Z

Malcolm wanted me in Los Angeles.

That alone was enough reason not to go.

Unfortunately, he had also sent photographs.

My old apartment.

My former diner.

The pediatric clinic where Sophie had received her first vaccinations.

People from my old life.

Marlene, my former manager.

Luis, the cook who had covered shifts when Sophie was sick.

He wasn’t threatening strangers.

He was showing me how easily he could reach anyone connected to me.

Brennan wanted California agents to handle it.

Ethan wanted Malcolm dead.

He didn’t say that directly.

He didn’t need to.

I knew him well enough.

“We do this legally,” I reminded him.

His jaw flexed.

“I know.”

“That sounded painful.”

“It is.”

Amelia provided the missing piece.

Malcolm’s archive could not be remotely accessed.

The encrypted system required a physical authentication device.

A small black hardware key.

The fourth case likely contained it.

Without that key, Malcolm had secrets.

With it, he had power.

And he believed Amelia knew the passphrase.

That meant he needed her alive.

It also meant we could bait him.

Not with Sophie.

Not with me.

With a lie.

Federal agents leaked information through one of Malcolm’s old financial contacts suggesting Amelia had given Ethan the password.

Within six hours, Malcolm contacted Ethan directly.

“You have something of mine.”

Ethan sat in a monitored conference room.

“No.”

“You have the phrase.”

“Yes.”

That was the lie.

“Bring it to Los Angeles.”

“No.”

Malcolm laughed.

“Still pretending to be respectable?”

“No.”

Ethan looked directly into the camera recording him for investigators.

“I’m learning patience.”

I almost smiled.

Malcolm didn’t.

“What do you want?”

“The fourth case.”

“And?”

“Your surrender.”

Everyone in the room looked at Ethan.

That had not been part of the script.

Malcolm laughed.

“You really are Patrick’s son.”

“No.”

Ethan’s voice remained calm.

“That’s the point.”

Malcolm arranged the exchange at an old hangar near Hawthorne Municipal Airport.

The FBI controlled the perimeter.

California agents monitored surrounding roads.

I was supposed to remain at the command post.

This time, I agreed.

Not because I was afraid.

Because I finally understood I didn’t have to personally walk into danger to prove I loved people.

Ethan went.

Amelia did not.

The passphrase existed only in her memory.

Agents gave Ethan a false authentication token.

Malcolm arrived shortly after midnight.

He brought the fourth case.

He also brought Carlos.

My stomach dropped when the live surveillance feed showed him.

“What is Carlos doing there?”

Brennan swore.

Carlos had disappeared from protective housing two hours earlier.

We assumed Malcolm’s people had taken him.

Then Carlos stepped out of the vehicle on his own.

No restraints.

No visible weapon.

I felt sick.

“He betrayed us again.”

Brennan didn’t answer.

Inside the hangar, Ethan stood alone.

Malcolm approached.

Carlos beside him.

“You brought a friend,” Ethan said.

Carlos wouldn’t look at him.

Malcolm smiled.

“Carlos understands survival.”

Ethan looked at Carlos.

“Do you?”

Carlos said nothing.

Malcolm placed the black case on the ground.

“Password.”

“Case first.”

“No.”

They stared at one another.

Two men raised in completely different worlds.

Yet both understood power.

Then Malcolm opened the case.

Documents.

Hard drives.

A black authentication key.

Proof.

Ethan lifted the false token.

“This contains the phrase.”

Malcolm held out his hand.

Ethan tossed it.

Malcolm caught it.

The moment he looked down, Carlos moved.

Fast.

He slammed his shoulder into Malcolm.

Gunfire erupted.

I screamed.

The surveillance feed shook.

Agents rushed the hangar.

Malcolm fired wildly.

Ethan dropped behind a vehicle.

Carlos tackled Malcolm again.

Another shot.

Carlos fell.

Then federal agents swarmed.

“Hands!”

“Drop the weapon!”

Malcolm tried running toward the rear exit.

He made it twelve feet.

Three agents took him down.

Within seconds, Malcolm Pierce was handcuffed on the concrete floor.

Alive.

Again, Ethan sounded disappointed when he later described that detail.

Carlos wasn’t as lucky.

The bullet entered beneath his collarbone.

Missed his artery.

Hit his lung.

He survived surgery.

Barely.

I went to the hospital.

I wasn’t sure why.

Maybe because Sophie would someday ask about him.

Maybe because closure was not the same thing as forgiveness.

Carlos opened his eyes the next morning.

“You came.”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Sophie?”

“With Elena.”

He nodded.

“Good.”

Silence.

Then I asked, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why help Malcolm and then turn on him?”

Carlos closed his eyes.

“He found me before the FBI did.”

“You could’ve warned us.”

“He said he’d kill you if I didn’t cooperate.”

“So you believed him.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

Carlos laughed weakly.

“I realized I’d spent my whole life using fear as an excuse.”

He looked at me.

“I left you because I was afraid. I helped Robert because I was afraid. I threatened custody because I was afraid.”

His eyes filled.

“I didn’t want Sophie growing up thinking her father was only a coward.”

I swallowed.

“You nearly died.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t erase anything.”

“I know.”

“I’m not taking you back.”

He almost smiled.

“I definitely know that.”

Despite myself, I laughed.

Then Carlos became serious.

“I’m signing away the custody fight.”

“You already withdrew it.”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“I mean I’m agreeing to whatever arrangement protects her. Supervised visits if you ever allow it. Nothing if you don’t.”

I studied him.

“For once, don’t disappear.”

His face broke.

“I won’t.”

“Even if Sophie hates you someday.”

“I’ll stay.”

“Even if she doesn’t call you Dad.”

He nodded.

“I’ll stay.”

That was all I asked.

When I left his room, Ethan waited in the hallway.

Not inside.

He had learned.

I walked into his arms.

He held me.

No words.

Then I looked up.

“You disobeyed me.”

“I stayed behind federal agents.”

“You entered the hangar.”

“That was the plan.”

“You enjoy technicalities too much.”

“I’m a businessman.”

“You were a criminal.”

“Former.”

“Debatable.”

He smiled.

Then his expression softened.

“Malcolm’s archive is secure.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“What happens now?”

“Investigations.”

“Scandals.”

“Many.”

“Your family?”

His gaze dropped.

“Some Callahan secrets will become public.”

“You okay?”

“No.”

Honest.

I loved that.

“But I will be.”

I took his hand.

“And us?”

He looked at me.

“I still have a question.”

I groaned.

“If you bring out that ring in a hospital corridor—”

“I’m not suicidal.”

“Good.”

He kissed my forehead.

“Tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

His mouth curved.

“I learned from my previous mistake.”

That should have warned me.