Page 107 of The Wolves Come at Night
“Someone talked.”
“Who? Someone who knew you weren’t really dead? Where have you been all this time? How could you have left us all alone like this?” Her heart was hammering and her voice was rising.
“It was Alan, Mom. He betrayed us.”
“What?” Avery realized she had shrieked the word. You’re losing control. Calm down.
Richard continued the story. “Santiago discovered a series of messages between Game and Alan. Alan figured it out somehow. They plotted to take Carson to draw me out. Alan is dead, by the way. I had to eliminate him when he took you. He put you in the basement of the bakery, and God knows what the plan was at that point. I had no choice.”
That neck snapping. She’d hear it in her bones forever. “Oh my God. This isn’t real.”
“It is real. Mom. We were both kidnapped, and we’re both safe. We’re in France, and Dad’s going to take us to a secure place he knows. We are all going to start over. As a family. Rory and Jules, too, if they want. They work with Dad.”
At the look Avery knew ran across her face, Richard put up a hand.
“They don’t work with me, but for the same organization. And they didn’t know either, hon. I swear it. I sacrificed myself so Game would leave all of you alone. When he discovered my trail, he went to Alan first, knowing that he would be the weakest link. I don’t know what leverage he had over him, what he said, or how he compromised him. Santiago might find traces one day if he looks deeply enough. But Alan helped Game stage Carson’s kidnapping.”
“The note. A note came to the house. We never could figure out how the kidnapper could be in Nashville and in New Haven at the same time. It was Alan, all along. Jesus.”
She dropped their hands. “Now what? I’m supposed to just forgive and forget? Do you have any idea what we’ve been through?”
The sadness on his face told her yes, he did. “I wish there was another way. But for now…we disappear. We go so far away we never have to look over our shoulders again.”
“I need to get up.”
Richard hesitated only a moment before standing and allowing her to move her legs. “The bathroom’s over there,” he said.
He still knew her. Knew she didn’t like to show strong emotion in front of him, and especially in front of Carson. He slung an arm around Carson’s shoulder, and the two of them watched Avery move to the bathroom and slowly, quietly shut the door.
Too much. This was too much.
In another life, she would admire the charming blue and yellow tile that lined the floor and walls and know she was in a foreign country by the placement of the bidet, but at the moment, she registered nothing. She started the shower and stared at herself in the mirror.
All that matters is they are alive.
Nothing else.
They are both alive.
She opened the door to the bedroom, just to check.
Carson was perched on the edge of the bed, chattering at her father, who was watching her with tenderness and amusement. Their grins were heart-stoppingly similar, and she was almost afraid to smile back for fear that they would both disappear.
They were real. Safe. Hers.
She and Richard would have long conversations about all of this, soon. But for the moment, she recognized one thing. Her prayers had come true.
She rushed across the room and threw her arms around them both, laughing, grateful, overwhelmed.
“I love you,” she said. “I’m still furious with you, and I’ll probably never forgive you, but I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Richard replied, and kissed her.
Fifty-Four
They flew the 747 back to Northolt as conquering heroes. Thierry had made a few calls, massaged the narrative in their favor, and it all went away.
The story had to be amended here and there, of course. The official record was they’d been lured to Ahmad’s plane, kidnapped along with Carson, fought for control over Game and his crew, then safely landed and reported immediately what had happened. The sheik, being a man who preferred to take care of business privately, was so grateful for their safety—and that of his plane and his priceless stolen painting—that he was happy to overlook the damage from the shootouts. And overlook the theft of his flying palace. And happy to deal with the body of the dead man in his bedroom. He had never liked Joseph Game, he told them over an exquisite bottle of champagne. The man had crazy eyes. And he’d been wanting to change that rug anyway.
