Page 93 of Max's Mission

He huffed, but did as she asked.

Margot set the bag on the table and unzipped it. The contents crinkled and knocked together with a dull clack. Cellophane rustled as she found a syringe of sterile saline. Popping it out of its wrapper, she picked up a gauze packet and ripped it open, then dampened it with the saline.

“Tilt your head.” She brushed his hair back, then wiped at his face with the wet gauze. “How did this happen?”

“He hit me with the gun. Luckily, it was just a glancing blow.” His jaw worked. “It was enough, though. He took Em from me.”

“Don’t blame yourself for that. Especially since you kept her safe. Marshal Phillips told me what Marchand overheard. How you tried to get her back to me. And we wouldn’t have known he’d taken you onto a boat if you hadn’t kept the line open. That was brilliant.” She tossed the bloody gauze onto the table and picked up another square, wetting it.

“Still. She wouldn’t even have been in danger if I hadn’t brought it to her.” He grimaced, but not from her ministrations. “This is why I left. To keep all of you safe.”

That old anger she thought she’d long buried over him leaving reared its head. She swiped at his wound a little harder than she should have, and he hissed.

“Sorry,” she muttered. Swallowing down all the pain and fury from back then, she looked at him through her lashes. “I wish you’d come to me. Before you sold your soul to Owens.”

“So do I. But I… I couldn’t. I was so ashamed of what I’d already done. I didn’t want to see you look at me with disappointment in your eyes. I knew then that you and the girls deserved better than me. Someone more like Max.”

Margot sucked in a breath. “What we deserved was to not be lied to.” She stopped and turned his head so she could look him in the eye. “I thought you were dead.”

He dropped his gaze.

She barreled ahead. “Instead, you went into hiding and other people died.”

He stiffened, pulling his face from her grip. “I regret that.”

“I’m sure you do.” She reached into the first-aid kit again and found the butterfly strips. “Especially since I’m sure the FBI will prove you had something to do with Dale Conroy’s death.”

Tad stayed silent, only confirming her suspicions. Margot’s gut churned. She hadn’t wanted to believe he was capable of murder, but it seemed like she’d been wrong.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said, his voice soft. “What happened with Conroy… it was an accident. He got greedy. We argued.” His jaw worked. “That was that.”

She held up a hand. “Don’t say anymore. I don’t want to be obligated to testify against you.”

He fell silent. Margot found an antibiotic ointment packet and squeezed some onto the cut, then tore open the butterfly strips and applied them to the wound. Once that was done, she put a square of gauze over the top and taped it in place.

Stepping back, she gathered her trash. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” He stood up, fingering the edge of the bandage.

“You’re welcome.” She turned, heading for the trash can.

“Margot.”

She paused, glancing back.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For everything. Then, and now. I know it doesn’t change anything. I just—” He stopped, his face scrunching with a frown.

“I know, Tad.” Some of her anger faded, replaced by a bone-deep sorrow. She didn’t regret where life had taken her; she loved Max and wanted to be with him. But she mourned for what she’d had, and she mourned for what the man she’d once loved had lost.

Retracing her steps, she laid a hand on his forearm. “Why don’t you spend a little time with the kids before Marchand takesyou into custody? I still think it’s best they don’t know who you really are right now. But one day, we can fix that. When they’re old enough to comprehend all that’s happened.”

He glanced at the twins, whose gazes were still transfixed on the world outside, then nodded. “Will you write to me? Keep me updated on how they’re doing? And send me pictures? Maybe let me wish them happy birthday and Merry Christmas?” He held up a hand. “As a friend.”

A soft smile flitted over her face. “I think that would be fine. I’m sure Emily will want to know how her rescuer is doing.”

Tad turned to look at Em, a genuine smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “She’s something else. They both are.” He sobered slightly. “You’ve done such a great job with them.”

“I had help. Annabeth was a godsend. And then all of Dean’s friends. Life is not what I ever imagined it would be, but I’m happy. And so are they.” She tipped her head toward Em and Lily.

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