Chapter 4 - The Betrayal Was Older Than the Bomb
Dr. Brennan did not beg.
That frightened Sadi more than if he had.
He sat handcuffed in the mansion’s wine cellar, blood running from a cut above his eyebrow, while Desmond watched him from his wheelchair.
Sadi stood near the stairs.
She had been told to stay upstairs.
She had ignored that instruction.
Predictably.
“You built it?” Desmond asked.
Brennan smiled.
“I helped.”
“Who paid you?”
Silence.
Frankie stepped forward.
Desmond raised one hand.
“No.”
Frankie stopped.
Desmond’s voice remained controlled.
“You treated my father.”
“Yes.”
“You treated me after the explosion.”
“Yes.”
“You knew exactly where the damage was.”
Brennan’s smile faded.
Desmond understood first.
Sadi saw it happen.
The color drained from his face.
“The bomb wasn’t supposed to kill me.”
Brennan said nothing.
“It was designed to cripple me.”
Sadi’s stomach dropped.
Brennan finally leaned forward.
“Death would have made you a martyr.”
Desmond’s hands tightened around his armrests.
“But a broken king?”
Brennan smiled again.
“A broken king makes everyone question the throne.”
Desmond lunged forward so violently his chair struck the table.
Frankie caught his shoulder.
“Who?”
Brennan laughed.
Desmond pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.
Sadi moved before she thought.
She stepped directly between them.
“Sadi.”
“No.”
“Move.”
“No.”
Brennan stared at her as though she were insane.
Perhaps she was.
Desmond’s voice dropped.
“He tried to destroy me.”
“And killing him gives you what?”
“Move.”
“You want the name.”
His gun remained raised.
Sadi’s heart hammered.
“Dead men don’t answer questions.”
For several seconds, the most feared man in Boston stared at the woman blocking his weapon.
Then slowly, Desmond lowered it.
Brennan’s expression changed.
Not relief.
Surprise.
Sadi saw it.
So did Desmond.
Brennan had expected to die.
Maybe needed to.
“Search him again,” Sadi said.
Frankie frowned.
“What?”
“He wanted Desmond to shoot him.”
Brennan’s eyes flickered.
That was enough.
Frankie searched his jacket lining.
Inside was a tiny transmitter.
A panic beacon.
Someone was listening.
The estate went into lockdown again.
But this time Desmond did something nobody expected.
He announced that Brennan had escaped.
The false information traveled through Gallagher channels within minutes.
Then they waited to see who reacted.
At 11:43 p.m., Patrick Gallagher made a phone call.
Frankie intercepted it.
Only four words were spoken.
“Why is he alive?”
Desmond listened to the recording three times.
The third time, he switched it off and sat silently.
Sadi stood beside him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“He raised you.”
“I said don’t.”
She remained.
Desmond suddenly swept everything from his desk.
Glass shattered.
Papers scattered.
A lamp hit the wall.
Sadi did not move.
“My father trusted him.”
Desmond’s voice cracked.
“I trusted him.”
He slammed his fist against the wheelchair.
Again.
Again.
Sadi caught his wrist.
“Stop.”
“Let go.”
“No.”
He tried to pull away.
She held tighter.
“Stop punishing yourself for somebody else’s betrayal.”
His eyes met hers.
And something inside Desmond finally broke.
Not violently.
Quietly.
His shoulders dropped.
Sadi knelt in front of him.
He leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers.
Neither spoke.
His hand moved to the back of her neck.
The distance between them disappeared.
Their lips almost touched.
Almost.
Then Desmond stopped.
His breathing changed.
“Sadi.”
“What?”
“You should leave.”
She pulled back.
“What?”
“You’ve done enough.”
Understanding hit her.
Not rejection.
Fear.
“You think caring about me makes you weak.”
“It makes you a target.”
“I already am one.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
He turned his chair away.
Sadi stood.
“If you want to fire me, fire me.”
Desmond said nothing.
“Say it.”
Nothing.
Her eyes burned.
“Coward.”
She walked out.
The following morning, an envelope waited on her bed.
Three months’ salary.
Termination paperwork.
A set of keys to her repaired Honda.
Sadi stared at them until anger overwhelmed heartbreak.
She packed.
At the front gate, Frankie stopped her.
“He’s trying to protect you.”
“I didn’t ask him to.”
“No.”
Frankie looked toward the mansion.
“But nobody has mattered to him enough to scare him in a very long time.”
Sadi swallowed.
“Tell him congratulations. It worked.”
She drove away.
Forty-eight hours later, Desmond received a package.
Inside was Sadi’s nursing badge.
Covered in blood.
Beneath it lay a photograph of Sadi unconscious in the back seat of a car.
A message was written across the bottom.
YOU WANTED TO PROTECT HER.
COME ALONE.
For the first time since the bombing, Desmond Gallagher tried to stand without assistance.
He crashed to the floor.
Frankie rushed toward him.
Desmond shoved him away.
“Get my chair.”
“Boss—”
“GET MY CHAIR.”
Frankie obeyed.
Desmond pulled himself into it with shaking arms.
The man who had spent six months believing his life ended with his legs suddenly understood something terrifying.
He had been wrong.
His life had not ended in the explosion.
It had restarted the day a loud, broke, impossible nurse walked through his study door and refused to pity him.
And somebody had just taken her.
May you like
Desmond chambered a round into his pistol.
“Find Patrick.”
