welve different people rushed to help them move farther from the house, but Sam wouldn’t let go of her. Jules was there, too, with oxygen.

Alyssa put her mask over Sam’s mouth and nose, and realized he was doing the same for her.

She pushed it away. “I need a medic!” she shouted in a voice that was harsh from the smoke. “Right now! Right now!” She looked at Sam. “I can’t believe you came in there after me!”

“I think you taste perfect just the way you are,” he told her, his voice raspy. “I didn’t want you to get overcooked.”

He was grinning at her—grinning—as a team of paramedics swarmed around them, tending to his injuries, pushing her back.

Jules was there, next to her. He gently placed the oxygen mask back onto her face. “He’s going to be okay.”

She took a couple of deep breaths before she took it off. “Did I get that last shooter? Is the area secure?”

“We have seven dead,” a familiar voice said from behind her. She turned around to see Max. “Four at the gate,” he told her, “two are the guards who were on duty—and three up here by the house.” He looked at Jules. “None are Warren Canton.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Jules said.

“Warren who?” Alyssa asked.

Sam floated.

The really nice guy in the EMT uniform had started an IV and added something special to the saline drip.

“I’m okay,” Sam told them as he and another guy took Noah’s necktie off his waist.

“You’re not quite,” the first guy said. “But you definitely will be.”

He could see Alyssa. She was listening intently to something Max was telling her.

Jesus, they looked good together.

Something Max said made Alyssa smile up into his eyes, and Sam knew with a sickening certainty that Max Bhagat was the better man for her. He was a good man, a principled man, a man who was able to keep sex out of a relationship until the time was good and right. Max wouldn’t drive her crazy and piss her off all the time. Max was the kind of guy Alyssa could be seen with, feel proud of, rise alongside of in the political arena of Washington, D.C.

If that was really the life she wanted, then Sam should close his eyes and just quietly float away. He should do the right thing and fade back, let her have a chance at happiness.

As Sam watched, they embraced.

Fuck!

Fuck doing the right thing. And whose right thing was it, anyway? Max’s? Fuck that. Letting Max waltz away with Alyssa wasn’t the right thing for Sam, and it sure as hell wasn’t the right thing for Alyssa, whether she knew it or not.

He sat up. “Hey! Tell him you can’t marry him because you’re marrying me!”

The EMT guys were not happy about this, but Sam pushed them away. He would’ve stood up, if Alyssa hadn’t come running over to him.

“Lie down,” she said. “And behave.”

“I love you,” he said. “You have to marry me. Tell that fucker to keep his hands off of you. You’re mine.”

The look she gave him probably would have terrified him without the medication flowing into his veins. “I’m yours?”

“Yes. Fuck it if it’s not politically correct,” he said, laboring to get the words out. The top of his head was floating way above his mouth. “You are mine. You are my heart and my soul and the... the very breath from my lungs. And I’m yours. I’m totally yours. You own me. Tell me what you want, Lys, and I’ll do it.”

She was laughing. Or maybe she was crying. He couldn’t tell.

“I want you to lie down.” She looked at the EMT. “What did you give him?”

“Max,” Sam yelled. “You fucker! You—”

Alyssa kissed him, and he completely forgot whatever it was that he was going to say.

Max stepped back as the chopper carrying Sam and Alyssa to the hospital left the yard.

The fire was still burning out of control, and the place was swarming with firefighters, FBI, local police, and EMTs.

“Cell tower trucks are in place,” Jules reported.

Max opened his phone. Sure enough. Just when they no longer needed them.

“Do me a favor,” Max said, “and call Noah Gaines. Alyssa asked me to call and see if he and his wife will meet Mary Lou and Haley at the hospital. Apparently Sam’s afraid we’re going to drag his ex-wife by her hair into a questioning session—first ripping her terrified baby out of her arms.”

Jules was already dialing his phone. “Oh, yeah, why would he think that?” He looked up at Max. “Oh, because it sounds like something we might actually do. Hey, I meant to tell you, we’ve got roadblocks in place in this entire area. Unless Warren Canton can dematerialize, we have a good chance at picking him up.”

Max wasn’t quite so optimistic, but there was no point bursting Jules’s bubble. The younger man was unbelievably happy at the outcome of this. And why shouldn’t he be? Sam and Alyssa were his friends. Sam’s ex-wife and daughter were safe. Jules had no doubt been extremely worried about them.

Max looked at his watch. Debriefings and interviews would continue on until late tonight. There was no way he was going to make it over to the airport to apologize to Gina yet one more time before her flight left for New York.

Yeah, that’s why he wanted to go there and see her. To apologize again. Right.

Jules waved as he climbed into his car, parked at the side of the driveway. “See you back there.”

Max’s car had been moved out onto the street. As he rounded the corner to the guardhouse, he could see a team of people hard at work on the crime scene.

As he watched, one of the men approached a sawhorse that had been set up and deftly removed an FBI windbreaker that someone had tossed there.

There was something about his movement that struck Max as off. As he watched, the man slipped on the jacket—despite the fact that it was a billion degrees in the shade.

He was wearing a baseball cap and jeans and sneakers—not so different from every one else, but...

His left sneaker was stained with blood. It was harder to see it on his jeans. Yeah, he was definitely walking as if he were injured and trying to hide it.

“Hey!” Max shouted as he reached for his side arm. He knew as soon as he opened his mouth that he’d made a mistake.

His cell phone was working. He was surrounded by agents. It would have taken very little effort to set up a dragnet around this son of a bitch.

Instead, he gave away the upper hand by shouting “Hey.”

It was possible that he deserved to die.

The man turned around, weapon firing. Max moved and would’ve dodged it, but somehow this guy knew where he was going to go, and instead he moved right into the bullet. It smashed into Max’s chest and it threw him back, but he rolled with it and aimed and plugged the son of a bitch, not once but twice and then three times, because he didn’t just want him dead, he wanted him fucking dead.

“Man down!” He could hear Jules, shouting, running. “Max!”

And there Jules was, kneeling over him, tearing at his shirt, looking at the damage.

Max didn’t need to look. He knew it was bad.

“One step behind,” he said to Jules in a voice that didn’t even qualify as a whisper. This entire op, he’d been one lousy step behind.

Chaos was around him now. EMTs shouting, moving him, pain.

“Gina...” Max let himself slide away from the noise into blackness, remembering Gina’s smile as she leaned forward to kiss him. Remembering Gina’s eyes.

Remembering...

Still one step behind.

September 8, 1945

From the journal of Dorothy S. Smith

I really didn’t have a choice in the matter. I brought Jolee with me to meet Walter’s ship in New York City. How could I leave her home?

I knew there was no one he’d rather see than that little girl. And as much as I would have liked to be the first one to fall into his arms, I knew this entire homecoming would be strange for him.

And there was the not inconsequential fact that he was determined to ignore the romantic love that had bloomed between us after Mae’s untimely death.

So our first embrace was one with Jolee between us, which was better than fine with me, since I loved them both so much.

We went to dinner, and it was Jolee, chattering on and on to this tall, quiet stranger—whom she’d recognized the moment he stepped onto the pier, because we kept photos of him everywhere in the house—who said it first.

“—when you and Mama Dot get married.”

Walt looked at me. I just smiled at him as I ate my pie.

I’d gotten us a suite in a hotel in a colored neighborhood. It wasn’t quite the Ritz, but it was nice and clean and the people were friendly. Jolee and I had stayed there the night before and were made to feel nothing but welcome.

“Jolee and I will share the bedroom,” I told Walt as I unlocked the door. “The couch opens out. That’s yours.”

He looked at the supplies, the tents and such, that I’d brought inside—not feeling it was safe to leave them in the back of the pickup truck while we were in the big, bad city.

“We’re going to camp on our way back to Texas,” I informed him. “I know you’ve probably had enough of camping for a lifetime and a half, but Jolee and I, we don’t get a chance too often.”

It would remove the discomfort of attempting to stay in motels in which Walter and Jolee would not be welcome. As far as I was concerned, I had no desire to give the people who owned those places my hard-earned dollars, anyway.

Jolee got ready for bed, and Walter pretended not to cry as he read her a story. I sat by the window and also pretended not to cry. Jolee must’ve thought we were nuts. She was just so happy her daddy was home—what were the tears for?

Five-year-olds rarely cry from happiness.

Walter put his daughter into bed, while I went into the bathroom and changed into my nightgown and robe. I knew Jolee well—so I knew she’d be asleep almost immediately upon hitting that pillow.

Walt was standing at the window as I came out.

“Bathroom’s yours,” I told him.

He turned to look at me.

“This isn’t that bad, is it?” I asked.

He knew what I was talking about. However, my gown and robe were designed to confuse and they were indeed doing the trick. It took him a moment or two to answer. “It’ll be different in Texas.”

“I hope so,” I said. “In Texas I’ll be sharing a bed with you instead of Jolee.”

He shook his head. “Dot...”

“I know how strange this must seem to you, to be back in the States. Your daughter’s so big—and I know you must still miss Mae. I will not rush you into anything, Walter, but you do need to know that I will not take no. You said that this—that we—cannot be? Well, I am responding by telling you that there are no acceptable alternatives. I love you, and I do believe you love me. Take all the time you need to get used to the fact that you, Jolee, and I already are a family. I’ll be here when you’re ready. Good night.”

And then I went into the bedroom where Jolee was sleeping, and I closed the door.

I’m not sure who was more surprised, him or me. I’m pretty sure we both expected me to jump him the moment Jolee was asleep!

September 18, 1945

From the journal of Dorothy S. Smith

We are back in Texas.

Our camping trip was a huge success.

We came home via Alabama, where Walter and Jolee spent some time at Mae’s grave. It was good for Walt to see it, even though that day and the next were quiet ones, with little conversation between any of us.

But we took our time, spending two days along a river in Mississippi, where the sky was so blue you’d swear you were in heaven.

It was there that we let ourselves laugh again.

Yes, it was a most successful trip.

As was my campaign. As we brought our luggage in from the truck, Walter didn’t say a word as I carried his bag into my bedroom. He just stood there, giving me that look.

“Yes? No?” I asked.

And he nodded. “Yes.”

And, oh, that’s when I jumped him. Such willpower I’d had up to that very moment and it all crumbled. I kissed him, and Lord Almighty, he kissed me and we were both crying.

“This is going to be hard,” he said. “This life we’re choosing.”

“Maybe so,” I said, kissing him again, “but I’d prefer hard and wonderful any day over easy and run of the mill.”

And then, of course, Jolee came running in. Walt told her we were getting married and she just looked at him. This was not news to her. Of course we were.

This afternoon and evening has seemed to last forever.

Walter’s in with Jolee right now, reading her a story. It’s become his tradition—that bedtime story. I love that it’s been only ten days and we already have traditions.

We truly are a family now.

I’m writing this while I wait for him to join me here. I’m nervous and excited and, oh dear Lord—

He’s here.

September 19, 1945

From the journal of Dorothy S. Smith

I’ve written in this journal almost every night for the past five years.

I may never find the time or inclination to write in here ag—

Gina was at the airport five hours early.

That was the trouble with traveling by public transportation. The one time she didn’t allow an extra five hours to get somewhere would be the one time the bus would be five hours late.

She wandered through the bookstores and strolled through the terminal, checking out the restaurants, trying to guess from the way the food smelled if it would give her indigestion.

Although it was probably getting on an airplane that gave her indigestion, regardless of what she ate.

For a while after the hijacking, she’d traveled only by train or car. But that became inconvenient—especially when she decided to take that trip to Hawaii.

So she flew.

And got indigestion.

Gina settled into a seat near the terminal windows and tried to look forward to getting home, to seeing her parents and her brothers.

She had to smile at the idea of setting up one of her brothers with Jules Cassidy. Leo and Rob were married, so count them out. Victor dated ferociously—a new woman every other week. It was almost as if he were trying to prove something.

Hmmm.

She settled back and opened her book and tried not to think about Max.

This was where he’d show up. If her life were a movie, this was the scene where he’d come looking for her, running through the airport, after having searched his soul and realizing that he didn’t really love Alyssa, that it was Gina who’d owned his heart all along.

“Gina!”

She didn’t look up. That was just a coincidence. Had to be. She was completely losing her mind if she actually thought—

“Gina!”

That definitely wasn’t Max’s voice. Was it?

She stood up.

And there he was. Pushing his way through the crowd. Shouting her name. “Gina!”

Only it wasn’t Max, it was Jules Cassidy.

He spotted her, ran toward her. “You gotta come with me,” he said. “It’s Max. He’s been shot.”

“What? Where? Oh, my God...” Gina dropped her book as she grabbed her bag, her purse. The book went skittering under the row of seats and she left it there.

“He took a bullet to the chest,” Jules said as she ran with him, back to the terminal entrance. He had blood on his shirt. “He’s in the OR right now. He was asking for you.”

Oh, my God.

“Well, no,” Jules corrected himself as he took her bag for her. “He didn’t actually ask for you, but it wasn’t like he was able to talk much with a hole in his... He did say your name, though.”

Oh, God. Oh, Max... “That’s close enough for me,” Gina said.

Sam was out of the operating room but still under from the anesthesia when Mary Lou came into the room.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked.

Alyssa didn’t let go of his hand. “Yes. He’s doing really well. The doctors were optimistic. They thought that I’ll be able to take him home in just a few days. He’s very healthy to start with,

so...”

Mary Lou nodded. “Ihbraham’s okay, too. His leg’s broken, but he’s okay.”

“I’m glad he’s all right,” Alyssa said.

“I can’t stay,” Mary Lou said. “Haley’s with Noah and Claire. Did you know Sam’s cousin

is...”

“Black?” Alyssa supplied. “Yeah. He kind of looks like Sam, doesn’t he?”

Mary Lou stared at her.

“You don’t see it, huh?” Alyssa said.

“Haley likes them,” Mary Lou said. “That’s good. Because I don’t know how long the questioning is going to last, or even if I’m going to have charges against me. My prints were on that gun, but it was only because I found it in the trunk of my car. I thought it was Sam’s and I went to tell him about it and make him take it out, but then it was gone and—”

“You’ll get a chance to explain all that,” Alyssa told her. “Don’t be afraid to get advice from a lawyer, though.”

“I know. I am.” She glanced back toward the door. “I have to go. I just wanted to thank you again.”

“You’ll be seeing me around,” Alyssa said.

“Are you going to marry him?” Mary Lou asked. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” Alyssa said. “I am.”

“He’s loved you for forever.”

That couldn’t have been easy for her to admit.

“Those papers were filed,” Mary Lou added. “My lawyer let me know that the divorce is final. Will you tell Sam?”

“Yeah,” Alyssa said.

“I’m getting remarried, too,” Mary Lou told her with a smile that could only be described as genuinely delighted. “To Ihbraham.”

Ihbraham Rahman? “Really?”

Mary Lou looked at her. “That’s pretty much what Sam said, too. I guess that’s kind of hard to believe, huh?”

“No,” Alyssa lied. “It’s not. It’s... I think it’s wonderful.” And that was no lie.

“I know it’s going to be hard,” Mary Lou said, “but I really love him.”

“Then it won’t be harder than being without him, will it?” Alyssa told her.

Mary Lou smiled. “No.”

“I hope you’ll live somewhere near San Diego,” Alyssa said. “Sam really wants Haley in his life.”

“I’m not sure what we’re going to do,” Mary Lou admitted. “I seem to have just burned down my employer’s house.” She started to laugh. “That’s not funny.” She covered her mouth, unable to stop her laughter. “Can you imagine him coming home...?”

Alyssa grinned, too. “Way to get that promotion.”

Mary Lou giggled. “Yeah. It’s really not funny, though. Those two security guards were killed.” She sobered up fast. “I thank the Lord we’re all still here. And I thank you for all you did. We’re alive today because of you and Sam. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“Just let Sam be a part of Haley’s life,” Alyssa said, but then Sam stirred and she turned to give him her full attention.

She didn’t notice when Mary Lou slipped out of the room.

Max was out of surgery by the time they reached the hospital, and his prognosis was good.

Gina didn’t know what Jules did or said to get her into the ICU. She didn’t care. Just as long as she was there.

He looked so pale in that bed. So fragile...

She wanted to touch him, but she didn’t dare.

“Where’s Alyssa?” she asked Jules. “Does she know? You should tell her.”

“She’s with Sam,” he told her. “Here in this same hospital. He was shot, too.”

“Who’s Sam?” Gina asked.

It was possible that Jules told her, but it didn’t matter, she wasn’t listening.