Chapter 155 You Always We're The Stupid One
Chapter 155 You Always We're The Stupid One
Marcus knew something was wrong before he felt the sting.
There was no sound to warn him, no sudden movement that immediately registered as a threat. If anyone had asked him afterward what made him turn at precisely that moment, he wouldn't have been able to give them an answer beyond instinct.
One second, he was standing outside the women's restroom with his attention divided between the closed door Amelia had disappeared behind and the service corridor roughly twenty feet away. The next, the uneasiness that had followed him since yesterday tightened abruptly in his chest.
Marcus turned.
Something sharp struck the side of his neck.
His hand flew up immediately, fingers closing around a small, hard object protruding just beneath his jaw. He ripped it free and stared down at the tiny dart resting between his fingers.
“What the fuck?”
His gaze lifted.
The waiter standing several feet away wasn't carrying a tray.
Marcus dropped the dart and reached for the weapon beneath his jacket, but the man moved before he could draw it. Marcus caught his wrist and drove him backward into the wall hard enough to rattle one of the framed prints hanging nearby.
The man's shoulder struck the plaster with a satisfying thud. Marcus twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him harder against the wall.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Instead of answering, the man smiled.
Marcus didn't like that smile.
He liked the sudden warmth spreading beneath his skin even less.
His vision shifted slightly at the edges, so subtly that someone without years of experience assessing his own physical condition under pressure might not have noticed it.
Marcus noticed.
His grip tightened.
The man glanced toward the dart lying on the floor.
“Starting to feel it?”
Marcus drove his fist into his face.
Bone cracked beneath his knuckles, and the man stumbled sideways with blood already appearing at his mouth.
Marcus immediately reached for his earpiece. “Evan—”
His tongue felt thick around the name.
Fuck.
Whatever had been inside that dart was moving quickly.
Not quickly enough.
Marcus grabbed the front of the man's vest and slammed him into the opposite wall.
“What did you give me?”
The waiter laughed through his bloody lip. “Enough.”
Marcus hit him again, snapping his head backward.
Training told Marcus what he should do next. Create distance. Communicate the threat. Get backup into the corridor and secure Amelia before engaging further.
He knew every step.
The problem was that Amelia was behind the restroom door.
Pregnant.
And this man had approached Marcus at the one point during the evening when Amelia was temporarily separated from the main gallery and the rest of the security detail.
Nothing about that was accidental.
Marcus reached for his earpiece again, but the corridor tilted beneath his feet. The movement was slight, yet it was enough to make his fingers miss.
The waiter noticed.
Marcus saw the exact moment the man realized the drug was beginning to work.
And suddenly, for one terrible second, Marcus wasn't standing in Lila's gallery anymore.
Mariel was twenty-six again.
Smiling at him.
Rolling her eyes while telling him he worried too much.
Insisting she could walk to her car by herself.
Telling him that woman wasn't going to do anything.
Marcus blinked hard.
No.
Not now.
He lunged.
The man stepped sideways, but Marcus corrected fast enough to catch him by the shoulder and drive him into the wall again. His thoughts were still clear, but his body had begun betraying him. His muscles were answering commands a fraction of a second too late, his limbs growing heavier with every passing moment.
Then the restroom door opened behind him.
“Marcus?”
Amelia.
Every drop of blood in his body seemed to turn cold.
“Stay inside.”
Something in his voice stopped her.
Amelia's expression changed as she took in the scene—the dart on the floor, the blood on the stranger's mouth, the slight instability in Marcus's stance.
“What happened?”
“Lock the door.”
“Marcus—”
“Lock the fucking door, Amelia!”
She jumped.
Marcus had raised his voice at her before. They irritated the hell out of each other too often for that not to happen.
But he had never yelled at her like that.
Amelia took a startled step backward.
The man moved.
Marcus saw the flash of metal an instant before pain ripped through the right side of his abdomen.
His breath vanished.
For one stunned second, he couldn't process what had happened.
Then the man yanked the knife free.
Marcus looked down.
Blood spread rapidly through the white fabric of his shirt.
“Marcus!”
Amelia screamed his name.
The sound cut through him harder than the blade.
Marcus caught the attacker's wrist as the man turned toward her. His fingers were already going numb, but he tightened them anyway.
“Run,” he told Amelia.
She didn't.
Of course she fucking didn't.
Her horrified gaze was fixed on the blood pouring down his side.
“Amelia!”
Her eyes snapped to his.
The attacker drove his knee directly into Marcus's wounded abdomen.
Pain exploded through him. His grip broke, and Marcus stumbled backward until the wall caught him.
The corridor rolled violently.
The man shoved past him and headed toward Amelia.
Marcus grabbed the back of his vest.
“No.”
The word barely sounded like his own.
The attacker turned, and Marcus swung.
The punch landed.
Weakly.
Too fucking weakly.
The drug was winning.
Marcus hated that almost as much as he hated the blood running down his side.
The man struck him across the face, snapping his head sideways. Marcus tasted blood.
Amelia backed toward the restroom.
Then the attacker reached beneath his jacket.
Marcus saw the gun.
Everything inside him stopped.
Not again.
The thought cut through the chemical fog with brutal clarity.
Not another pregnant woman, not another man telling him afterward that there had been nothing he could have done, not another hospital corridor or another child who never got to take a breath, and not Amelia.
Marcus forced himself away from the wall. His legs nearly folded beneath him, but he locked his knees and made them hold.
The attacker raised the gun.
“Don't.”
Marcus moved toward him.
The barrel immediately shifted toward Amelia.
Marcus froze.
“That's better.”
Amelia's face had gone pale.
Her eyes weren't on the gun.
They were on Marcus.
“Marcus.”
“I'm okay.”
It was an absurd lie.
Blood soaked his shirt. His vision was narrowing. He could barely feel his legs.
Amelia knew he was lying.
Still, Marcus said it again because she needed him to.
“I'm okay.”
The attacker jerked the gun toward the restroom. “Inside.”
Amelia didn't move.
“I'm not going anywhere with you.”
“You're going inside.”
“No.”
Under any other circumstances, Marcus might have smiled.
Of course Amelia was arguing with a man holding a gun.
“Amelia.”
She looked at him.
Marcus needed her alive. Nothing else mattered now.
“Do what he says.”
Her eyes filled.
“No.”
“Amelia.”
The man stepped closer, and Marcus tried to follow. His knee struck the floor before he made it two steps.
A broken sound escaped Amelia.
“Marcus!”
“Don't.”
Marcus planted one hand against the wall and tried to push himself upright. His arm shook violently beneath his weight.
The attacker laughed.
“Jesus Christ. Stay down.”
Marcus looked up at him.
“Fuck you.”
He managed to get one foot beneath himself.
The man kicked him squarely in the chest.
Marcus hit the floor.
This time, when his brain told his body to move, nothing happened.
The ceiling blurred above him.
He heard Amelia screaming his name. Heard shoes scraping across tile. Heard the restroom door slam.
Then the darkness took him.
Amelia spun toward the door.
“Marcus.”
The man moved between her and the exit.
Her heart was beating so violently she could feel each pulse in her throat.
“Marcus needs help.”
“He'll get it.”
“He's bleeding.”
“I noticed.”
“Because you stabbed him.”
“Duh.”
Rage punched through the terror.
“You son of a bitch.”
The man's mouth curved into a smile.
Amelia looked toward the door again.
He shifted with her.
“Don't.”
She stopped.
“Who are you?”
He didn't answer.
Amelia watched his face.
“Did Ashley send you?”
Something flickered in his expression.
It lasted less than a second.
Amelia saw it anyway.
Her stomach dropped.
“Oh my God.”
His smile widened.
“Smart.”
Amelia's hand moved instinctively toward her stomach.
His gaze followed the movement.
She immediately lowered it.
That frightened her more than anything he'd done since dragging her inside.
“Ashley is in jail.”
“Yep.”
“So what exactly does she think this accomplishes?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“And you haven't answered one.”
“Don't need to.”
Amelia forced herself to look at him instead of the gun.
Black trousers. White dress shirt. Black vest. Dirty blonde. Blue eyes.
A waiter.
He had been inside the gallery.
Moving among them.
Serving drinks.
Security had checked the temporary workers. Marcus and Evan had gone over the staffing because Marcus couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Yet somehow this man had gotten inside.
“How did you get in?”
He laughed.
“Still asking questions.”
“I'm curious.”
“You don't look curious.”
“What do I look like?”
“Scared.”
Amelia swallowed.
“I am.”
There was no reason to pretend otherwise.
He had a gun.
Marcus was bleeding outside the door.
Her child was inside her.
She was terrified.
Oddly, her admission seemed to disappoint him.
Amelia kept talking anyway.
As long as he was answering her, he wasn't moving her.
And time was the one thing she desperately needed.
“What's your name?”
“No.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Nothing.”
“That seems inconvenient.”
His eyes narrowed.
Amelia forced herself to breathe slowly.
Marcus had taught her that panic was useful only when it helped her act. If she had an escape route, she should use it. If she didn't, she needed to observe.
So Amelia observed.
His hands.
The gun.
The distance between them.
The stalls.
The sink.
The door.
Anything that could become an opportunity.
“What does Ashley want?”
“She wants you gone.”
Amelia's heart lurched.
“Gone where?”
He shrugged.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On you.”
Amelia stared at him.
“I'm not leaving this building with you.”
“We'll see.”
“No. We won't.”
His jaw tightened.
Amelia knew she was pushing him, but she also remembered one of Marcus's most important rules.
Never willingly allow someone to move you from a public location to a second one if there was any way to prevent it.
The second location was where options disappeared.
“People know I'm in here.”
“Eventually.”
“Marcus was with me.”
“He's not telling anybody much right now.”
Her throat closed.
“He's alive.”
The man said nothing.
“He's alive.”
Still nothing.
Amelia stepped forward without realizing it.
The gun rose.
She stopped.
“Back.”
Amelia obeyed.
Her eyes burned.
I'm making sure you're still there.
Less than an hour ago, Marcus had told her why he always looked for her.
She had promised him she would listen tomorrow if he told her something felt wrong.
He had been right.
And now he was bleeding outside a bathroom because he had done exactly what he'd promised to do.
Amelia shoved the thought away.
Bryson would notice.
Evan would notice Marcus wasn't responding.
Somebody would come.
She only needed to give them time.
“What did you give him?”
The man's eyebrows lifted.
“The dart.”
His mouth curved.
“Enough to make him easier.”
“You could have killed him.”
“Could've.”
Something in Amelia's fear cooled.
“You don't care.”
“No.”
“About prison either?”
That got a reaction.
His eyes sharpened.
Amelia caught it.
“So you've been before.”
“Shut up.”
“I'll take that as a yes.”
He stepped closer.
Amelia's back touched the wall.
“You think because you're Bryson Hearst's woman you can talk to anybody however you want?”
“No.”
Her voice trembled despite her best effort.
“I think you're nervous.”
His smile disappeared.
Amelia wasn't sure whether that was good or very, very bad.
“You should be more worried about yourself.”
“I am.”
“Then act like it.”
“I don't know what that means.”
“It means shut the fuck up.”
Amelia did.
Then voices sounded outside.
Faint.
The man heard them too.
His head turned.
Amelia's heart leapt.
Bryson.
She didn't know how she knew.
She simply did.
The attacker moved toward her.
Amelia shifted sideways.
“Don't.”
He caught her arm.
She fought immediately.
“No!”
His arm locked across her upper chest and dragged her backward against him. Amelia drove her elbow toward his ribs, but he twisted away from the strike and tightened his hold.
Then she saw the gun.
A second later, she felt cold metal press against her abdomen.
Everything inside her stopped.
“No.”
The word barely existed.
His arm tightened across her chest.
“Now you're listening.”
Amelia looked down.
The barrel rested against the sapphire fabric covering her stomach.
Her baby.
Terror unlike anything she'd ever experienced flooded her.
Not for herself.
For the tiny life she couldn't shield from a bullet.
Her hands lifted slowly.
“Please.”
The man smiled near her ear.
“That's better.”
Amelia closed her eyes.
Bryson.
Please.
Bryson had never understood how rage could make a person calm until he saw a gun pressed against Amelia's stomach.
There was no explosion inside him.
No blind rush toward the man holding her.
The fury came colder than that.
Sharper.
Amelia was trapped against a stranger's chest, one arm locked across her while the gun rested against the place where their child was growing. Marcus lay bleeding in the corridor behind them, and every instinct Bryson possessed demanded that he cross the room and tear the man apart with his bare hands.
He didn't.
Because Amelia needed something more useful than his rage.
Ethan's arm came across his chest when Bryson instinctively shifted forward.
“Don't.”
Bryson stopped immediately.
His eyes never left Amelia.
The moment she saw him, something in her face broke.
“Bryson.”
He wanted to go to her so badly his body physically hurt with the restraint it required to remain where he was.
Instead, he forced his shoulders to loosen.
He slowed his breathing.
When he spoke, his voice was steady.
“I'm here, sweetheart.”
The gunman tightened his hold.
“Everybody back.”
Evan and Ethan had their weapons trained on him from opposite angles, but neither advanced.
Evan's voice remained controlled. “Put the gun down.”
The man laughed. “You first.”
“Not happening.”
“Then I guess we're all staying like this.”
Bryson kept his attention on Amelia.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
Her frightened eyes found his.
“Only me.”
Her lips trembled.
“Marcus—”
“He's alive.”
Amelia closed her eyes briefly, relief nearly folding her.
“Cole's with him,” Bryson continued. “He's getting help.”
“Enough talking,” the gunman snapped.
Bryson finally looked directly at him.
Blood stained the man's mouth, and one side of his face was already swelling.
Marcus.
Good.
Bryson hoped Marcus had broken every bone he'd managed to reach before the drug took him down.
But the visible injuries told Bryson something else too.
The man was hurt.
Agitated.
Running on adrenaline.
And, judging from the way his eyes kept moving between Ethan, Evan and Bryson, not nearly as comfortable with the situation as he wanted everyone to believe.
Bryson could work with that.
“What do you want?”
The man smiled.
“Finally.”
“You went through a lot of trouble to get here,” Bryson said. “So tell me what you want.”
“A way out.”
Bryson nodded slowly.
“All right.”
Ethan's eyes flicked toward him.
Bryson ignored it.
He wasn't promising the man anything.
He was giving him something more valuable.
The belief that somebody was finally treating him like the person in control.
“You want out,” Bryson continued. “That's something I can help you with.”
The man's expression filled with suspicion.
“You think I'm stupid?”
A dozen answers came immediately to Bryson's mind.
Every one of them would have felt good.
Every one of them could also make the man angry enough to hurt Amelia.
So Bryson swallowed them.
“I think you managed to get inside a secured gallery dressed as catering staff, isolate my fiancée from the main room and take down a man whose entire job is preventing exactly this.”
He let his gaze briefly touch the swelling around the man's eye.
“You obviously planned.”
The man's posture changed by the smallest degree.
There it was.
Ego.
Bryson had spent years sitting across tables from powerful men who needed everyone in the room to believe they were the smartest person in it. He knew how to feed ego without surrendering control.
“You're surrounded now,” Bryson continued. “You know that. I know that. Pretending otherwise wastes time you don't have.”
The man's eyes narrowed.
“So let's stop wasting it. You want transportation?”
No answer.
“Money?”
The man scoffed. “You think I need your money?”
“I think everybody needs something.”
Something changed in the man's face.
Small.
But Bryson saw it.
He had touched something.
Bryson kept his voice even.
“You didn't drug Marcus, stab him and put a gun against a pregnant woman's stomach because you were bored. Somebody gave you a reason.”
The man's eyes hardened.
“You talk too much.”
“Probably.”
Bryson allowed the faintest shrug.
“But you're still listening.”
And he was.
That mattered.
Because every second the man's attention remained on Bryson was a second he wasn't focused entirely on Amelia.
Bryson looked at her again.
“You're doing perfectly, sweetheart.”
Tears filled her eyes.
The gunman scoffed. “She hasn't done anything.”
“Exactly.”
The answer made him frown.
Bryson continued before he could think about it too hard.
“She isn't fighting you. Nobody is rushing you. You're getting the space you asked for. Let's keep it that way.”
The man's shoulders relaxed by a fraction.
Bryson saw that too.
Behind them, Cole's voice sounded through Ethan's earpiece.
“EMS is staged. Marcus is deteriorating. I need to move him.”
Amelia heard.
Her expression crumpled.
“Get him out.”
Nobody moved.
“Please,” she said, looking toward Marcus. “Get Marcus out.”
Bryson looked at Ethan.
Ethan spoke quietly into his microphone. “Do it.”
The gunman shifted his attention toward the corridor.
Bryson immediately pulled it back.
“That's not about you.”
The man's eyes snapped toward him.
“Cole is moving a wounded man to an ambulance. Nobody is coming toward you.”
The gunman glanced toward the corridor again.
Bryson continued talking.
“You asked for space. You're getting it.”
Slowly, the man's attention returned to him.
Behind them, Cole began moving Marcus toward the waiting medical team.
Amelia watched until Marcus disappeared from view.
Then Bryson called her back.
“Amelia.”
She looked at him.
“Stay with me.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I told him I was right there.”
Bryson didn't fully understand the significance of the words, but the pain behind them told him enough.
“You still are.”
Her mouth trembled.
“And you're coming home with me.”
The gunman laughed.
“That's optimistic.”
Bryson looked at him.
“No. It's the outcome we're negotiating.”
That seemed to amuse him.
“You really think you're in charge here?”
Bryson held his gaze.
“No.”
The answer surprised him.
“I think you need to believe you are.”
The man's smile disappeared.
Bryson saw the flash of anger and knew he'd pushed just far enough.
Not too far.
Yet.
“You want to walk out of here,” Bryson continued. “Then we need to solve the part where you're holding the one person every cop, security officer and federal agency I can reach will follow to the end of the fucking earth.”
The man smiled again.
“Maybe that's the point.”
Important.
Bryson filed the words away.
“Then what is the point?”
No answer.
“Because if Ashley told you taking Amelia gets you out of here, she lied to you.”
The man's expression shifted.
Bryson saw it.
So did Amelia.
Before Bryson could press further, a woman's voice came from farther down the corridor.
“Jason.”
The gunman's entire body changed.
His head snapped toward the sound.
Bryson followed his gaze.
Brittany stood several yards away.
Except apparently she wasn't Brittany.
Jason stared at her.
“Amy?”
The name meant nothing to Bryson.
Not until he looked at the woman again.
Really looked.
She stepped forward.
Ethan immediately extended an arm.
“Stay there.”
She stopped.
Jason's face hardened.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Trying to stop you.”
“You should've minded your business.”
“I tried.”
Bryson's gaze moved between them.
“Who the fuck is Amy?”
The woman looked at him.
Fear crossed her face.
Then shame.
“My name isn't Brittany.”
Amelia stared at her.
“My name is Amy Reynolds.”
The last name landed like a physical blow.
Bryson went still.
Amelia whispered, “Reynolds?”
Amy nodded.
“Ashley is my sister.”
Jason laughed.
Bryson stared at Amy.
Now that he knew to look for it, similarities began rearranging her entire face.
The eyes.
The mouth.
The cheekbones.
The shape of her nose.
“No.”
Amy swallowed.
“Her twin sister.”
Questions exploded through Bryson's mind.
He shoved every one of them aside.
Later.
There would be time for every fucking answer later.
Right now Amelia still had a gun against her stomach.
Bryson's gaze returned to Jason.
Amy seemed to understand the same thing because she stopped trying to explain herself.
“Jason, look at me.”
He did.
“What did Ashley tell you?”
“Doesn't matter.”
“It matters if you're about to die for it.”
Jason's face hardened.
Bryson looked at Amy.
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep him talking.”
Understanding flashed across her face.
Amy turned back to Jason.
“You always did whatever she wanted.”
“Shut up.”
“Even when we were kids. Ashley pointed at somebody and you went after them.”
“Amy.”
“She told you somebody hurt her, and that was enough.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Jason's attention was shifting.
Back to Amy.
Then Bryson.
Then Amelia.
Too many places at once.
Bryson saw Evan adjust his stance almost imperceptibly.
Waiting.
They all were.
Amy kept going.
“What did she promise you?”
Jason's jaw flexed.
“She promised you something,” Amy said.
“Don't.”
“She lied.”
Jason turned more fully toward her.
“She lies whenever she needs somebody else to do the ugly part.”
“AMY!”
The shout echoed through the restroom.
Amelia flinched.
Bryson didn't.
He watched Jason's gun hand.
Watched the tension in his wrist.
Watched his attention slipping farther away from Amelia.
Bryson lowered his voice.
“Look at me, Jason.”
Jason's gaze snapped back to him.
“You wanted somebody who could give you what you need. That's me.”
Jason laughed harshly.
“You really think that Hearst name means something right now?”
Bryson's expression barely changed.
“It meant enough for you to know exactly who Amelia was.”
That landed.
Bryson saw it.
“You knew who I was. You knew who Marcus was. You knew where Amelia would be tonight. So somebody gave you information.”
Jason's nostrils flared.
“Maybe.”
“And that person isn't standing here with a gun against her stomach.”
Silence.
“Ashley is sitting safely in jail while you're the one surrounded.”
“Shut up.”
“She isn't risking anything right now.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“She's risking you.”
Jason's face twisted.
There.
Bryson had him.
Not defeated.
Not convinced.
But emotionally engaged.
His attention had moved from Amelia to Bryson, and the barrel had shifted slightly away from the center of her abdomen as Jason unconsciously turned his body.
Bryson didn't look at Evan.
He didn't have to; Evan saw it, Ethan saw it, and so did Amy, who moved without caution or thought.
She simply moved.
She saw the gun exposed as Jason turned toward Bryson and threw herself forward, reaching for his wrist.
Amy saw the opening at almost the same moment Bryson did.
Jason had turned farther toward Bryson than he seemed to realize, drawn into the confrontation despite himself. His anger had changed his posture, pulling his shoulders away from Amelia and shifting the gun just far enough from the center of her abdomen to expose his wrist.
It wasn't much of an opening.
It certainly wasn't a safe one.
But Amy didn't hesitate long enough to consider either of those things.
She lunged.
“Amy, no!” Ethan shouted.
Bryson saw her move from the corner of his eye, but his attention went immediately to Amelia. The instant Jason's focus broke, Bryson was already moving toward her.
There was no calculation behind it. No consideration of whether Jason might turn the weapon on him. Bryson had spent the last several minutes doing everything in his power to keep Jason calm because a gun had been pressed against Amelia and their unborn child. He had swallowed his rage, fed Jason's ego and made himself appear willing to negotiate because that was what Amelia needed from him.
Now there was an opening.
Whatever happened to Bryson while crossing the distance no longer mattered.
Jason reacted to Amy's movement with startling speed. He released Amelia from the hold across her chest and shoved her away from him with both hands, using enough force to send her violently sideways.
Amelia had no chance to catch herself.
Her shoulder struck the tiled wall first, followed almost immediately by her hip. The impact drove the breath from her lungs, and pain tore through her side as her knees buckled beneath her.
Bryson was already coming.
He saw Amelia hit the wall.
Saw her crumple.
Something savage tore through him, but he didn't stop. He didn't even look toward Jason. Amelia was no longer being used as a shield, and that was all Bryson needed to know.
“Amelia!”
Jason barely seemed to register Bryson's movement. His attention had locked onto Amy, who was still reaching for the weapon.
He swung the gun toward her.
Amy saw the barrel coming and threw herself down.
The shot exploded through the restroom.
The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.
Amy hit the floor, covering her head instinctively as the bullet passed over her.
Behind her, Ethan jerked violently.
His body twisted with the impact, and his weapon arm dropped as he staggered backward into the wall. Blood began spreading almost immediately through the upper portion of his sleeve.
Evan saw Ethan take the hit.
More importantly, he saw that Jason still had the weapon.
He fired.
The first round struck Jason squarely in the chest.
The impact drove Jason backward, but adrenaline and momentum kept him upright for one more fraction of a second. His gun hand twitched upward again, whether intentionally or reflexively, and Evan fired a second time.
The second round struck Jason in the chest only inches from the first.
This time his body gave out.
Jason slammed backward against the wall before collapsing heavily to the tile. The gun slipped from his hand and skidded across the floor.
Evan advanced immediately, keeping his weapon trained on Jason until he reached the fallen gun and kicked it well beyond Jason's reach.
“Gun secure!”
Jason didn't move.
There was no groan. No attempt to reach for the weapon. No rise and fall beneath the blood rapidly saturating the front of his white catering shirt.
Evan looked down at him only long enough to understand what two center-mass rounds had done.
Jason was dead.
Bryson didn't see any of it.
By the time Evan's first shot had been fired, Bryson had already reached Amelia.
He dropped beside her so quickly that one knee struck the tile hard enough to hurt, but he barely felt it. Amelia was curled partly onto her side near the wall, one hand braced against the floor while she struggled to draw a full breath.
“Amelia.”
Bryson reached for her, then stopped himself just before his hands closed around her shoulders. Every instinct in him demanded that he pick her up and get her as far away from that room as possible, but he'd seen how hard she'd hit the wall. He didn't know what she'd injured, and the last thing he was going to do was hurt her worse because he couldn't control his own panic.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
Amelia opened her eyes.
The moment she focused on him, Bryson felt the first breath he'd taken since Amy lunged finally reach his lungs.
“Bryson.”
“I'm right here.”
He carefully cupped the side of her face.
“Don't try to get up yet.”
Amelia drew another shallow breath and winced.
“My side.”
“I know. I saw you hit.”
Bryson's eyes moved rapidly over her body. Her sapphire dress was wrinkled where she'd struck the wall, but there was no blood on it. No bullet wound. Nothing that suggested Jason's shot had touched her.
The relief lasted less than a second.
Amelia's expression suddenly changed.
Her hand left the floor and moved toward her lower abdomen.
Bryson followed the movement.
“What?”
She pressed her palm against her stomach.
“My stomach hurts.”
Every muscle in Bryson's body went rigid.
He looked at her face, searching it as though the answer might somehow be written there.
“Your stomach?”
Amelia nodded, her breathing becoming uneven. “Low. It hurts.”
“From hitting the wall?”
“I don't know.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
That frightened him more than anything else.
Amelia looked down at her stomach, and Bryson watched the terror settle into her expression as the same thought reached them both.
“The baby.”
Bryson immediately took her hand.
“I know.”
“What if I hurt the baby when I hit—”
“Don't.”
His voice was firm without being harsh.
Amelia looked at him.
“We don't know that anything happened to the baby.”
“But my stomach hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
Bryson wanted to tell her that their child was fine. He wanted to give her the certainty he could see her begging him for.
He couldn't.
So he gave her the only certainty he actually possessed.
“You are not moving until the paramedics check you. Then we're going straight to the hospital, they're going to check our baby, and I'm going with you.”
Tears filled Amelia's eyes.
“Bryson—”
“I'm right here.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles.
“I'm not going anywhere.”
Only then did the rest of the room begin forcing its way back into Bryson's awareness.
Ethan had slid down the opposite wall, his face tight with pain while he clamped his hand over his upper arm. Blood ran between his fingers and down his sleeve, but he was conscious and alert.
Evan reached him quickly.
“Let me see it.”
“I'm fine.”
“You have a bullet hole in your arm.”
“I've had worse.”
Evan gave him a look as he pulled Ethan's hand away long enough to inspect the wound.
“Of course you have.”
“It went through.”
“That doesn't make it decorative.”
Ethan hissed when Evan applied pressure.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. That's generally the appropriate response to getting shot.”
Even injured, Ethan's attention moved past Evan toward Amelia.
“How is she?”
Bryson heard him.
He looked over his shoulder.
For a moment, their eyes met.
“She wasn't shot,” Bryson told him.
Ethan's shoulders loosened slightly.
Bryson turned immediately back to Amelia.
That was all he could give Ethan because it was all he knew.
Amy remained on the floor several feet away. She had pushed herself onto her hands and knees but seemed frozen there, staring first at the bullet hole in the wall behind her and then at Ethan's bleeding arm.
She had ducked quickly enough to save herself.
Ethan had taken the bullet meant for her.
“Oh my God.”
Amy stared at him.
“Ethan.”
He glanced toward her.
“I'm okay.”
“You got shot because of me.”
“No.” Ethan grimaced as Evan tightened the pressure around his arm. “I got shot because he pulled the trigger.”
Amy opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Evan looked toward Jason.
He was still exactly where he'd fallen.
The white shirt beneath his black catering vest was saturated red across the chest, and there was no movement in his body.
One of the officers entering the restroom immediately went to him, crouching only long enough to check before looking toward the others.
“He's gone.”
Amy closed her eyes.
For several seconds, nobody said anything.
Jason was dead.
The man who had walked into the gallery disguised as a waiter, drugged Marcus, stabbed him, held Amelia at gunpoint and fired at Amy would never explain why he'd done it.
He would never tell them what Ashley had promised him.
He would never tell them how she'd reached him from jail.
Whatever answers Jason had possessed had died with him.
Bryson didn't care.
Not then.
The questions could wait.
A paramedic hurried toward Amelia and knelt beside her.
“Ma'am, don't try to move.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
Despite everything, the familiar dryness in Amelia's voice nearly broke Bryson.
The paramedic looked at him. “Sir, I need some room.”
Bryson shifted immediately, giving the man access without releasing Amelia's hand.
He didn't argue or demand special treatment. He didn't announce his name or attempt to take control from the people who knew how to help her.
Bryson had already taken control when Amelia needed him to.
Now she needed medical care, and he was smart enough to know the difference.
The paramedic began asking Amelia questions while carefully assessing her shoulder, ribs and hip. She hadn't lost consciousness. She hadn't been struck by the bullet. She had hit the wall hard on her right side before falling, and the pain in her lower abdomen had begun almost immediately afterward.
“Any vaginal bleeding?” the paramedic asked.
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“No.”
The paramedic gently palpated her abdomen.
Amelia flinched.
Bryson's grip tightened around her hand.
“There?”
“Yes.”
The paramedic nodded and continued his examination.
Bryson watched everything.
He listened to every question and every answer, but one fact became the thing he held on to.
No bleeding.
It didn't guarantee anything.
He knew that.
But right now, it was something.
The paramedic looked toward his partner.
“We're transporting her.”
“Good,” Bryson said immediately.
Amelia looked at him despite the fear still clouding her face.
“I don't think he was asking your permission.”
Bryson stared at her for half a second.
Then relief hit him so hard it was almost painful.
There his baby was.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“You scared the fucking life out of me.”
Amelia blinked at him. “I scared you?”
“Yes.”
“I had a gun against my stomach.”
“I noticed.”
A weak laugh escaped her before she winced again.
Bryson's expression immediately changed.
“Don't laugh.”
“You're the one being funny.”
“I wasn't trying to be.”
“That makes it worse.”
He brushed his thumb over her cheek.
“Then stop encouraging me.”
The paramedics began preparing to move her.
As they did, Amelia's attention drifted past Bryson.
Amy was still on the floor.
Their eyes met.
The shame on Amy's face was unmistakable.
“I'm sorry.”
Amelia stared at her.
Those two words couldn't possibly hold everything that had happened.
Amy had come into Lila's gallery under a false name because Ashley sent her. She had watched Amelia, asked questions and gathered information while pretending to be a stranger.
Then, when Jason had a gun pressed against Amelia's unborn child, Amy had thrown herself toward that weapon knowing he could shoot her.
Both things were true.
Amelia didn't know what to do with either one.
Not tonight.
Her stomach hurt. Marcus had been stabbed. Ethan had been shot. Jason was dead. Somewhere beneath all of that was the revelation that Ashley Reynolds had an identical twin sister nobody had known existed.
Amelia simply didn't have room for another emotion.
She looked away.
Bryson saw the exhaustion cross her face and leaned closer.
“Don't worry about any of that right now.”
Amelia's eyes returned to him.
“Marcus.”
“He's already on his way to the hospital.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
Bryson said it without hesitation because that much he knew.
“He was alive when they took him out.”
Amelia swallowed.
“And Ethan?”
From across the room, Ethan answered for himself.
“Still annoyingly alive.”
Amelia turned her head toward him.
Ethan was pale, but he managed a grin.
She almost smiled.
“Good.”
“See? Everybody's having a great night.”
Evan stared at him.
“Shut the fuck up.”
That actually made Amelia smile.
Only briefly.
Then her hand returned to her abdomen.
Bryson saw it.
The humor vanished from his face.
The paramedics carefully transferred her onto the stretcher. Bryson remained beside her throughout the process, keeping one hand wrapped around hers.
As they started toward the door, he finally looked back.
His gaze passed over Ethan and Evan, then Amy.
It stopped briefly on Jason.
There was nothing left to threaten them.
Jason was dead.
Bryson felt no satisfaction looking at him.
No regret either.
Only the cold recognition that one avenue to the truth had just closed.
Jason couldn't tell them who contacted him.
Couldn't tell them how Ashley had arranged any of this from jail.
Couldn't tell them what she had promised him or whether anyone else was involved.
They would find those answers another way.
Bryson's gaze moved to Amy.
Ashley Reynolds's identical twin.
A woman he hadn't known existed.
A woman whose face, now that he knew what he was looking at, carried a familiarity that disturbed him for reasons he couldn't yet place.
She had answers.
Bryson would get them.
Later.
Amelia's stretcher disappeared into the corridor.
Bryson turned away from Amy without another word and followed.
Marcus could be fighting for his life.
Ethan had a bullet through his arm.
Jason was dead.
Ashley had somehow reached beyond the walls of a jail cell and nearly destroyed them again.
Tomorrow, Bryson would deal with every piece of it.
Tonight, there was only Amelia and their baby.
Everything else could fucking wait.