Celia had asked the cabbie to drop her off at the top of the steep hill that led down to Neil’s house. But now that she was there, her feet might as well have been bricks. She was feeling light-headed, too. She regretted leaving Xavier behind, even though there was no possible consideration of bringing him along. She wished she’d hugged him one more time. Told him she loved him. Again. But it would’ve felt an awful lot like goodbye, and that wasn’t something she was willing to recognize as a possibility.
Xavier was the whole reason she needed to face Neil. Her son, and other people’s sons and daughters, too. She couldn’t let her money-hungry ex push through a project like Parkour Extreme. If things went wrong the way that they had with the hastily built overpass, there could be worse consequences than a solitary man being paralyzed. That by itself was bad enough. But the hundreds of children who would be at the new park...it was unacceptable in Celia’s heart and mind.
Which is why you have to push through.
In spite of the firm, self-directed reminder, she still had to force her feet forward. The rain had stopped momentarily, but the sky was still blotted with dark gray clouds, leaving no doubt that the storm was just taking a break. Any moment, it would start up again. Even the streetlights were on, triggered by the premature darkness. They buzzed with their yellowish light, and the sound reminded Celia a little too vividly of the car accident, and how the water had been pouring down in sheets and making the live wires zap.
Even more reason to keep going, she told herself as she stepped closer to the hedges that lined the downward angle of the street. You don’t want to go through anything like that again.
It was true. Now that all her memories were back in place, she was a hundred percent sure that she didn’t ever want to return to running and hiding. She’d appreciated what Rupi had offered, and would never be able to adequately express her gratitude for the fact that the other woman had saved her and Xavier’s lives. But she’d also hated feeling trapped in her own city. She hadn’t minded living in northern BC for the last five years, but she resented that it felt like a punishment, when she was innocent of any wrongdoing. And now that she knew how easy it was for Neil to find her—one wordless call was all it took, apparently—she wouldn’t ever be able to stop looking over her shoulder. So on top of the fact that she couldn’t let Parkour Extreme become a reality, she needed to do this for herself, too.
Her renewed conviction drove away much of the worry and propelled her forward. She didn’t pause again until she was just outside the familiar fence that surrounded Neil’s palatial home. Whether or not he still lived there wasn’t a question. He’d forcibly inherited the place from his father. The terminally ill old man—whom Celia had been hired to care for, and who disliked his son intensely—had tried to will the place to a charity. But Neil had wanted the sprawling lawns and the koi ponds and the manicured garden just because he couldn’t have them. So he’d wrested it all away in court, and had told her on more than one occasion that he would never give it up. It was a point of bitter pride with him.
“And maybe all that should’ve been a clue,” she said under her breath.
But as she’d so often thought before, in spite of every single awful detail, she wouldn’t have undone it. Because as much as so many things about Neil were a mistake, she got Xavier out of it.
With that truth at the front of her mind, Celia paused just long enough to give the property a quick once-over. It hadn’t changed a bit since she’d run from it the last time. Same ostentatious fountain just visible from the top of the driveway. Same manicured shrubs and same peaked roof jutting up to the sky. And even though the rain had started up again, blurring her view enough that she couldn’t quite make it out, she was a hundred percent certain that the same shingle would be missing from the space just above the oddly placed weather vane.
It was disconcerting, to see it again. She wondered if the sight would’ve been less unnerving if it had changed even a little bit. Or maybe it just made it better. It certainly confirmed what she knew already; Neil Price was incapable of change.
Shaking off the last bit of uncomfortable déjà vu, she stepped the rest of the way down the driveway, then walked straight up to the coded panel and tilted her face to the security camera up above. She knew from experience that her presence would’ve triggered a notification inside the house. The video would be rolling. One of the three or four regular staff—or maybe Felicity Price herself, if she was in there—would be deciding whether or not to buzz the intercom to greet her. But Celia didn’t bother to wait. She reached over and plugged in the code, sure that Neil wouldn’t have changed that, either. And just as she anticipated, the gate let out a noisy buzz, then shuddered to an automatic open.
The moment it was wide enough, she slipped through. She made it only two steps, though, before she stopped again. Felicity Price stood at the bottom of the porch stairs with her hand on her pregnant belly. She wore no makeup, and was dressed simply in leggings and a stretch-fabric tunic. No scarf covered the angry red marks on her neck now, and those weren’t the only visible injuries, either. A partially healed bruise led from her left wrist all the way up and under her three-quarter-length sleeve. The pinkie finger on the same side had been wrapped in some stiff tape, and the tip of a shattered fingernail jutted out from under it.
It all made Celia cringe with understanding, but it wasn’t so much the woman’s appearance or presence that made Celia pause in her approach. She’d been presuming she might see the other woman there, and she was certainly aware of the pregnancy. But what she wasn’t expecting was the invisible thread of kinship that overtook her. She’d lived Felicity’s life. Or part of it, anyway. She knew what it felt like to wake up and wonder how she’d gotten there. To question if it was somehow her fault, even when knowing full well it wasn’t. The self-doubt was agonizing. And then to bring a baby into the mix...
Xavier’s brother or sister.
The realization, which only came right then and there, nearly made her stumble. The little life inside this stranger was Celia’s own son’s sibling. It left her a little breathless, to think about that. Her eyes hung on Felicity’s stomach, her speech and demands forgotten. Was it a girl or a boy? Was she or he healthy? What day was the baby actually due? The questions overrode everything else for just long enough that the other woman got a chance to speak first.
“You’re twenty minutes late for my appointment,” Felicity stated, her tone irritated, but her eyes pleading. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to keep clients waiting? Especially pregnant ones.”
Celia didn’t even blink before she replied. “I know. I’m sorry. My car broke down, and I had to catch a cab.”
“A call would’ve been nice.” The pretty brunette mouthed a thank-you, then gestured to the side of the house. “The massage table’s around back, but I’d prefer not to trail mud into the house, so if you could follow me?”
“Of course.”
She let the other woman lead her around the front porch, then to the grassy patch between the large home and an ivy-covered wall that shielded the space from view. But it was as far as Celia was willing to go without an explanation and some reassurance that Felicity Price was actually on her side. When she stopped moving and cleared her throat, Neil’s wife spun back, her expression surprised.
“What’re you doing?” she whispered, her voice urgent and concerned. “I did a temporary override on the surveillance camera back there as soon as I saw you coming. But I think the delay only lasts for fifteen minutes before it reboots itself automatically, so you’d better hurry.”
“Back where?” Celia asked, her voice equally low.
“At the guesthouse. That’s where he’s keeping her.”
“Wendy DeLuca?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Yes,” Celia admitted, and she could hear the hesitation in her own voice.
“But you don’t trust me,” the other woman filled in. “And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t trust me, either, if I were you. But we really don’t have that much time. I think that—ooh. Sorry. Braxton-Hicks all day today.” She blew out a breath and placed her hand on her stomach, then spoke again. “Look. I’d love to stop and tell you everything I know and don’t know, but I think the new house manager is actually some kind of spy or bodyguard, or... God. I don’t even know what. Either way, the clock is ticking.”
“So give me the syncopated version.”
“The synco—okay, fine. When Neil and I first met, he was charming and handsome and ambitious, too. Sound familiar?”
“I wish it didn’t. But yes.”
Felicity took another breath, then went on in a rush. “He knew he needed a wife to get where he wanted to go. I was ambitious, too, so I agreed to marry him. Fast-forward a year, and I’m having all kinds of doubts. He doesn’t like that, and he starts to get aggressive. I try to leave. I fail and wind up with a black eye. I try to be clever. Make him think we were okay, while I looked for a way out. Fast-forward another three months, and I’m pregnant. Neil informs me he’s planning on running for mayor. Things are getting worse. I’m desperate to leave now. He shows me a paper trail that will implicate me in some bad things. Serious jail-time things. Does any of that sound familiar?”
“Yes,” Celia repeated.
“After that, he stopped covering things up. I found out about you. About your son. About things I’m afraid to say out loud. So if helping you comes even close to helping me...” She trailed off, then straightened her shoulders. “I know I have to leave. And I will. But I haven’t figured out how to do that while still keeping my daughter safe.”
“A girl?” The revelation distracted Celia for a moment.
Felicity smiled. “Zoey.”
“That’s pretty.”
“Thank you. But more importantly...does that mean you’re convinced that I’m sincere?”
Celia nodded. “Yes.”
“Thank God,” said the other woman. “Let’s go.”
Felicity turned and started walking again, but Celia called after her. “Wait.”
She paused. “What?”
“Come with us.”
“Come with you?”
“You’re looking for a way out. I’m it. You’re hanging on because you’re scared of what Neil might do to you and the baby. No one understands that more than I do. But he can’t take down both of us. Your word and my word together will put him away for a long time, Felicity.”
Tentative hope bloomed on the other woman’s face. “You really believe that.”
“I’ve had almost six years to think about it. Trust me when I say that you don’t want to wait that long.”
Felicity’s dark brown eyes hung on Celia for a few moments before she exhaled and rubbed her stomach one more time. “Okay. Let’s take the son-of-a-you-know-what down.”
She spun again, and this time Celia followed. They made their way across the rest of the grass and out to the back of the main house, then over the short patio that led to the small guest home. She couldn’t help but shoot a nervous look at the camera mounted on the eaves, but she had to trust that the other woman had turned it off as she’d said. And a moment later, the trust panned out. Felicity punched in a sequence of numbers on the keypad at the little house, the door sprung free, and Celia was face-to-face with Remo’s bound and gagged mother.
Even though Remo was in the front seat of the car, he had no delusions about the fact that he was a prisoner rather than a guest. They’d taken a winding path out of the city, presumably to avoid detection. Now they were on the freeway, and if Neil was to be believed, they were headed toward his own home. Through the whole ride so far, Teller—who sat in the rear middle seat of the sedan—had barely moved. He was silent, but he held his weapon casually on his knee, the business end angled toward Remo’s left kidney, and that said more than enough. Neil, on the other hand, had been offering his best effort at being Mr. Congenial—the perfect mayoral candidate, just chatting away with a constituent. Remo shut him down at each turn. That didn’t mean the corrupt man didn’t keep trying.
“Who does my boy look like?” he asked right then with a smile. “I’ve been wondering that for the last five years.”
Remo smiled back. “Exactly like his mother.”
The twitch of a finger was the only indication that Neil was bothered by the response at all. “So he has her eyes, then. Always one of my favorite features. I’m actually looking forward to seeing them again.”
It was Remo’s turn to twitch. He covered it with a grunt, then turned his gaze out the side window.
So far, all he’d told the older man and his detective buddy was that he was willing to negotiate information about Celia and Xavier’s location. He supposed that neither of them believed he’d really do it, and he didn’t blame them. He had no intention of ever letting either man get close enough to Celia that they’d be able to see her shadow, let alone the color of her eyes. But he’d face that hurdle when he got there. For the moment, what really mattered was seeing that his mother was as alive and well as they claimed she was.
God help them if she’s not, he thought, just barely keeping his hand from curling into a fist.
The scenery flicked by, and he tried to use that to distract him. The sides of the road were marked with more and more evergreens, and the rain-drenched foliage was dark and soothing. It lasted only a moment, though, because Neil wasn’t done talking yet.
“Is she still as pretty as I remember?” the other man asked.
“Thought you were happily married,” Remo replied evenly.
“Oh, I am. Doesn’t mean I can’t dream.” Neil’s tone was just shy of lascivious. “And I’ve done that plenty over the last half decade. Trust me. Celia was always so—”
A sudden jerk of the car saved Remo from hearing whatever other vulgar thing the other man was about to say, but it also earned him a solid bump of his forehead on the dashboard. There was a clatter from the back seat, too, followed by a curse from Teller, then the click of a seat belt right after that. Vaguely—through sharp pain and watering eyes—Remo realized the detective must’ve dropped his gun and was trying to recover it. But the mental notation was no sooner made than it slipped to the back of his consciousness. Because as he righted himself, his gaze slid to the windshield, which offered him an unexpected view. Three women were making their way up the road in the pouring rain, and he knew each one. His mother. Celia. And Neil Price’s very pregnant wife.
Remo blinked, half expecting them to disappear like the mirage they had to be. They stayed exactly where they were. As he accepted that they weren’t a manifestation brought on by the bump to his head, the car jerked again. Only this time, it was with forward momentum. Not only that, but the three women suddenly seemed to be getting closer.
It’s not them getting closer! growled an urgent voice in his head. It’s you!
Belatedly, he figured out what was happening. Neil was accelerating. But not just accelerating. Pressing the gas down harder and harder with the vehicle trained right at the three women.
Remo could see that no matter how quickly they moved, they wouldn’t stand a chance of getting out of the way. Not all of them, anyway.
Acting on desperate instinct, he shot out his hand and grabbed the wheel, then yanked as hard as he could. The car careened wildly to the side, and Neil yanked back. For a second, the other man regained control, but Remo didn’t relent. He tugged harder. The vehicle jerked and swayed, then bounced over the gravel shoulder, not slowing in the slightest. It sailed past Remo’s mother, Mrs. Price, and Celia. Remo was thankful, but only for a heartbeat. The relief no sooner hit than he saw that their new path had them headed for a disaster. A towering cedar loomed ahead. He started to raise his arms in defense just as the front end of the car slammed hard into the tree.
For an indecipherable amount of seconds after the air bag deployed in what sounded like an explosion, the world around Remo echoed unnaturally. Every noise and every feeling were amplified. His forearms burned. His mouth stung. Metal creaked, and glass cracked. Something, somewhere hissed like an angry snake. As he dragged his eyes open, he swore he even heard the flutter of his lashes. But his first glimpse of the interior of the car sent all other concerns away.
The impact had thrown Detective Teller from his recently unbuckled position in the back seat to the front, and things had taken the worst turn possible for him. His legs hung on the console, his torso was slumped over the dash, and his eyes were wide, splotched with burst blood vessels, and completely sightless. Remo didn’t have to check for a pulse. His professional experience told him the other man had died instantly. It wasn’t that, though, that was drawing his concern. It was the fact that on the other side of Teller’s body, the driver’s door hung open, and Neil Price wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
A half a dozen curses popped to mind, but Remo didn’t take the time to say them aloud. He had to concentrate on doing something about the missing man. And it did take some concentration, because his ears were ringing like nobody’s business, and lifting his arms and legs was a groan-inducing chore. He made himself do it anyway.
Forcing his hand up, he pressed his fingers to his seat belt and clicked it free. Next, he fumbled for the door handle. Thankfully, he found it with ease. He gave it a quick tug at the same time as he jammed his elbow forward, and a moment later, a rush of acrid air filled the car. Stifling a gag, he flopped his way out of the vehicle, pushed to his feet, then wiped at his eyes and attempted to see through the black smoke and sheets of rain.
What he spied made his heart drop. Neil had already managed to reach the three women, and in spite of the fact that he was outnumbered, there was no denying that he had an advantage. He held a gun in his hand, and he was waving it a little wildly at Celia. The fact that he hadn’t simply fired was a minor miracle.
Why hasn’t he fired? Remo wondered.
Half-afraid to move forward for fear of triggering a reaction, he squinted through the smoke, and quickly figured out the answer. While Celia and Remo’s mother were both on their feet, Neil’s wife was on the ground, her hands behind her, her head tucked to her chest, and her eyes squeezed shut. She was in labor. Over the course of his career, Remo had seen it enough times to know. In spite of the gun, and in spite of the fact that he’d been ready to mow down the whole group just minutes earlier, the older man looked more than a little lost.
So take advantage of that fact before it’s too late.
Remo started to step toward the small group, then stopped and turned back to the car instead. Doing his best not to attract any attention, he reached into the space he’d just exited and folded the passenger seat forward. Every muscle in his body screeched a protest as he leaned into the back, but he pushed on anyway, feeling around for Teller’s discarded weapon. At last his fingers closed on the cool metal. Flooded with relief, he tightened his grip on the gun and drew back. He was forced to go still, though, when something hard poked between his shoulders, and Neil’s voice cut in over the ringing in his ears.
“Put it down and turn around very, very slowly,” ordered the other man.
Cursing himself for not being thirty seconds faster, Remo did as he was told, spreading his fingers wide so that Neil would know he was unarmed. And when he finished his spin, he was glad he’d listened. The corrupt councilman not only held the gun in one hand, but he held Celia by the hair in the other.
“What do you want?” Remo asked immediately.
“You’re going to deliver my baby. Your lovely mother said something’s wrong with my wife, and that you’d know what to do to make sure the baby was born safely.”
“And why would I agree to that?”
“Because I’ll shoot Celia and your mother if you don’t.”
“You’re going to kill us all anyway,” Remo pointed out.
Neil shrugged. “Maybe true. But I might do it with some mercy if I get what I want.” For emphasis, he gave Celia’s hair a rough yank.
“Now or never, DeLuca,” the other man snapped.
Celia looked like she was trying to shake her head, but the grip on her hair was too tight, and the pain in her eyes was more than Remo could stand.
“Fine,” he snarled. “Just stop hurting her.”
The other man gave Celia another quick tug, then shoved her forward so hard that her face met the muddy ground. Every bit of Remo’s being wanted to reach for her, almost as badly as he wanted to deliver a solid punch to Neil Price’s face. He forcibly restrained himself from doing the latter, but couldn’t quite stop himself from doing the former. He took a step in Celia’s direction, a hand already stretched out. He didn’t make it any farther, though, before a bloodcurdling scream carried through the air.
The noise made Neil jerk his head toward it, and the split-second distraction was all Remo needed to act. He changed direction and made a move to dive at the other man. Neil was a hair quicker. The gun swung forward, its barrel aimed in between Remo’s chest and shoulder. He braced for impact, but it was unnecessary. As the shot fired, Celia came flying at Neil’s knees, knocking him over and sending the bullet up to the trees instead of into Remo’s flesh. But he didn’t waste time on relief. He picked himself up and strode to the man on the ground. Neil’s eyes were closed, his mouth open, and his breathing shallow.
“I think he hit his head,” Celia said, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” Remo echoed incredulously. “I think you mean you’re welcome for saving your life.”
“That, too,” she agreed.
He pulled her in for a mud-flavored kiss. For a moment, the world stopped. It was just him and Celia. Their lips and the rain. Perfection inside their own little bubble.
Then a siren roared to life in the distance, reminding him soundly that there was more work to be done. He needed to secure the other man, then attend to Mrs. Price, and check on his mom, too. When he leaned back, though, he was surprised to see the pregnant woman standing in front of them, her labor magically halted. She eyed her unconscious husband with a mix of wariness and disgust, then bent down and retrieved the gun he’d dropped.
“What can I say?” she asked, as she straightened and caught the look on Remo’s face. “Before I went into architecture, I wanted to be an actress.”
His mom appeared then, too, a set of handcuffs dangling from one finger. “I got this off that evil man in the car. Mind if I do the honors? I’ve always dreamed of putting the cuffs on a bad guy like him.”
Remo didn’t have the energy to laugh at the insanity of it all. He just grabbed hold of Celia again, pulled her in close, and sat back to wait for the police.