34. Kieran

Chapter 34

Kieran

“ S ettle down, folks! This is a press conference, not a circus.”

The lighthearted reprimand from Sam Caddel, Lumitech’s media relations specialist, causes a ripple of laughter through the small amphitheater and has the intended effect of shutting up the sea of reporters. Beyond them, a wall of cameras from local and national news stations record my every blink, breath, and twitch.

Seated onstage with me at a black-draped table are Alistair and our lawyer, Jameson Sloan. Sven watches over us from a shadowed corner of the stage.

Talia wanted to come, but I convinced her not to, not wanting her anywhere near these piranhas. She and Dylan decided to visit Gabe and watch the live feed from his cushy hospital room. By now, I’m positive she’s realized exactly why I insisted she stay away .

A circus is less chaotic.

As much as I’d rather gargle gasoline and light a cigarette than sit here and be dissected for soundbites, it’s a necessary evil. Lumitech’s stock price took a nosedive when news broke of Oliver’s arrest. Another shockwave struck the tech industry three days ago when the district attorney announced that Lyle Porter, CEO of SubFusion Systems, had been indicted on a laundry list of charges including corporate espionage, blackmail, kidnapping, attempted murder, and conspiracy to commit murder.

Once Oliver was cuffed to an interrogation table, he sang like a canary—or a lisping frog since most of his front teeth were broken courtesy of my knuckles. Thanks to his blabbering attempts to save his own ass, and the fact he was paranoid enough to record every phone call, in-person meeting, and transfer of money between him and his puppeteer, the man behind my misery was unmasked.

I’ve never liked Lyle, but the news he was behind everything stunned me as much as the general public. Mainly because while I’ve always known he was a shithead, it never occurred to me he was fucking crazy. If someone had asked me even a week ago if I considered Lyle smart enough to orchestrate multiple assassination attempts without getting caught, I would have struggled not to laugh. Now laughter is my last impulse when I think of him. I want to break every bone in his body, put him back together, and break him again.

Given that I’m not interested in a pair of handcuffs, I’m working on coming to terms with Lyle rotting in prison for the rest of his life. And by working, I mean daily phone calls with Dr. Chastain and going toe to toe with Sven on the mat after he and Talia finish their morning training.

I’m sporting a colorful array of bruises under my suit. So is Sven, who’s been kind enough to let me work out my fury on him.

The only reason I’m here today is to show the world—and Lumitech’s stockholders—that I’m perfectly fine and mentally stable enough sit at the helm of my multibillion-dollar corporation.

Even though I’m not sure I am. Even though I’ve been lying through my teeth for the last thirty minutes, projecting false confidence while my bones are burning. All I want to do is flip over the table in front of me, destroy every camera in sight, and sprint across the city to assure myself Talia is alive and well.

Today marks the longest stretch of time I’ve been away from her since I got her back. I’m actually impressed I’ve made it this long with nothing but a few texts and a thirty-second phone call before I walked onstage. Even though she’s safe and in a much better place than she was two weeks ago, my instincts are still screaming.

Dr. Chastain says the flashes of white-hot rage and crippling anxiety I feel when Talia isn’t in my line of sight are normal. Apparently, in addition to the trauma of almost losing her and the shock of Oliver’s betrayal, I’m contending with the sudden expulsion of four-plus years’ worth of stress, grief, and fear.

“We have time for a couple more questions,” Sam continues.

A dozen hands shoot up, and Sam points at a man in the second row. He jolts to his feet, shark eyes on my face and smile oozing manufactured warmth. “Cory Jones with Los Angeles Nightly News. Mr. Hayes, Oliver McCann was your CIO for almost ten years. Since his arrest, it’s come out that money was his motive for trying to sabotage Lumitech’s nanorobotics research.”

Alistair jerks forward. “Let’s keep the facts straight, shall we?” His expression is mild, but his voice is cutting. “Lyle Porter and Oliver McCann tried to have my brother killed six times—that we know of—in the last four years. His head of security was shot and stabbed. There were three attempted car bombs and a thwarted property invasion. If Kieran didn’t employ the best personal protection on the West Coast, he’d be dead.”

I shift in my seat, still peeved that Alistair and Sven colluded to keep me in the dark about the additional four attempts on my life. I understand their reasons—namely, my sanity—but I still yelled at them until I was lightheaded when I found out.

Then I gave my brother a hug and Sven, Dylan, and Gabe raises.

“Not only that,” Alistair continues without pause, “they abducted his girlfriend for the purpose of blackmail, sending her security team to the hospital in the process. Their accomplice to that crime has confessed he was contracted to kill her and dispose of her body no matter the outcome. So I think the situation is a bit more serious than sabotage .”

“You’re absolutely right,” Cory concedes with a tight smile for me. “My apologies.”

I want to tell him where he can shove his apologies but instead nod shortly and dip my hand into my pocket. My thumb smooths over the small hummingbird pendant Talia removed from its chain and gave to me before I left this morning.

“Do you have a question, Cory?” asks Sam drolly.

The crowd titters. Cory’s neck flushes, his gaze narrowing on me. “Yes. Mr. Hayes, did you know that when Mr. Porter first approached Mr. McCann, Mr. McCann was in severe debt due to a long-term cocaine and gambling addiction and his home was about to go into foreclosure?”

“No, I did not.”

Hands and voices fill the air, but Cory shouts, “One more question, Mr. Hayes! Can you explain to us how you never once suspected that Mr. McCann—one of your closest colleagues—was a drug addict who wanted you dead?”

I hold my thumb to the hummingbird as tomblike silence descends on the room. Faces stare at me with varying degrees of anticipation. It’s the multibillion-dollar question. How can Lumitech’s biggest contractors—including the U.S. government—continue to trust my judgment if I was oblivious to a viper in my own house ?

Cory Whoever from Wherever smiles smugly. When I smile back at him, his expression melts into a confused frown. I allow myself a moment to enjoy being underestimated; it hasn’t happened in years.

While I may not be in peak form, I’m still almost as smart as the genius I’m in love with.

“First, Cory, I’d like to address your underlying and flattering assumption that in addition to being the head of a Fortune 500 company with close to forty-two thousand employees, I’m also omniscient.”

There’s a smattering of laughter. Not from poor Cory, though, whose face has drained of color. He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him a chance to stick his foot back in it.

“I’m sorry to say that in his daily emails regarding our internal software systems, our bi-monthly meetings, and the occasional charity benefit we attended together, Oliver never mentioned his cocaine habit or the fact Lyle Porter promised him fifteen million dollars to either end my life or blackmail me into destroying groundbreaking research. Thankfully, he proved inept at both tasks.”

The mood shifts, faces grimacing in second-hand embarrassment, eyes dropping guiltily. I run my gaze across the crowd, knowing that Sam is taking note of who won’t meet my stare. I almost feel bad for Cory, who’s probably starting to realize his higher-ups offered him to me for slaughter.

Maybe I’ll send him a fruit basket.

“The bottom line,” I continue gravelly, “is that no one really knew Oliver McCann. Not the people who interacted with him far more than I did, including two PAs and a dozen upper management IT staff members. Not even his wife, who he shipped out of town prior to kidnapping my girlfriend and who’s been cleared of involvement. And certainly not me, his extremely busy boss.” I release a measured sigh. “All of us at Lumitech are shocked and saddened by the revelations of the last week, but there’s only one person responsible for Oliver’s choices and that’s Oliver himself.”

I stand, buttoning my jacket, and Alistair and Jameson follow suit.

“To those harboring concerns for Lumitech’s future, let me put your worries to rest right now. I’m proud to announce publicly that our neural nanorobotics initiative is entering preclinical testing. I’m confident that a few years from now, we’ll be able to say as a global community that there is a safe, effective cure for Alzheimer’s disease.”

The room instantly erupts.

“That’s our cue,” murmurs Alistair, throwing me a wink before he leads the way offstage.

The car ride home is a blur, every mile shaving another layer off my civilized self. By the time we get home, I’m a beast on a breaking chain. As soon as I enter the house, I strip out of my jacket and tie and stalk onto the back deck.

To my relief, Talia is exactly where her text said she’d be. Tall and majestic, she stands a safe fifteen feet from the bluff, her gaze trained on the gunmetal-gray Pacific and the rippling curtain of rain obscuring the horizon line. Her arms are crossed loosely at her waist over a sweater, her wild dark hair whipping around her torso.

Urgency beats in my blood, but I make myself walk slowly down the steps, savoring the singular gravity her soul exerts on mine. Each step toward her feels like moving closer to home. To peace. To the truest version of myself—the man I am in her eyes. A bit frayed and emotionally bruised. But strong and steadfast.

Unbroken. Like her.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, Dylan steps into my way with a nod. “Congratulations on handing that reporter his ass.”

My eyes narrow. “The only ass I want my hands on is the one you’re blocking me from.”

He smirks. “Classy.”

“Dylan, if you get out of my sight right now, I’ll pay for you and Sven to have a three-week vacation in Maui.”

His eyes grow wider than I’ve ever seen them. He chokes on a breath. I pat his shoulder and skirt around him, striding past the pool and across the grass.

When I’m several feet away, Talia senses me and turns with a smile. I take a moment to soak in the sight of her: my brilliant, resilient, utterly bewitching goddess—who also happens to be a natural at Judo. Sven thinks she’ll have a yellow belt in another week and is confident he can get her to a black belt in four years. He’s already sending me links to islands, trying to call my bluff.

Only I wasn’t bluffing. If he gives Talia the means to never again feel defenseless against a bigger adversary, he’s getting his damn island.

I open my arms and Talia slips into my embrace, her head tucked beneath my chin. Sucking her scent into my lungs, I stroke her back, hips, and arms to cement what my sight couldn’t fully convince me of: that she is real, safe, and mine.

When the sharpness inside me finally dulls, I kiss her head. “Thanks for letting me grope you.”

She looks up, eyes teasing. “No complaints here.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “How was your day? How’s Gabe?”

“The day was good,” she says, smiling. “I wrote another chapter. It’s really starting to flow.”

“I can’t wait to read it.”

In addition to being my literal soulmate, I’ve discovered—to no surprise—that Talia is an incredible writer. She’s going to destroy every bestseller list with her book, a mix of memoir, psychology, and kink education.

Her fingers play along my jaw. “As for Gabe, he’s antsy and irritable as usual. The nurses will probably throw a party when he’s released in a few days.”

I chuckle. “No doubt.”

Within hours of waking up from surgery to remove a thankfully small caliber bullet and sew up a hole in his lung, Gabe was asking when he’d be cleared to return to work. When I broke the news that I was putting him on paid leave for five months of rehab, he looked like he wanted to take a swing at me. He changed his tune when Talia told him about the beachfront rental and private chef waiting for him. Now all he wants to do is get out of the hospital so he can sunbathe and sip smoothies while ogling bikini-clad women.

Talia tucks her head back against my chest, snuggling closer as the wind kicks up. “That press conference was insanity. I’m glad you convinced me not to go or I might have tested a few Judo moves on that reporter at the end.”

Grinning, I lift the heavy mass of her hair and palm her neck, massaging it lightly. “I would have liked to see that, but full disclosure—he was a plant, albeit an ignorant one. Turns out his bosses aren’t too fond of him.”

Her head lifts, an eyebrow cocked.

I wink. “Chess, mo ghrá.”

Her laugh is mostly a groan, but she sobers fast. “Sven told me about the call you got while you were prepping for the conference this morning. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here for you. Always.”

Her love burns through me, peeling off the final scraps of the mask I maintained all day.

With a heavy sigh, I bury my face in her hair. “I don’t know how to feel about it. Part of me is relieved—so fucking relieved—but another part of me is having a hard time believing it. I’m so accustomed to the guilt, I’m not sure how to let it go.”

This morning, the LAPD’s chief of police personally called me to relay that of all the charges Oliver and Lyle are facing, there’s one crime they had nothing to do with.

Liz’s murder.

There’s absolutely nothing linking the men to her carjacking, which took place more than four months before Lyle approached Oliver for the first time. Liz’s death was exactly what the cops always said it was: a tragic, random crime that had nothing to do with me.

“Breathe with me,” murmurs Talia. “Feel the wind. Feel my arms. Hear the ocean. Breathe.”

I do as she says and my heartbeat slows, the vice around my chest loosening a fraction. The past recedes, my feet sinking into the present with her.

“A tropical beach,” I murmur. “You, me, warm sands, turquoise water. You can bring your laptop and work on your book. I’ll feed you mangoes and orgasms.”

Her laughter is the sweetest sound in the world.

A hard gust of wind brings the first raindrops to our heads. We look up at the same time the sky decides to open and dump an atmospheric river on us. We’re soaked in seconds.

Talia laughs in delight, arching back in my hold and spreading her arms to embrace the storm. Trusting that I won’t let her fall.

“Marry me, Talia.” The rain carries away my soft words, so I yell them instead. “Marry me!”

She whips upright, her mouth ajar. A thick lock of wet hair is plastered to her cheek. She blinks huge eyes. “What did you just say?”

I palm her beautiful face, pressing my forehead to hers. “Marry me.” Rain mists from my lips to hers, still parted in shock. “I know who you are and where you belong—with me. You’ll always belong with me. You’re Birdie. My Birdie. Stay with me.”

The nickname hits her like electricity. She rears back to scan my face, my eyes. “It was real,” she says in disbelief. “I didn’t—I convinced myself I imagined it. Why haven’t you said anything? How long have you known?”

Before I can answer, her palm slaps over my mouth. I blink at her in bafflement. She laughs, the bell-like sound coating her words. “Sorry! I just—you can’t tell me yet, okay?”

I have no idea what’s happening, but her sparkling eyes at least reassure me that my heart isn’t about to be tossed off the cliff.

“Okay,” I mumble into her skin.

Her hand slides off my mouth, replaced a second later by her rain-slick lips. The kiss is warm and soft. An answer and a promise.

“I love you,” she murmurs. “Let’s go inside.”