“With you at my side, Richard, I want to enjoy life more.”
“As do I, of course.”
“I want us both to escape this madness that surrounds us. We've paid our dues many times over, you in London, me here.”
“Time for a little peace and paradise, you mean?”
“We'll never find it on the path we're on, not as FBI agents without a semblance of normalcy in our lives.”
“All right then, it's settled! But we must make a pact. Neither of us shall ever be lured back in once we've stepped out of it.
“Done!” She hugged him to her. “Thank God I have you.”
“Perhaps I'll find time now to write that book I've carried about in my head all these years.”
“By all means, Richard, do it,” she said.
“I love you, Jess. I've loved you all my life.”
“But you haven't known me all your life.”
“Doesn't matter. I've loved you-”
“-all my life!” They said it in unison.
Richard kissed her passionately while the milling confusion of humanity's floating opera here in the museum continued to file past Giles Gahran Matisak's now-still body. Giles lay still now, beyond caring about the amateur photos being shot or where they might wind up. For a moment, Jessica watched men in tuxedos and women in sequined evening gowns all rubbernecking for a better view of the monster who suddenly let out a final death rattle and was gone.
“Horace Keene and his team can take care of this untidy mess,” Sharpe firmly said, guiding her along the promenade farther and farther from the horror below. Jessica, nestled in the crook of Richard Sharpe’s embrace, allowed him his way toward the far stairwell and exit. She consciously fought the urge to pull from him and go back to take control of the crime scene. But no, she would not do that, not this time. Fuck them one and all, the FBI, Portland authorities, all her critics who felt she had, over the years, developed a heavy-handedness that put others off, and those who felt she had nothing but a cold sociopathic mind herself to be able to function in this man's world.
She liked the feel of her feet moving her body out of this lifestyle here and now. She could do this, easily, with enthusiasm simply turn and walk away. Mentally, she had also turned a corner deep within, one camouflaged all these years by ultimately meaningless cliches about duty and honor and integrity and loyalty to something she had no reason to turn her entire life over to, and to a profession that only rewarded in order to take away later, a profession that constantly asked, What have you done for me lately?
Inside her head, she felt a great sense of freedom rush in to replace all the mendacity that thrived on the system like parasites, fat cutworms, slugs, leeches and lampreys. The freedom she felt allowed her to walk off without a care and to not once look back, but to think only of her future at the ranch with Richard and their animals. To think herself and her sanity and good health and as small a thing as her smile might actually be more important than the next autopsy, than doing an autopsy on the son of Mad Matthew Matisak. Something any competent autopsiest could do.
“Yeah, Horace Keene can take care of this mess,” she said, stopping Richard in his tracks. She hugged him close. “I want to live now, really live.”
“Cancun's got great airfares right now, and it's been a while since we've gone diving.”
“No… maybe later in the year, but now it's home. We do have a wedding to plan.”