Epilogue
The private jet lifted above the Palmchat Islands after sunset, climbing through ribbons of gold and rose until the world below softened into a scatter of dark green islands surrounded by endless blue.
Remi sat beside Everett in a wide leather seat.
The cabin smelled faintly of polished wood, leather, champagne she wasn’t drinking, and the coconut balm Everett had rubbed gently over the fading bruises at her throat before they left for the airport.
He’d insisted on doing it himself, which meant she had to threaten him twice for trying to turn her medical treatment into a seduction.
Now he sat beside her in a dark linen shirt and sunglasses he absolutely did not need inside the plane, looking relaxed in a way that fooled no one who knew him. His concussion had improved, but Rocco had left Remi with a list of symptoms to check for that indicated he should see a doctor.
“You’re staring at me again,” he said.
“I’m assessing your symptoms.”
He turned his head toward her, one eyebrow rising above the sunglasses. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
“Yes.” She reached over and slid the glasses down his nose. “Any dizziness?”
“Only when you touch me.”
“Headache?”
“Only when I think about Rocco.”
“Nausea?”
“Only when I remember Faroe is still breathing.”
The lightness in his voice thinned at the edges.
Remi curled her fingers around his and squeezed his hand. “He’s alive, charged, and chained to a hospital bed with enough armed guards around him to make sure he never gets near us again.”
Everett’s jaw tightened.
Faroe had survived the gunshots, the blood loss, and whatever evil kept a man like him clinging to life.
By morning, Octavia Constant had already confirmed the charges.
Two counts of murder for Bobby and Lois.
Attempted murder for Remi and Everett. Kidnapping.
Obstruction. Evidence tampering. A stack of other charges Remi hadn’t bothered committing to memory because the list had kept growing.
Faroe had wanted to destroy her.
Instead, his recordings had done what no one else could. They had freed her from Bobby’s death for good.
“The detectives said the files were enough?” Everett asked.
“More than enough.” Remi leaned back. “The charges are officially dismissed. My name is clear.”
His thumb moved across her knuckles. “It should have been clear a long time ago.”
“I know.” She glanced toward the oval window, watching the islands slip farther away beneath a layer of clouds. “But this time it didn’t stay buried in some police report only a handful of people would read.”
A hint of a smile touched his mouth. “Beanie.”
“Beanie,” she said, smiling despite everything.
Adonis had made one phone call, and somehow, Reporter Roland Bean had cleared his entire schedule for an exclusive interview.
Remi had expected a hard, suspicious journalist looking for a headline.
Instead, Beanie had arrived with coffee, three recorders, and the focused intensity of a man who knew how much damage a lazy story could do when the wrong woman was left to carry the blame.
He had interviewed her, the detectives, and Octavia.
By the time his article ran, it didn’t read like gossip or a rushed true-crime hit piece.
It read like a reckoning. He was meticulous with every detail that mattered: Faroe’s warped motive for revenge, the recording of Bobby and Lois’s murders, the frame job against Remi, and the later attempts to kill her when his original plan collapsed.
On top of all that, because of his friendship with Adonis, he kept the details of the DEA case out of the article, protecting Everett’s identity.
Everett’s mouth curved. “Adonis has never met a door he couldn’t charm open.”
“He said Beanie owed him a favor.”
“That probably means Adonis once saved him from something ridiculous and dangerous.”
“Or introduced him to someone beautiful.”
“Also possible.”
Remi laughed softly, then winced when the movement tugged at her throat.
“Cedric Pedersen reached out this morning. DEA doesn’t want the details of the case that drove Faroe to fixate on us coming to light. They’re pushing for the prosecutor to arrange for a plea deal so there won’t be a trial.”
“Can they do that? Force him to take the deal?”
“They can and they will.”
“Wow, I’m shocked but happy. The last thing I want is for more criminals you put away to figure out who you are and come after us.”
“I’m sorry about all of that?—”
“Don’t be. Who should be sorry is Ike. Can you believe he’s been alive this whole time and let Gabrielle, Serena, and all of us think he was dead? Who does that?” Remi asked.
“You know Ike. I’m sure he had his reasons.”
“The way Gabrielle looked at him ...” Remi shook her head. “And he walked off without saying anything to her. She was gutted. Do you think he’s going to stick around?”
“I do.”
She waited for him to say more, but Everett was quiet.
That was about all she was going to get out of him.
Everett and Ike were as close as brothers.
Just like Ike had been with Bobby. It didn’t surprise her that Everett wouldn’t want to say anything negative about Ike.
Even though she thought Ike owed those who loved and missed him a lot more than a shock reveal of being alive at Bobby’s funeral.
“Enough talking about other people.” Everett leaned over and pressed a careful kiss below her jaw, close enough to comfort but far enough from the bruises not to hurt. “We’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“A vacation that will be less active than I’d hoped. Rocco’s rules.”
Everett tilted his head. “What rules?”
“You’re still recovering from the concussion. Rocco said no strenuous activity.”
“That means you’ll have to be on top … every single time. Doctor’s orders.”
“That’s an interesting interpretation and one I’m not mad at.”
“Trust me, I plan to make you scream my name all over the Seychelles, and no one will be around to hear but you and me.”
His parents owned the resort where they were staying.
Somewhere in the Seychelles, an overwater villa waited for them at the farthest edge of one of the Gilliams’ secluded island properties.
Everett had described it as quiet, private, impossible to reach unless someone knew where to go, and romantic enough that his mother had apparently approved the design herself.
A glass floor in the bedroom. Steps leading directly into turquoise water.
She was an island girl, but even this had her excited. Just sea, sky, and the man beside her.
“You promise?” she asked.
“Absolutely.” Everett’s eyes searched hers. “Then, when the vacation is over, we’ll come back to our new penthouse, fully furnished with all our things there. It’ll be a new beginning for us.”
The words moved through her with a slow, tender certainty.
A new beginning.
“Your father works fast.”
“My father considers patience a personal failure.”
Remi smiled. “He got us a penthouse and offered you a boat in the same conversation?”
“Pretty much.”
“I can’t wait to have it all with you.”
Their life, no longer wedged between old pain and unfinished questions. She would still drive to Black Spade Ranch and work the farm. Everett would still take P.I. cases and work with Stingray Security. Their future would not be simple, but it would be theirs.
Remi unbuckled and stood.
Everett looked up at her. “What are you doing?”
“Checking on my patient.”
He drew her closer. “You’re very strict, Nurse Remington.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.”
Her heart softened every time he said it. Maybe it always would.
“I love you too.”
He kissed the inside of her wrist, then tugged until she lowered herself onto his lap. She moved slowly, mindful of his bruises, but his arms came around her as if he had been waiting for that exact weight. She settled against him, her forehead touching his.
They stayed connected for a long moment, breathing in each other.
Everett broke the silence. “What are you thinking?”
“That I’m ready.”
“For Seychelles?”
“For everything after.”
He held her closer, and she felt his smile against her temple.
“Good,” he said. “Because everything after is yours, Remington.”
She closed her eyes and let herself believe it.
For the first time in years, the future didn’t feel like something she had to survive.
It felt like something waiting to welcome her home.