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Holding Sam close, Trevor realized he wasn’t willing to let her go at all, short or long-term. “I know I’m not doing this right, and I’ll make it up to you, but—” He wasn’t being fair. She deserved a gigantic public gesture from him.
Sam pulled away, meeting his gaze, her eyebrows wrinkled in puzzlement. “What?”
Unable to hold back, he blurted his thoughts. “Will you marry me? Now, not later? I don’t want to let you go for even a second.”
Sam’s head jolted back, her mouth opening but no sound emerging.
His heart sank. He’d messed up. He should have waited; come up with an elaborate proposal that would go viral. Even that wouldn’t come close to making up for all his mistakes. “Never mind, I’ll ask you the right way.”
Sam snickered, then laughed. “Are you taking it back?” She had a hard time getting the words out around her laughter.
“No! Of course not.” Trevor’s heart pounded like he’d just finished a five-mile run. “But you deserve more than a badly-blurted pitch after a brush with death in an FBI sting. After the horrors I’ve put you through, I should be asking the question on my knees in the middle of Main Street with a bullhorn, music, dancers, and fireworks.”
Her face screwed up like she’d bitten a lemon. “That sounds embarrassing. Do you not know me at all? I don’t want a fancy public proposal. Besides, if anyone owes a grand gesture, it’s me.” She frowned at him. “But I just want your love.”
“You have it; heart, soul, mind, and body. Everything and anything I have is yours.” He’d do anything short of murder for her, and that would depend on the target. “I love you.”
She smiled, soft. “I love you too. The answer is yes. How about tomorrow? I know a few judges; if I ask, they’ll fit us in.”
“It’s a date.” Trevor pulled her close and dropped his lips to hers. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter twenty-three
Epilogue One
One year later
The orange jumpsuit clashed with Sharlene Murphy’s unfashionable, short, brassy gray hair. Just before the US Marshal led her away, she turned back. “I love you, Erin.” Sobbing, she disappeared behind the door.
Sitting in the front row of the Missoula courtroom, Sam squeezed Erin’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
On Erin’s other side, Ryan tightened his arm around her shoulders. Erin returned Sam’s grip. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Sharlene did this to herself. She was greedy and selfish. And she hurt so many people and enabled the Bratva to do so many horrible things.” She turned to look at Sam. “I’m glad you and Trevor caught her. She’ll spend the rest of her life in jail, then witness protection, but at least she’ll be relatively safe. The same can’t be said for her victims. Coming clean doesn’t make up for the damage she did.”
Erin shook her head. “Frankly, I’m glad I’ll never see her again. Her actions made her a stranger. My mom died years ago; I just didn’t know it.” She rose, and Ryan pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, despite Erin’s slight baby bump. Ryan had provided rock-solid support through the entire ordeal, made worse by Erin’s constant morning sickness. Maybe with the trial over, Erin would find relief.
Trevor tightened his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “It’s a good thing she’s got so many people supporting her. She’ll need it over the coming years because it’s easy to say that, but believing it is harder.”
“True.” Sam smiled at her husband. “But sometimes, saying the words makes them come true. I think treating Sharlene as an unfortunate acquaintance is the healthiest approach she can take.” Erin and Ryan turned and left. Sam stood and followed them out, holding Trevor’s hand tight. She lowered her volume. “Sharlene doesn’t deserve grandchildren.”
They gathered under a wide open bluebird Montana sky on the sidewalk next to Wiz’s van, parked near the courthouse. Amy Hall, one of Wiz’s employees, and her husband Chris had guarded their vehicle during the trial. She saluted Wiz and they left.
Wiz jumped inside, undoubtedly strapping all her weapons back on. With the Bratva threat gone from Marcus, Wiz had dropped her normal loadout to two concealed pistols and a couple of knives. She’d probably never be truly comfortable unarmed in public, but she’d regained some of her faith in humanity. Her husband Tom and his dad, Pete, gave her the unconditional family support she needed. Teaching self-defense to kids at the local Marcus schools helped. Enthusiastic children made it harder to be gloomy but also helped them decide to remain a childless couple. The Bordes had already claimed favorite family status, acting as aunt, uncle, and grandparent to Kim and Nic’s two kids.
Deb sported a baby bump too. She struggled with gestational diabetes but was managing with Michael’s help. Focusing her baking creativity into low-carb treats, she left her full-calorie recipes alone and minimized taste-testing. She’d also invested heavily into automation, allowing her to bake faster, with fewer people. Except for her custom cakes, Deb’s Bakery remained a wholesale-only business, her treats popular at Bitterroot coffeeshops and restaurants. Deb said the bridezillas reminded her why she didn’t have a retail shop. Michael and Nic’s business, Acer Home Improvement, was booked solid for the next year. They grew slowly, constantly searching for reliable sub-contractors and employees.
Trevor remained an FBI Agent but stuck with forensic accounting. He traveled often but had warned his boss, Aviss, that she’d have to find someone else for those trips. In a few months, he’d be extra busy. Fortunately, Aviss could count on Davidson’s help; he’d been assigned to her permanently.
Sam had found new joy in providing routine, small town legal services. Trevor’s steady salary allowed her to take more pro-bono cases, making her happier and the town healthier. But she was cutting back in about six months.
Wiz popped out of the van. “Lunch? What do the pregnant ladies crave today?”
Sam groaned, her tummy growling. “I want a steak in the worst way.”
All her friends turned and stared at her. Oops.
Trevor’s lips brushed her ear. “I thought you had a big reveal planned.” He chuckled and squeezed her slightly bloated waist.
She grimaced, shrugging. “Surprise?” She’d planned a party, but they’d make it a joint shower instead.
