She would never forget what John had done for her.
They walked to the shore and stopped at the edge of a cliff. The beach looked clean and unused. Serene. The ocean here was more volatile than at Malibu, the waves crashing hard against the wet, rocky sand, violently claiming the land. They walked along the rim of the cliff until they found a slope easy to scramble down, then without talking they ran.
She breathed in the cold, wet air. The spray from the breaking waves caressed her skin, and the sensation invigorated her. She was alive. Free. Her heart felt lighter somehow, and she owed it to John. He couldn’t possibly know or understand the transformation she’d gone through over the past few days. Reliving the murders, feeling Dani in her arms again-even if only in her mind. Her willingness to confront Bobby. All of that, together, freed her soul.
She’d written more in the last two days than she had in months. Seventy pages, and she had more in her.
She felt guilty for her elation. Michael was dead. She wanted vengeance, justice, and for the first time truly believed it would happen. Bobby wouldn’t get away with his crimes. He would be punished-both Colorado and California had the death penalty-and he could rot for ten years in a ten-by-ten cell until he finally fried in the electric chair.
For the first time in a long time, she had hope. Not only that justice would be served, but that she would be complete. Healed.
She didn’t know the distance they ran, but suspected it was nearly three miles by the time they got back to the ledge they had descended. She started up first, John right behind her. The setting sun caught her eye and she turned.
“John,” she said quietly, nodding toward the sky.
He turned and looked. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, then looked back at her. “Just like you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “John, I-”
He put his finger to her lips, took her arm, and motioned for her to sit. She did. Together, they watched the sunset. Such a normal thing, really. Why did it feel so odd? So different?
Because she didn’t do normal things. She didn’t have a normal life. She didn’t watch sunsets with handsome men she loved-cared about, she corrected herself.
She wanted to freeze this moment in time, as John wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her close to his side. Sighing, she let her head rest on his shoulder. This quiet affection was something she’d never had, but she could live with it. Forever.
“They’re going to catch Bobby,” John said quietly as the sun began its descent, seeming to sink into the ocean.
“I know.”
“You being here, safe, is the right thing. I know you’re torn up about not being in on the op, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more-uh, sensitive-about the way I told you.”
He was worrying about her feelings when she’d acted so irresponsibly. “No apologies, John. I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I am. For the first time in a long time I’m okay.”
Acknowledging that she hadn’t been okay for a long time was the hardest part. But once she’d said it out loud, she felt at peace.
John fidgeted next to her. She glanced over at him. He was frowning slightly, his brows furrowed in some sort of deep thought, and she wondered what was going on in his mind.
She was also curious about what Roger had told her about John’s past, the sting operation that had gone bad.
“Roger told me what happened in Baton Rouge.”
John tensed next to her. “Did he?”
“Roger was impressed.”
“Not many people were.”
She sighed, looked at his hand on the ground, and took it into her own. Rowan surprised herself; she’d never considered herself a comforting sort of person.
“It seems to me,” she said after a moment, “that you risked your own life to save your fellow agents. At least, that’s how Roger portrayed it.”
She paused, glancing at him. “Did that have anything to do with you quitting DEA and going freelance?”
He didn’t speak for a long time, only staring out at the setting sun and the vast array of bright colors that shaded the sky. “Someone had to do it.”
Rowan had a dozen questions, but remained silent. Momentarily, John spoke, his voice reflective.
“I was in Pomera’s inner circle. It took me three years. Three years to gain the trust of his people, to become part of the team. I had to break a lot of rules to get there, doing some things I’m not especially proud of.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?” John said, his voice full of venom. “Look the other way while your comrades kill innocent people?”
She knew he wasn’t angry at her, but at himself. “We do what we have to do, John. Sometimes the lesser of two evils is the only choice we have.”
Silence descended, and as the sun disappeared on the horizon the air grew cooler. Still, they stayed on the edge of the cliff, and John didn’t doubt that Rowan understood.
“I could have taken down Pomera then. But that day, in Baton Rouge, the lesser of two evils was letting him go. And we still lost eight men and women.” He’d never forget the brief moment of indecision, and the guilt that the two minutes he’d wasted in pursuit of Pomera had been two minutes taken from saving his colleagues.
The guilt had never left him. John would never know if he could have saved more of them.
“Many more lives would have been lost had you not diffused those bombs,” Rowan said.
“Maybe fewer would have died had I not debated my duty.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I started to go after Pomera. I could have gotten him, and I went after him. But-”
“But you thought twice and ended up doing the right thing.” She squeezed his hand and forced him to look at her.
She hadn’t worn her little shaded glasses, and the compassion-and love?-he saw in her stormy blue eyes told him she did understand. Some choices were almost impossible to make. Some choices were between wrong and wrong, and there was not a damned thing you could do about it.
Yes, he’d saved lives. But how many lives had been lost because Pomera got away that day? He’d never gotten that close to him before.
Too often, he doubted he’d ever be that close again.
“Yeah, I did the right thing,” he said softly. “But I had to quit. There was a mole in the operation, someone my boss trusted, and he protected the bastard. Too many people died, and ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t hold any water with me. I got fed up with the bureaucratic nonsense, the waste, the damn walking on eggshells trying to play by the rules.”
They sat in silence, John thinking about the choices he’d had to make. Were they the right ones? He didn’t know. But at the time, it was the best he could do.
Much like Rowan’s choices.
Rowan wondered about the recent decision John had made.
“John? Are you okay? I mean, about not being there to apprehend Bobby?”
He looked at her and his eyes flashed anger and something else, something personal, that warmed her. “You don’t even have to ask, Rowan. I wouldn’t be anyplace else except here with you. Can’t you see that I care about you?”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He kissed her hard on the lips, a groan escaping his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and in his urgency to get close, they toppled to the ground. His hard weight pinned her down, but she relished the closeness, the desire radiating from him.
Suddenly, he jumped up, pulling her with him.
“We can’t do this here,” he said, his voice rusty and his eyes dark as he set a vigorous pace back to the cabin.
John was certain about two things. One, that Rowan believed he would walk away when this was over. And two, that he wouldn’t allow her to leave him. Somehow, some way, she had to remain in his life.
He didn’t quite know how it would work. The next time there was a shot at Pomera, he’d take it. He’d be in South America for as long as it took to get that murderous bastard. It could be months, or years. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Rowan to wait for him.