Chapter Twenty-four
At some point Natalie’s screams died off to raspy whispers. She had no idea how long she’d been inside the casket—minutes? Hours?
Eternity?
She’d tried to have the presence of mind enough to push at the lid. To attempt to bring her legs up so she could use them as leverage to push. But no matter what she did, it wouldn’t budge.
She tried not to think of all the dirt and snow piled on top of her. Because now when she screamed with her broken voice it was just silent, which was somehow worse.
She had lived silent and alone and broken for so many years and now she was going to die silent and alone and broken.
She faded in and out; the moments of nothing were pure bliss that ended too soon.
When she would come to, she would have a moment of trying to fight the panic before it would overwhelm her.
She ripped at everything. Her clothes. Her hair.
The skin of her neck. She knew when her fingers came away wet she had drawn her own blood.
She wished so badly she had kept the tracker on her own body rather than put it on Damien. She didn’t care how selfish it was. Then Ren would’ve found her. Would’ve gotten her out of here.
Finally, everything began to fade to a distance. She felt like she was floating. Almost swaying. Maybe she was running out of oxygen. How long could one survive buried underground?
Through the fog she swore she could almost hear somebody calling her name, but knew that couldn’t be right. Her brain had finally broken completely and was playing tricks on her. The movement she felt had to be her own shudders. Surely this had to be near the end.
“Natalie, can you hear me?”
Yes, Ren, I can hear you. She didn’t try to say the words since her voice was so wrecked. Plus, he wasn’t really here, anyway.
“Hang on, Peaches, I’m coming.”
The noises got louder. The jolting more pronounced. And then Natalie saw something she thought she was never going to see again.
Sunshine. She had to blink against the brightness of it.
“Oh, my God.” Ren’s hands were in her hair, over her heart, running up and down her arms. His lips were all over her face, her cheeks, her eyes, her hair. When he drew back his hands he stared at her blood.
He sat back up and yelled over his shoulder. “She’s here. She’s hurt. Get an ambulance.”
His deep, strong voice broke on the last word. She wanted to tell him that she was okay. That she’d done that to herself in her panic.
“Ren...” Her voice came out in a whisper. She couldn’t say anything else even if she wanted to. She slipped her arms around his neck as he lifted her out of the place she’d known she would die.
He stayed next to her as the paramedics placed her in the ambulance, answering questions she wasn’t able to answer.
Stayed with her as the doctors checked her at the hospital, explained about the damage to her vocal cords that would eventually heal and bandaged the superficial damage she’d done to her neck with her own fingernails.
Ren explained that Damien was dead. And the next day, as morbid as it sounded, he’d wheeled her down to the morgue so she could see the body for herself. And know there was no chance Damien was ever coming back.
Ren stayed by her side the first night in the hospital, holding her hand as he slept in a reclining chair beside her.
And through it all she hadn’t said a word to him.
She couldn’t talk to Ren. And not just because of the damage to her voice.
She couldn’t talk to him because she needed space. Needed to find herself. Needed to know what her life was on her own without the constant companionship of fear and panic.
It had nothing to do with not trusting Ren and everything to do with figuring out a way to trust herself.
When Ren went out to talk to Steve and some of the other Omega people the second day, Andrea slipped in to say hello.
“How are you?” she asked. “I know you can’t really talk.
But I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re okay.
I don’t know how much anyone told you, but basically Omega has been under siege by Freihof for months.
In my case, longer. So we’re all glad he’s gone and we’re truly thankful for the role you played in taking him down.
Putting that tracker on him under those circumstances was an exceptionally brave thing to do. ”
Natalie just shrugged, given how she’d cursed herself for that decision.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Andrea asked. She stepped in closer. “Natalie, I’m not just talking get-you-a-soda type stuff, although I’ll certainly do that. I know what it’s like to feel like you have nothing. To need a chance to find yourself before you can do anything else.”
Natalie took the pad of paper next to her bed that she’d been using to communicate.
I’m not trying to hurt Ren. I’m not angry. But I just can’t be with him right now.
Andrea smiled, understanding and sadness tinting her eyes. “You need to heal. Nobody would begrudge you that. Least of all Ren.”
Andrea sat down next to her, and together they worked out a plan.
Six months later
NATALIE SAT ON the deck of another beach house in Santa Barbara.
This one was quite a bit smaller than the one where she’d house-sat months ago.
And a couple of blocks from the beach itself.
Andrea and the Omega Sector team had helped her find it and, using money confiscated from accounts linked to Damien, had bought it outright for her.
Combat pay, they’d called it.
The house had become her saving grace.
It was here that she’d cried her eyes out for the teenager she’d been who’d made such a bad decision in who she’d married and paid such a steep price for it in the years to come.
Here that she’d ranted and slammed dishes on the ground when she thought of the six more years of her life that she’d lost by running and hiding and living in terror.
At first she couldn’t even look at a pack of sticky notes without feeling shame.
But then Andrea, who had become a regular visitor, had pointed out—for both of their cases—that someone never needed to apologize for the way they had chosen to survive.
And more importantly, that Natalie didn’t need the sticky notes any longer. That was the most important thing.
Other members of Omega Sector had come by to visit also those first few weeks, some Natalie had seen before, others she hadn’t.
Roman Weber, a member of the SWAT team, brought his very pregnant soon-to-be-wife, Keira, also a good friend of Andrea’s. They explained how Freihof had nearly killed them both—on two separate occasions—and thanked her for what she’d done to help stop him.
Tiny, tough SWAT member and occasional bus-ticket-saleswoman Lillian brought her man, Jace, by.
They told her the story of how Damien had almost blown up a huge chunk of Denver, and brought Lillian’s worst nightmare back into her life.
They thanked Natalie for making sure they would never have to worry about Damien again.
And sharpshooter Ashton, whom Natalie had found out was the one to put the bullet into Damien, brought his new wife and adopted toddler daughter, Chloe, by.
She’d played with the adorable little girl for hours on the beach and then set up a little easel for her to paint when she’d expressed interest in Natalie’s own pictures.
“Because of your strength and courage, the world is a better place,” Ashton had said in her ear the next day as he’d hugged her goodbye. “You’re part of the Omega family now. You and Ren both, even though he’s not working there anymore.”
“He’s not?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking, the same way she hadn’t been able to stop herself from thinking about him or dreaming about him.
“Nope. Went back to work on some sheep farm in Montana. Go figure. Said it was where half his heart was. And that he was hoping the other half would get there soon.”
Steve Drackett showed up the next day, a small dog kennel in one hand. He did not look amused.
“I’ve known Ren McClement for more than fifteen years. He’s saved my life more than once. Please tell him when you see him that, after this little stunt, I consider my debt to him well and truly paid.”
He set the crate on the ground and opened it. A puppy came bounding out.
A damned Old English sheepdog puppy.
A sheepdog.
Steve handed her a card.
This little guy might look out of place in Santa Barbara. But he’d be perfect in Montana.
Natalie grabbed the tiny ball of white fur and pulled him up into her arms, giggling as he licked her face over and over.
“Aren’t you just the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen? I shall call you... Cream.”
Steve had just rolled his eyes. “Damn thing howled the entire way here. Tell Ren that next time he has to do his own dirty work.”
But Steve had winked at Natalie, so she knew he wasn’t truly mad.
Cream became her constant companion, his unconditional affection helping to heal Natalie in ways she hadn’t even known she had been broken. She wanted to write Ren, call him, something. But couldn’t quite make herself do it.
The next month the first postcard arrived. It was obviously over ten years old and had a picture of sunny Barcelona, Spain, on the front.
I realized I’d never sent these while I was in the army because I never had someone I wanted to share my life with. You are that person. Yours, Ren.
A couple days later another old postcard, this one from Istanbul, Turkey, showed up.
Growing up, I loved to read but my friends teased me about it, so I used to hide it, only reading while I lay under the covers at night. Yours, Ren.
Every few days, another postcard from his collection would arrive. And on the back, some small truth about his life that would help her to know him better. Some funny. Some heartbreaking. But always honest.
Day sixty-two. Tallinn, Estonia.
I want to give you new memories of the snow. To teach you how to make snow angels. Yours, Ren.
Tears leaked out of her eyes as she read this one, and then them all, over and over again.
How could she explain to him that she had long since made peace with the fact that he’d just been doing his job when he’d tricked her.
That after talking with the people from Omega—and having experienced Damien’s horrific violence herself—that she understood that Damien had to be stopped no matter what.
She was just afraid she was too broken to ever be the woman Ren deserved to have.
Day one hundred and five. Bari, Italy.
We don’t have to have all the answers now. We will figure them out as we go. Yours, Ren.
She painted. Day in and day out. Scenes of the ocean.
Of Cream. Of people. Of storms she witnessed.
But mostly of that beautiful spot in the wilderness looking down on the river.
When she finally got enough guts to show them to a gallery they surprised her by immediately wanting to put on a private show of just her work.
The show came and went the next month and Natalie was flabbergasted by the fact that nearly every single piece had sold and at quite a hefty price.
She was going to be able to make it on her own.
And that was when she realized she didn’t want to. She wanted to be beside Ren—to share every part of her life with him. She could paint anywhere. And where she really wanted to paint the most was at a farm in Montana that she’d never seen.
It was time.
The next day she sent him a postcard.
Santa Barbara. Montana. Any of the places on your postcards. As long as it’s you and me together. Yours, Peaches.
When a knock came on the door that night, she opened it, never expecting it could be Ren. But it was.
“What—How—I just sent the postcard this morning!”
His fingers were in her hair, pulling her close. She breathed in his scent, arms slipping around him.
“I ran out of patience—and postcards—last week. I was here to beg, grovel, do whatever I needed to do to get you back into my life. We can take it slow, or we can drive to Vegas tonight and get married. But please, Peaches, just tell me you will be with me.”
She smiled. “Yes. Like you said, we’ll work out the details as we go. But...yes.”
His arms wrapped around her hips, pulling her up to him so he could kiss her. Gently. Reverently. Kisses that stole her breath. Stole her heart.
“As much as I’d like to stay here doing this for the rest of the night—hell, the rest of my life—there’s something nibbling on my ankle.”
Natalie giggled. “That would be Cream. I think you’re to blame for him.”
A smile full of reverence softened his face. “I’ll take the blame for anything that causes you to make that sound and your face to light up like that. I plan to take every bad memory you have and replace each one with a dozen new good ones.”
He set Natalie down so she could pick up Cream.
“That might take a long time.”
He kissed her. “That’s okay, Peaches.” Then smiled at the pup who was busy licking both their faces. “And Cream. We’ve got forever.”
* * * * *