46. Mia #2
Brooks stood beside me. Close. His shoulder almost touching mine. He smelled like soap and mint and something underneath that I couldn't name. Something wrong.
"Dearly beloved," he started.
I stared at the candles. I breathed.
The tablet on the side table glowed. The glass house. Tony's house. Vehicles and lights and movement. Brooks had eyes on everything. He'd been ahead of everyone for years. The FBI. Dale. Lucas. All of them chasing shadows while this man sat in plain sight and smiled.
Nobody was coming. The valley was sealed. The guards were armed. Brooks had planned for everything.
But Tony would look for me. I knew that the way I knew my own heartbeat. He would tear the world apart trying to find me. The question was whether he'd find me in time.
I held on to that. It was all I had.
The minister kept reading. Words about love. About commitment. About forsaking all others.
Brooks listened like it meant something.
I counted seconds.
Outside, the mountain air was still. The guards at the gate stood at their posts. The security cameras watched the access road. The valley sat quiet and undisturbed in the afternoon light.
I learned later what happened outside. Dominic's team looped Brooks's security cameras first. The same trick Brooks had used on Dale's cameras at the cottage, turned back on him.
The guards watched their screens and saw nothing wrong.
Then the team moved in from the tree line.
From the ridge. From angles the guards never saw coming.
The guards went silent. No shots. No alarms. Just professionals doing what they were trained to do. One by one, until the perimeter belonged to someone else.
Lucas positioned FBI agents around the building. Dominic gave Tony the nod.
I didn't know any of this yet. I stood at an altar in a mountain house. A corrupt minister read vows I'd never agreed to. I waited because waiting was all I had left.
The minister paused. Looked up from his Bible. Cleared his throat.
"If anyone has cause to object to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace."
Silence. Brooks smiled beside me. The candles flickered.
"I object."
The voice came from the doorway. Low. Calm. The kind of calm that could level a building.
I turned. The afternoon light poured in behind him. Enormous. Broad shoulders. Wild dark hair.
Tony.
Behind him: Lucas. Dominic. Men in tactical gear. The weight of every resource Tony Rossi owned and every favor the FBI could call in, standing in a single doorway. Every weapon in the room pointed at Brooks.
Brooks moved before the last word left Tony's mouth.
His arm locked around my throat. He yanked me back against his chest. His other hand went to his waistband and came up with a gun. He pressed it to my temple.
The room froze.
"Put it down," Lucas said. Weapon raised. Steady.
Dominic didn't speak. He didn't need to. His gun was level and his eyes never left Brooks.
"She walks out with me," Brooks said. His voice was still calm. Still pleasant. Like he was negotiating a dinner reservation. "Or she doesn't walk out at all."
Tony stood in the doorway. He hadn't moved. Hadn't flinched. His eyes were on mine and they said one thing. Hold on.
I held on.
Brooks backed toward the side door. Dragging me with him. The gun against my skull. His arm tight across my windpipe. The minister had dropped to the floor behind the altar.
I counted his steps. I waited for the shift in his weight.
It came on the third step. His heel caught the edge of the altar platform. His balance tipped. Half a second. Less.
I drove my heel down on his instep. Hard. The bones shifted under my foot. His grip loosened and I threw my body forward. Away from him. Away from the gun.
I hit the floor and the shot came at the same time. The bullet caught my left side as I fell. Low. My rib. Fire and pressure and the floor rushing up to meet me.
Shots. Not from Brooks. From the doorway. Dominic and Lucas and every trained operator in the room fired at once. Brooks was dead before he hit the floor.
The room rang with silence.
Brooks was on the floor. The gun was still in his hand. He wasn't moving. No last words. No final confession. No dramatic ending. Just a body on the ground with a weapon in his grip and his victim's blood on the floor.
Hands on my face. Large. Warm. Paint-stained fingers I would know anywhere.
"Stay with me."
Tony. Above me. His voice cracked on the word "stay." The same word he'd said a thousand different ways. Since the day I'd walked up his path with a laptop bag and no idea what was waiting for me.
Stay for dinner. Stay the night. Stay with us. Stay.
"Avery," I said. Or tried to say. The word came out wrong. Too quiet. Too far away.
"She's safe. She's with Sophia. Stay with me, Mia."
His hands pressed against my side. Pressure. The pain spiked and the room went sideways and his face blurred above me. The green of his eyes. The crease between his brows. The wild hair falling forward.
I tried to hold on to it. All of it. His face and his voice and the word he kept saying like a prayer.
Stay. Stay. Stay.
My vision narrowed. The edges went gray. The pain turned white and then it turned to nothing. The last thing I saw was Tony's face above me. Close enough to touch. Too far to reach.
Then nothing.