense.”
Did she really expect him to sit here in a freakin’ stinkin’ bear trap and discuss the intricacies of her freakin’ stinkin’ case?
“We’re sitting in a bear trap, surrounded by wolves—real life wolves, wolves who have no compunction against going after grizzly bears—being hunted by men with guns, and you’re worried about not understanding exactly what motivated our friendly neighborhood psychopathic killers?” Nick couldn’t help his laugh; it was either that or break down altogether. Because he didn’t see a way out of this, not with both of them still alive. Given that he couldn’t move fast or fight, given who Lucy was, he knew she had a plan, one that might save his life but would probably end up with her dead.
“Shhh…the wolves will hear you. Besides, I get Davenport’s motivation—greed. I just don’t understand anything else.”
“Great time for an existential crisis,” he snapped.
Lucy turned and pressed her lips to his. He responded to her touch—how could he not?—but her cavalier attitude only cemented his dread.
“You’re getting ready to do something stupid, aren’t you?” he asked, when they finally parted.
She sat quiet, thinking. She took a long time before answering, and when she did, she surprised him by talking not about the case but instead about what they’d been tiptoeing around for months.
“Existential crisis. That’s a good name for it. I feel like all my life I’ve been defined by my job. It sure as hell defined our marriage: where we lived, what jobs you could take knowing that you might not be there more than a few years before the Bureau reassigned me. It even defined how we raised Megan: teaching her gun safety and then how to shoot and how to defend herself so she wouldn’t be scared when I was gone—what did she call it?”
“Chasing the Death Eaters. Blame that one on your mom for letting her watch Harry Potter movies when she was way too young. I told her to stick to the books. She was up for weeks with nightmares.”
“And I wasn’t there. I was down in Alabama negotiating that hostage situation at the prison.”
“I never resented your job, Lucy.”
“Sure you did. Megan did when we moved from Virginia to Pittsburgh.”
“But now she loves it,” he interrupted her.
“And you were so patient with the hours and crazy assignments that sent me far from home. But something changed after we moved. You changed—the way you saw me, and my job. You were glad when I left the Bureau—were you tired of being controlled by them, by my assignments?”
If they weren’t being held captive by steel walls and a pack of wild wolves—yeah, he was man enough to admit it, the wolves were freaking him out even if it was much more likely that the men with guns would be the ones to kill them—if they were having this conversation anywhere else, this was when Nick would have walked away. Let things simmer and die down, hopefully to never be spoken of again. Usually he didn’t avoid tough topics—Lord knew, Lucy never did until recently—but this one, this could break them if things went wrong.
“I supported your decision to leave,” he began in a cautious tone.
“It wasn’t really my decision, and you know it. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Even before then, before the dog and my mom—” Her voice broke, and he wrapped his arms around her, leaning his back against the curved steel wall to make room to draw her closer.
“Lucy. We don’t need to talk about this. Not now.”
She shook her head, her hair brushing against his face in the near-darkness. “Yes, now. Because I never meant to put you and Megan second—but I know you feel that way. That my job came first, that I was willing to risk my life for a job when I could be home with the people I love.”
“I don’t—” He stopped. His throat tightened, choking his words to dust. Because if he was honest with himself, he had felt that way; she was right about the anger and resentment at the way she so easily put herself in the line of fire for total strangers. When the FBI had forced her to leave, he’d felt relief, but now this new job… “Okay, I do. Maybe. Sometimes. But I also know that’s what makes you the woman I love. That need to run toward danger while the rest of us are running away.” He kissed the top of her head, wished he could see her face. “Sometimes it’s just hard being married to a freakin’ superhero. Being the one always left behind.”
“I’m no superhero. Not even a regular hero.” Her shoulders tightened against his chest, but then a chuckle rippled through her body and into his. “Bet you wished I’d left you behind this time.”
“Yeah, can’t blame your job for this one.” He hugged her tight, his palm pressing against her heart, relishing its sure and steady beat. Unlike his own pulse, spiked by fear and adrenaline. “But there’s no place else I’d rather be. No one else I’d rather be with.”
“We need to think of Megan.”
“I know.” It was the only reason he hadn’t continued to argue with her once he realized what her plan was. “But you need to know none of this is your fault.”
“See? That’s exactly my point. I used to blame my job. But now…it’s not the job. It’s me. It’s who I am, and I don’t know how to change or stop or—”
“Or what? Sit behind a desk pushing papers while you send others to put themselves in danger? Other people who might not do the job as well as you can? Who might get themselves hurt or someone else hurt because you’re not there?” He didn’t mean to sound clinical, but habit had him dropping into a neutral tone designed to allow clients to reflect on their words. He felt her breath rise through her chest and then empty out again.
“Hubris,” she finally answered. “Isn’t that what always brought down the wrath of gods in all those Greek tragedies? My need to control—that so-called magical thinking—it controls me, doesn’t it? It’s a no-win situation. Either I lead from the front, putting myself at risk to protect my team, or I send them out in my place, risking their lives, and face the consequences if things go wrong.” She squirmed off his lap, swinging her legs around so she could face him in the narrow space. “Either way, you and Megan lose because you’re left to pick up the pieces. That’s what’s been killing me. I don’t know how to find a solution that doesn’t hurt you two.”
“I don’t have the answers, but I do know that talking about it is a good first step.”
She leaned her forehead against his. Close enough that even in the dim light he could see her eyes, dark and serious as they searched out his. “That’s a promise. If we make it out of here, we’re going to keep talking. Together. Me, you, and Megan—she deserves to be a part of this.”
“Deal.” Before he could say more, her lips were on his again. This time her kiss wasn’t playful or the result of adrenaline; rather it was soul-shaking and more than a little terrifying. As if, despite her words promising them a future, her body was saying goodbye.
Then she pulled away, leaning against the opposite side of the trap, so far away that she appeared as only a ghostly glow in the waning sunlight.
“Let’s focus on how we’re going to get out of here.”
He winced at her businesslike tone. But he also understood that if she was going to survive what came next, she had to keep her emotions out of it.
She pulled her gun out, dropped the magazine, counted the bullets, replaced the magazine, pulled back the slide, and handed it to him. “The safety’s off and there’s a round in the chamber. Five bullets total.”
He didn’t argue the point, but wrapped his fingers around the Beretta, taking care to keep from touching the trigger. He was a decent shot on the range but had never had to shoot at a living creature. Hopefully tonight wouldn’t break that winning streak. “How long before Gleason gets the alarm that the trap was activated?”
“I’m not sure—I guess it depends on where he is.” She clamped her tiny Maglite between her teeth and scribbled another note then tore it from her notepad. “He should’ve gotten a text message when the camera above the door went live. But here’s another—show it along with the first one once the camera goes live again.” She placed the slip of paper in his free hand and wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing them tight.
“What’s it say?” The first note had warned Gleason about Davenport and his men.
“Just that I’ll be out there along with Davenport. And to not go to the Holmstead house himself, but to send the police, so he won’t be walking into a trap.”
Unlike Lucy. Who was not only walking into a trap, she was putting herself out as bait to draw attention away from Nick. He shoved the note into his pocket. Lucy edged her way to the door, peering out into the twilight. Anger and frustration swamped him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back with an urgency that surprised them both, her eyes going wide.
He knew the rational thing was to let her go, let her remain divorced from emotions that might cloud her judgment. But to hell with rational, logical thinking. He needed her; refused to accept the possibility of a life without her in it.
“Promise me,” he urged her, their bodies pressed together. “Promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid, that you’re going to play it safe. Promise me you’re going to make it back.” It was the one thing she prided herself on, never making a promise she couldn’t keep. “I need to hear the words. Lucy, promise me.”
“Now who’s putting their faith in magical thinking?” she chided him, even as her fingers stroked his cheek. “Nothing I say, no words, will make a difference.”
“They will to me. Promise me.”
He hated her hesitation. In those few seconds lay the destruction of all their hopes and dreams. Not just his and Lucy’s, Megan’s as well. Finally, she raised her chin as if defying every god in heaven, looked him in the eye, and said, “I promise.”
And then she was gone. She removed the walking stick and the trap door lowered, cutting off what little light he had, leaving Nick alone in the dark.