Chapter 18
Eighteen
Aubrey glanced down at her elevated and bandaged ankle.
A sharp stab of pain tore through her foot, and she inhaled, teeth clenched.
The sterile tang of antiseptic filled her nose.
This wasn’t a dream. She was safe now, right?
Rosy light spilled through a gap in the hospital curtains.
She wanted nothing more than to go home.
She remembered Ethan’s words from last night—the warmth, the safety in his voice—and let that peace wash over her.
“It’s good to see you’re awake.”
The unexpected, yet oh so familiar, voice froze her mid-breath. Panic rippled through her veins. Slowly, she turned toward the shadow in the corner.
Supervisor Howard stood and stepped into the thin morning light.
She gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a supervisor check on his employee?”
Her heart hammered. Where’s the call button? Under the blanket, she fumbled for the nurse’s pull string—but it was gone. He must’ve moved it while she slept.
Howard came closer, the fluorescent light catching the wild look in his eyes. His shirt and dress pants were rumpled, a beard shadowing his jaw. He looked unhinged.
“The nurse should be coming soon,” she stammered. “They’ll find you here.”
He shook his head, fingers gripping the bedrail. “No, she’s not. I told the nurses I needed to take your statement. Flashed the badge at them and they were happy to give us privacy.” He pulled a chair close to her bed. “And the cop outside your door? Well, I told him to take a break.”
He drew his service weapon and traced the cold barrel along her jaw.
Her breath hitched.
“You heard everything in that cabin,” he said quietly. “But have you told anyone?”
Her pulse pounded in her ears. “You’ve been with the Marshals a long time,” she said, hoping to stall him. “And you helped a fugitive escape from prison. How could you?”
He scowled. “I already told you. The syndicate knew I needed money. I was in deep, but I had a handle on it. I was making it work. Then your hero—Butler—shows up. The poster boy for perfection, and he’s looking too closely. Sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Ethan is good at his job. You should’ve known better.”
He laughed—a dry, humorless sound. “That’s what they all say before they stab you in the back.
” He dragged the chair closer, the gun steady.
“You’ve ruined everything for me. Thanks to you not dying when you should have and Butler looking where he shouldn’t, I’ve lost my career.
But I’m not going down without a fight. You’re going to testify at my trial that I had no choice. They forced me to help Donovan.”
The door opened and Ethan stepped into the room, holding a massive bouquet of pink roses. Relief flared, then died the instant she followed his gaze.
The gun.
Howard swung it toward Ethan, his smile sharp and wrong. “Hold it right there, Butler. This is perfect.”
Ethan tossed the flowers on a chair and stopped just inside the room. He reached for his gun. “Howard. You don’t want to do this.”
“Oh, I do.” Howard didn’t lower his gun. “Don’t draw. I’ll kill you.”
“Let her go,” Ethan said, his voice steady. “It’s me you want.”
Howard laughed softly. “You just couldn’t leave any of it alone, could you?”
“You did this to yourself,” Ethan said.
Behind Aubrey, the heart monitor spiked, its rapid beeping slicing through the room. She saw movement in the doorway. Shadows. Bodies. Liam surged in first, Adam right behind him. Then Albright and Glover with their weapons raised, filling the space so fast it stole her breath.
“Drop the gun.” Liam’s command was quiet but lethal.
Howard twisted, as if he wanted to drag her with him. Glass exploded around her, raining down on her bare arms. Aubrey covered her head, and Glover pulled her off the side of the bed, away from them.
She hit the floor with a yelp, Glover covering her.
On the other side of the bed, the gun flew from Howard’s hand, skidding across the floor. Aubrey ducked just as Ethan slammed into Howard, driving him back into the chair. The impact rattled the room.
Shouts and yelling filled the air.
On the floor, Ethan rolled Howard over and pinned a knee to his back, then snapped the metal cuffs on him.
Aubrey sagged against the marshal next to her, and Glover patted her shoulder. “Let’s get you back in bed. Thank goodness that glass was tempered.”
Glover cleared as much of the pebble-like glass from the bed as she could, then helped Aubrey as she stumbled over to the bed and sat, wrapping her arms around her shaking body. Having another woman here made her wonder how Emma was doing after the accident.
Ethan straightened and hauled Howard to his feet. “Game over.”
Ethan’s eyes found hers immediately, and for the first time since this nightmare began, she believed that it was finally done. “Aubrey, you okay?”
Ethan handed Howard off to Liam and came over.
Aubrey nodded. “Where’s Emma? And Stanton?”
“You have the right to remain silent…” Liam’s voice receded as they disappeared out the door. The others slipped away.
Ethan extended a hand—solid, grounding. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
She laughed shakily, tears blurring her vision. “Answer my question.”
“Emma was heading up to visit you. She was released earlier. Stanton…” He sat beside her, eyes softening. Filling with grief. “Stanton didn’t make it. I’m sorry, Aubrey, but he passed away.”
She let the tears flow, holding tight to Ethan for a long time.
Eventually he said, “When we get out of here”—he rested his forehead against hers—“I’m going to take you out on a proper date. Even give you a proper kiss.”
“Promises, promises,” she whispered.
“Oh, that’s not a promise.” His grin deepened. “That’s a guarantee.”
Ethan was bone weary, full of grief and exhaustion.
The last five days had wrung him out physically and mentally and torn him apart in ways he didn’t want to examine too closely yet. But Aubrey was alive. Safe. That truth was the only thing keeping him upright.
She was still at the hospital. The doctor had insisted on keeping her overnight for observation, given the bruising and dehydration. Ethan had sat by her bed until she finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, and only allowed himself to leave when the nurses shooed him out.
Finn Donovan was in custody. Howard too.
That last truth still felt unreal.
As unreal as Stanton being gone.
Supervisor Howard, the man he’d trusted, worked beside, defended, had been dirty the whole time. Bugging their offices. Feeding information back to the syndicate. Playing both sides. Standing in plain sight while everything else burned.
Ethan sat in his office now, drowning in paperwork, signatures, and after-action reports.
He stifled a yawn. All the caffeine in the world wouldn’t clear the fog from his brain.
It was hard not to notice how quickly things had shifted, how it looked like he would be in charge until someone from DC made it clear otherwise.
Acting supervisor. Maybe even permanently in the position soon.
Liam stood in the doorway, arms folded. “It’s been an exciting few days around here.”
“That’s an understatement,” Ethan said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Any word on Rousseau?”
“Nope. But we have a couple of visitors.”
He closed his laptop. “Renegade PD?”
“Yep. And the FBI.”
Ethan knocked on Adam’s door. “Hey, Montgomery. Meeting in five minutes. Round up the rest of the team.”
“You got it.”
Ethan glanced at his watch. Shoot. He’d forgotten to feed Mrs. Hanover’s cats last night. And the cupcakes Aubrey had baked for Liam’s niece were still sitting in his office. He’d take care of the cats once he returned from this last meeting.
The team filed into the conference room and stopped to shake hands with FBI Special Agent Rudy Patterson and Detective Michael Martinelli from Renegade PD, who were already seated.
“Good trip?” Ethan asked Michael.
The guy tipped his head to the side. “Training course. I’m now bomb squad certified.”
“Good to know.” Ethan smiled and went to the front of the room.
After everyone was seated, Ethan stood. “I know it’s been a couple of long days here in the Marshals office.” He let his gaze move slowly around the room. Familiar faces. People he trusted. “Yesterday didn’t just test us in the field; it tested what this badge is supposed to mean.”
The room was quiet now. No one reached for their coffee.
“Our boss betrayed that trust.” Ethan didn’t soften it. “And I know that hits hard for us marshals. It should.”
A few heads nodded.
“But what matters is what happened next,” Ethan continued. “You showed up. You followed the facts, not the politics. You protected one of our own, and you did the job the right way, even when it cost us.”
He paused, the room blurring for a split second as memory surged—another briefing, another pile of grief to work through.
“Deputy Marshal Stanton didn’t make it.” Ethan’s voice tightened despite his control. “He died at the hospital. And that’s a loss we all carry.”
Silence closed in.
Ethan swallowed hard. This was the part that never got easier. Different faces. Same weight. Same reckoning.
“I’ve stood in this spot before,” he continued, quieter now. “I know what it means to lose one of your own. And I know what it costs the people who stay.”
He lifted his gaze, meeting theirs. Steady, present, but unmistakably affected.
Glover sniffled and dabbed away the moisture on her face.
“Stanton did his job. He protected this team every day, and he gave his life for his asset. And because of that, others get to go home.”
His chest tightened as the old ghosts pressed in, names he still carried. He forced the breath through anyway.
“So I want to thank you,” he said. “Every one of you. For your professionalism, your integrity—and for having each other’s backs when it mattered most.”
This time, he didn’t look away when the silence answered him.