Trouble (42 page)

In the predawn quiet, some of her most damaging thoughts began to break through the protective wall of shock she'd hidden behind all night.

He'd almost gotten himself killed—could still die—protecting her.

And she'd questioned his love for her?

Dara put her head down and tried to sleep.

But sleep gave her the finger, leaving her with gritty eyes, a fuzzy brain and sickening guilt.

Mike had risked his life for her, and she knew that if she could somehow wake him up and ask, he'd tell her he'd do it all over again. Because he loved her.

They sat there for hours. From a great distance, Dara noticed that the sun had come up and the shift of nurses had changed.

“Dara?”

Hadn't she always known he loved her, even when he'd refused to admit it? Deep inside, hadn't she always known? But she'd been so hurt and angry, she'd wanted to punish him for what he'd put her through. Some shameful part of her psyche had wanted to make him suffer the way she'd suffered.

Well, he's suffering now, isn't he, you vindictive bitch?

“Dara?”

Dara started and looked up, still clutching Mike's hand.

“I'm going to try calling Sean again. Of all the times for him to have a boys' weekend out of town.” Shaking her head, Mrs. Baldwin grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “Then I think I'll walk down the hall and stretch my legs a little. I'll bring back some coffee.”

Nodding, Dara watched miserably over her shoulder as she left. Would Mrs. Baldwin be so nice to her if she knew how she'd rejected Mike last night?

She turned back to Mike.

“I love you,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “I love you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night.”

His lids fluttered. The sight of his long lashes brushing against his cheek made her heartbeat stall. She squeezed his hand, desperate for a response.

“Mike? Can you wake up for me?
Mike?
”

She waited, but … nothing.

Bitterly disappointed, she pressed her face into the blanket near where his hand lay, unmoving, on the bed, muffled her sobs as best she could and cried until there was nothing left inside her but regret.

Finally, she drifted off into a troubled sleep.

“Ahhh.”

Dara winced, groaning, because her neck hurt. Turning her head on the unfamiliar surface, she tried to find a comfortable position.

“Ahhh
.
”

Dara woke suddenly, bolting upright in the chair. Something had latched on to her hand and she couldn't shake it off. She looked wildly around, trying to figure out where she was.

Then she saw Mike. Staring at her.

“Ahhh,” he said again, his free hand going to the tubing still taped to his mouth.

Crying out, Dara leapt from her chair, overjoyed to see those amber eyes again, even if his lids drooped heavily over them.

“You're awake!”

She wheeled away from the bed, intending to run to the door and call the nurse in to take that stupid tube out so he could talk, but his hand tightened around hers, hanging on for dear life.

She raised that precious hand to her lips and kissed it. It was warmer now. Alive again, with his thumb running over her knuckles.

“I need to get the nurse, Mike. So she can take out your breathing tube so you can talk.”

He stared at her, his lids sagging, and shook his head in a firm
no
.

She pursed her lips, but had to smile through her relieved tears. It wasn't like she wanted to leave him, anyway.

“God, you're so stubborn,” she muttered, fumbling around under his blankets to find the call button. “I should just let the tube stay in. That would serve you right, wouldn't it?”

His lips curved.

The nurse appeared in the doorway. “Well, look at you,” she cried, smiling at Mike. “We didn't expect to see your pretty eyes for a while yet. Can you breathe okay, do you think? Let's see.”

Mike grunted, then submitted while she peeled the tape away from his face and carefully withdrew the long tube.

“Cough for me,” she instructed.

Mike coughed and winced, clutching his side. His breathing remained steady and even.

“I'll get you some ice water and page the doctor,” the nurse said briskly, already on her way out again. “He'll want to see you right away.”

Dara wiped her tears and frowned down at Mike, who struggled to keep his eyes open.

“I—If you ever pull another stunt like that, I'll kill you myself! Do you understand me?”

One of his brows went up in that familiar sardonic expression.

“Be …” he began hoarsely, then broke off, coughing again, his face twisting with pain. “Believe me … now?”

Sitting on the edge of his bed, she leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead. When she drew back, he stared up at her.

“I believe you.” Her voice cracked. “And I love you. So much.
So much
.”

A faint smile drifted across his face before his eyes fluttered closed.

“I …” His chest heaved. “I know.”

She laughed. Of course he did. Typical.

“Still arrogant, I see.”

She kissed his lips, then tried to sit up again.

Mike's eyes opened. “Anything … else?” he asked, his voice mostly gone now.

Laughing again—she should've known a gunshot wound wouldn't stop him from being satisfied until he won every point—she reached into her pocket and pulled out his gold necklace, with her engagement ring still attached. The EMTs had given her his belongings for safekeeping when they took him to the hospital. She held it up for him to see.

“And if you promise not to die, I'd like to marry you—if you'll still have me.”

Mike smiled tiredly, a wide, glorious smile that was more beautiful than ever.

“Not dying, angel.”

He reached for the ring.

Laughing and crying with relief, Dara hurried to undo the clasp for him so he could slip it on her finger.

Seven Years Later

Mike
ducked into the back of the courtroom and slipped into the last row of seats in the crowded gallery just as the jury was returning with the verdict. The palpable tension intensified, probably because the deliberations hadn't lasted longer than the average action movie, which was a surprise in a homicide trial that had gone five days. There were cameramen from the local news stations standing in the corners, trying to stay out of the way. Their corresponding reporters in the front row all sat up straighter as the bailiff called everyone to order and the spectators shushed each other.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” said the judge, sliding on her reading glasses as the bailiff handed her the verdict form, “have you reached a verdict?”

“We have,” said the foreman from the jury box.

The judge made a production out of unfolding the verdict and reading it, reminding Mike of one of those ridiculously dramatic reality show pauses:
See the thrilling conclusion to tonight's episode … riiiight after this commercial break
.

Not that it mattered. Having sat in for much of the testimony, Mike knew what this jury was going to decide. All the spectacle was just a formality.

He looked at Dara, who was sitting up at the defense table with her arm around her client, a woman accused of killing her husband after years of abuse. Dara leaned in to whisper something in the woman's ear while patting her back reassuringly. Then she glanced at the gallery and saw Mike.

Their gazes held long enough for him to see the strain around her mouth and eyes, the nerves behind the cool cucumber exterior. He winked and shot her a tiny
it'll be okay, sweetheart
smile.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and faced the bench for the verdict.

“On the charge of voluntary manslaughter,” the judge said, “the jury finds the defendant … not guilty.”

Mike stifled his triumphant
whoop
and fist pump, but it was a close call. The defendant collapsed into Dara's arms, sobbing with relief. Her family and the press crowded in to hug her and thank Dara as the judge dismissed the jury. The victim's family filed out, looking angry. The prosecutor threw down his pen and began jamming items back into his briefcase, his jaw hard.

Mike sat back and watched it all unfold, a shit-eating grin on his face because his wife had blossomed into the fine lawyer he'd always known she'd become.

Eventually the judge disappeared into his chambers, the defendant left with her family and everyone else cleared out except for Dara and the prosecutor.

The prosecutor headed for the back doors, saw Mike—they were friendly acquaintances—and paused to give him a grim smile.

“Your wife kicked my ass, man,” he complained.

Mike's grin widened as he stood, shook the man's hand and clapped him on the back. “Better your ass than mine, Ron.”

Ron snorted. “Drink Friday?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, his attention shifting to Dara as she walked his way, briefcase in hand. “We'll call you.”

“What're you two plotting about?” Dara asked, grinning.

Mike, who could never wait to get his hands on her, even after all these years, slung his arm around her waist and scooped her in so he could kiss her forehead. She smelled good. Felt like home. And he couldn't love her any harder if he tried.

“I was just telling Mike you're a damn fine lawyer,” Ron said ruefully, shaking her hand. “Nice job.”

“You, too,” Dara said. “I mean it.”

“Great.” Ron continued on his way, waving a lazy good-bye as he went. “I'll be sure to tell my boss you think so. If I can get a word in edgewise. Which I probably won't, because he'll be so busy chewing my ass out for losing the case and disgracing the office. But, hey, you two kids have fun, you hear?”

They were still laughing when the door swung shut behind him, leaving them alone in the courtroom. Mike pulled her all the way into his arms and hung on tight.

“You
are
a damn fine lawyer,” he told her, kissing the side of her neck.

“I was trained by the best.”

“You weren't worried, were you?”

She pulled back and threw a hand over her heart, looking affronted. “Absolutely not!”

“Liar.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Laughing again, she pressed her palms to her cheeks and shook her head. “Oh, my God, I almost wet my pants waiting for the jury to come back.”

Tugging her hand, he pulled her to the chairs, where they sat.

“So, listen … I got you something.”

Her eyes brightened. “Yeah?”

He reached into his jacket's breast pocket and pulled out a gold charm bracelet with a single round charm on it.

“Ohhh, thank you!” she breathed, studying the engraving as he put it on her wrist.
B&B
. “B and B?”

“For Baldwin and Baldwin. It's time we make a few changes at the firm. I need a new partner, don't you think? You've earned it.”

She gaped at him. “What? But we talked about me becoming a partner when I'd practiced for seven years. It's only been five.”

“You're ready,” he said simply.

Overcome, she threw her arms around his neck and rained kisses on his face.

Yeah
, he thought, laughing.
Life was good
.

“I love my bracelet,” she said when she let him go, holding her arm out to admire it.

“Good.”

“For a minute there, I thought the engraving might stand for
Baldwins and Baby
. But Baldwin and Baldwin works, too.”

He'd opened his mouth to tell her about his trip to the jeweler and how he'd agonized over other potential sentiments for the engraving, but then the neurons finally started firing in his brain.