Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
R uth turned over, feeling the smooth sheets beneath her fingertips. The darkness was nothing new. She had lived in it for a while now, but tonight, something felt different. Beyond her blindness, she had lost her sense of time, and for a brief moment, even place. She exhaled slowly, disoriented, her mind grasping for familiarity.
She forced herself upright, blinking uselessly against the void. A dull pressure in her lower abdomen reminded her of her body’s needs, pulling her into full wakefulness.
She inhaled deeply. She wasn’t alone. Noah.
Before she could speak, his voice broke through the quiet. “Hey, Rae.” Her heart steadied as he shifted beside her, grounding her the way he did every time she was lucid enough to ask. “It’s Monday, three a.m.”
The bed dipped as he pulled her close. She melted into his embrace, her cheek resting against his chest. His heart was beating faster than usual. His entire body was tense, like a coiled spring waiting to snap.
“What’s wrong?”
Noah let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no real humor in it. “You see more than most sighted people do.”
Ruth waited, knowing he would tell her. He always did.
He exhaled, pressing his lips to her temple before speaking. “I have two things to tell you. But before I do, what woke you up?”
“I have to pee.” Her face flushed.
“C’mon.” Noah helped her stand. Placing her left hand on his forearm, he walked her to the ensuite bathroom. When she was done, he walked her back to bed. Once she was tucked in, he sat beside her.
“What do you need to tell me?” She took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.
He sighed and pulled her close. “While we were away, Dylan Grant was shot and killed in his office. He was found, um, with his secretary.”
Ruth leaned into him. “Do they know who did it?” She remained stoic.
“No, it’s being investigated.”
“And the second thing?”
“Tomorrow, we’re making our move. I’m going to arrest Fairchild.”
She stiffened in his arms.
He continued, “Ethan, Brad, Alex, and I need to secure the warrants first. And I’m going to try to get to Luke Andrews before things go down, but I may be gone for a little while.”
Ruth’s stomach twisted. She knew this was coming. They had been building to this moment since Robert Hilton gave Noah that thumb drive, but hearing it spoken aloud made it real.
Noah must have felt the change in her, as his arms tightened around her. “Hey,” he murmured, his fingers finding her face, cupping her cheeks gently. He kissed her softly, lingering. “It’s going to be okay.”
Her breathing was shallow, but she nodded against his lips, clinging to his warmth.
“Tristan and James will do their doctor stuff, and your mom and sisters will be here. You’re safe.”
Safe.
She swallowed, wanting to believe him. Wanting to hold on to his certainty, let it wash away the anxiety curling inside her like a cold fist.
But all she could do was tighten her grip on his shirt and whisper, “Come back to me, Noah.”
His lips brushed her forehead. “Always.”
* * *
Noah hated leaving her. The way Ruth clung to him, her fingers curling around his sleeve as if she could somehow hold him there, made his chest ache. He had never seen her look so afraid—not when she first woke up blind, not when she fought through the exhaustion just to sit up, not even when she first realized she couldn’t remember what sent her into the dark.
This was different.
This was the fear of being left behind, of losing something she could still feel. Noah swallowed hard and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back,” he whispered. “I love you, Rae.”
She didn’t answer, just nodded stiffly.
He forced himself to step away, to turn toward the door. Every step felt heavier, like he was walking through thick mud, but he did it. Because he had to.
Outside, Alex and Brad were already waiting, standing near the SUV parked in the long driveway. Ethan was with them, a thick file in hand, his face grim as ever. “We’ve got a plan,” he said as soon as Noah reached them. “But one key piece still has to be handled. You need to get to Luke Andrews first.”
Noah exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. I need to let him know what’s coming.”
“He’s going to be arrested,” Brad added, voice low. “If we don’t pull him in, Fairchild’s people will start asking questions. We need to preserve his cover until we can extract him safely.”
Noah nodded. “I know. I’ll handle it.”
Alex studied him for a long moment, then clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “You okay, man?”
Noah let out a dry, humorless laugh. “What do you think?”
Alex gave him a pointed look. “I think you look like you’ve been gone for years, not just a few weeks.”
Noah blew out a slow breath, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time to be tired, Alex.”
“You got him, brother,” Alex said, his voice steady.
Noah set his jaw, rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking off the heaviness pressing down on him. “Not until he’s in cuffs,” he muttered.
He turned toward the car, his focus shifting. He couldn’t afford to think about Ruth right now, couldn’t let the memory of her terrified expression weaken his resolve. There was still work to do. And it started in Pierre.
* * *
From the moment they stepped into the FBI resident agency in Pierre later that morning, what they were about to do pressed down on Noah like a vise. This was it. The moment they had been building toward.
Ethan worked fast, securing federal warrants from outside the state to ensure they weren’t compromised by Fairchild’s far-reaching corruption. Every document, every piece of evidence had been scrubbed of local influence, funneled directly through trusted hands. There could be no mistakes. No leaks.
Noah stood over the war room table, scanning the final logistics of the takedown.
“Fairchild goes down tomorrow morning at ten a.m.,” Ethan confirmed, flipping through the file one last time. “His security detail will be neutralized first—half of them don’t even know they’re about to be hit with RICO charges. We hit them, and Fairchild loses his eyes and ears before he even realizes it.”
Brad nodded, arms crossed. “And Melanie?”
Noah’s jaw clenched. “She’s first. We can’t risk her slipping away before we pull in Luke. We get to her tonight.”
Alex let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “And what if Luke doesn’t play along? What if he wants to make the gun bust first?”
Noah met his eyes, his expression unyielding. “Then we make him.”
They exchanged a look—an unspoken agreement between men who had spent too much time in the gray areas of justice. They had no room for errors.
Ethan checked his watch. “Your car’s been cleared. No explosives, no tampering.”
Noah smirked humorlessly. “Good to know.”
They had learned early on to take precautions. Fairchild’s reach extended deeper than any of them had realized, and after Dylan Grant was killed, they couldn’t afford to underestimate anything.
Noah and Alex slipped into the unmarked car, the cold leather seats stiff against their backs. The engine rumbled to life, and they pulled away from the agency, disappearing into the quiet streets of Pierre.
The city was eerily still as they parked a block away from Melanie’s apartment and waited. The glow of streetlights turning on cast long shadows, the night air thick with a tension that only they seemed to feel.
They had done their research. Luke Andrews had been living with Melanie for weeks now, ever since they started dating. He was embedded in her world, whether he wanted to be or not. And tonight, Noah and Alex would wait him out.
They settled in for the stakeout, keeping a low profile, watching the entrance to the apartment complex.
Noah tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his patience wearing thin. The plan was simple: wait for Luke to come home, knock on the door, and coincidentally deliver the message that Ruth was worried about Melanie. They would create a law enforcement lie and mention Dylan Grant, planting the idea that maybe Melanie should talk before things started falling apart.
It was a cover, of course. They weren’t here to check on Melanie. They were here to warn Luke—to let him know he would be arrested, that it was part of the plan, and that he needed to play along if he wanted to make it out of this alive.
Noah checked the time. 5:47 p.m.
“Damn, he’s taking his time,” Alex muttered, stretching his legs.
Noah didn’t answer, just kept his eyes trained on the entrance.
Then, movement.
A familiar figure approached the building, his posture stiff, his head on a swivel.
Luke Andrews.
Noah took a slow breath. “Showtime.”
Alex cracked his knuckles. “Let’s go knock on the door.”
They stepped out of the car, walking with the easy confidence of men who belonged—like cops on an ordinary visit, nothing more. Noah rolled his shoulders, trying to work some of the tension from his muscles before they approached. He was running on fumes, but exhaustion made this easier. It wasn’t hard to fake. When they reached the door, Noah knocked firmly.
Footsteps shuffled inside. Then, the sound of the lock clicking. The door swung open, and Melanie stood there. The second she saw him, her expression shifted—not quite surprised, not quite annoyed, but something between calculation and caution.
“Noah…”
Noah exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Melanie.” His voice was rough, worn—just enough fatigue to make the act convincing.
Her gaze flicked past him to Alex, then back again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
Noah forced a tired chuckle, shaking his head. “I promised Ruth I’d stop by. This is my partner, Alex Marcel.”
Melanie’s grip on the door tightened slightly, her expression barely shifting. But Noah saw it—the momentary hesitation, the slight flicker of discomfort.
She didn’t trust this.
Good.
“Ruth’s at the Blackwell Institute for Trauma now.” He kept his voice steady, measured. “She’s worried about you, but she’s still too sick for visitors.”
That part wasn’t a lie.
Melanie’s lips parted slightly, and Noah caught the smallest flicker of something in her expression—concern? Guilt? Or just the realization that Ruth was now somewhere secure, untouchable?
Before Melanie could form a response, Luke’s voice drifted from inside. “Who is it?”
Melanie’s mask slipped back into place. She pushed the door open just enough to let them see Luke standing behind her, his hands tucked into his pockets, his posture loose but aware.
His expression was calm, unreadable—but Noah didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked toward him and Alex.
Then, smoothly, Luke played along. “Noah.” He nodded as if this was nothing more than a casual visit, as if he wasn’t standing in the middle of a mess about to collapse in on itself.
Noah didn’t blink. Didn’t waver.
* * *
Ruth stirred, sleep still clinging to her limbs, thick and heavy. For a brief moment, she lingered in the space between waking and dreaming, that hazy in-between where she almost believed she could see again. But as she shifted, blinking against the darkness, reality settled in like a stone in her chest.
Still blind.
Still waiting for something, anything to change.
A warm hand brushed against hers. “Morning, sweetheart,” her mom’s voice was soft, familiar, steady.
Ruth turned toward her mother’s voice, instinctively reaching for her. Her mom’s hands, warm and strong, enclosed hers, grounding her in the unseen world around her.
“You slept well,” Charlotte murmured, squeezing gently. “I’ve been sitting here, just waiting for you to wake up. Didn’t want you to feel alone.”
Ruth swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered.
There was a pause, then her mother’s voice brightened with an easy warmth. “It’s a cold morning; March is still clinging to winter. There’s frost on the windows, but the sun is out, finally. It’s one of those mornings where you can feel spring trying to push through.”
Ruth closed her eyes, picturing it: the thin, bright sunlight stretching across ice-laced windows, the crisp air, the slow promise of change.
“How are you feeling, baby?” Charlotte’s thumb brushed over the back of Ruth’s hand.
Ruth exhaled slowly. “Tired,” she admitted. “And frustrated, I guess.”
“One step at a time, sweetheart. We’ll get through today first.” She gave Ruth’s hands another squeeze before letting go. “I’ll help you as much as you want to get ready, then we’ll walk over to the acute care unit at the Institute. Tristan’s going to give you a once-over and draw some blood. Nothing too intense.”
Ruth sighed. She had been poked and prodded enough over the past few weeks that another blood draw hardly fazed her.
“After that, you can have some breakfast,” her mom added with a smile in her voice. “And coffee.”
At the mention of coffee, Ruth sighed dramatically. “Oh, God. Coffee. I love coffee.”
Her mom chuckled. “I know. And trust me, you’ll need it today. After breakfast, they’re going to take you in for a CT scan.”
At that, Ruth tensed.
“Tristan and James bought one. They have it on the Institute’s grounds.” Her mom paused. “The doctors will decide where to go from there. No matter what, we’re going to figure this out.”
Ruth chewed the inside of her cheek, her thoughts spinning away from tests and medicine. Noah. A pit of worry settled deep in her stomach, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out, “I’m afraid for Noah.”
Her mom didn’t hesitate. She took Ruth’s hands again, this time holding them tightly, as if she could pass strength through touch alone. “Oh, sweetheart. I know.”
Ruth swallowed hard. “He’s out there, taking on all these people—Fairchild, his men. He doesn’t stop. He never stops.” Her voice cracked. “And I’m just here. I can’t see; I can’t help—I can’t do anything.”
Her mom reached up, tucking a stray piece of Ruth’s hair behind her ear, the way she used to when Ruth was a child. “I was always afraid when your father went to work,” she said softly. “Every single time. And I know, deep in my heart, he was just as afraid for me. But that’s what love is.”
Ruth’s breath hitched.
Her mom continued, her voice steady and warm, wrapping around Ruth like a blanket. “Loving someone means carrying that fear, even when it’s heavy. Even when it hurts. Because it’s not just fear—it’s also faith. Faith that they’ll come back. Faith that they have someone waiting for them.”
Tears pricked at Ruth’s eyes.
Her mom squeezed her hands again, her voice just above a whisper. “Noah knows you’re waiting for him. That’s why he’ll come home.”
Dad didn’t come home one day. Ruth inhaled shakily, then nodded, even though the fear still pressed against her ribs.
She wasn’t sure what was waiting for Noah out there. But she did know he would fight like hell to come back to her.
And for now, that had to be enough.