Page 52 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The ballroom at the Plaza Hotel glitters as if it has been dressed in formal wear—much like the attendees.

Some years, I think the party organizers plan it that way.

Holding on to Peter’s arm, we make our way down the grand staircase after our names have been announced to the room at large, after Uncle Jared and Uncle Ryan, then my parents.

Every year since I became a graduate and officially received my invitation, I do a little happy dance inside knowing I’m attending the Fair Harvard Annual Reunion.

There are faces in the crowd that people see on the news because they’re former presidents, members of Congress, or military officers of such high rank that their dress uniforms look like they’re wearing tiny, jumbled flags.

Partway down the stairs, my parents pause.

They both turn their heads and beam up at me.

Their smiles aren’t because I followed in my father’s footsteps and attended his alma mater.

Nor are their smiles because of the fortitude it took me to get through law school.

Tonight, their smiles are because I had the strength to show up.

I descend the stairs, my head held high. When we make it to the bottom, Uncle Jared stops a waiter who is carrying a tray of champagne. After getting a glass for everyone, he lifts his in a toast. “Thank you, Kalie. Tonight, you made me feel a couple of decades younger.”

I grin. “What a lovely compliment, Uncle Jared. But nobody is intending on blowing anyone off tonight the way Mama did Daddy.”

Uncle Ryan snickers and my father groans even as my mother laughs. Peter frowns. “I don’t get it.”

My mother takes pity on him and explains that her first time attending the party wasn’t with my father but with Jared because Ryan was traveling. At the time, my father was less than her favorite person and Uncle Colby, his father, recognized it instantly.

Peter, never one to not toss crap at a family member, drawls, “So, Uncle Keene, you mean my dad was tossing woo at Aunt Ali and you let your famous temper get in the way?”

“Again,” I tack on before my father can say anything. “The word missed in that statement is again.”

My father takes a sip of his own drink before tugging my mother close to his side.

“Listen, your father had eyes for no one but your mother. Your aunt was using him to keep me from sweeping her off her feet.” His eyes narrow at Jared.

“Come to think of it, you were involved with the great nacho debacle that night as well.”

Peter perks up. “Nachos? There were nachos involved? Hell, why didn’t anyone say anything.”

My mother rolls her eyes. “Like your uncle implied, same genetics, different decade.”

Just as I’m about to retort, another announcement is made. “Declan Sean Conian. Harvard Law, Class of 2010.” There’s a pause before the emcee slides the card into the champagne bucket, where he’s placing all the invitations.

For that precious moment, my father tenses, and then his shoulders relax imperceptibly. He mutters, “If he’d have announced he was working for Hudson, I would have had to have killed him.”

And if he announced he was a mob lawyer, then what? The thought causes a bubble of hysterical laughter to escape. Instead of saying who he worked for, Declan chose not to answer what is often the most crucial question when attending the Fair Harvard Annual Reunion—your employer.

As he descends the steps, his eyes lock onto mine. They don’t leave even for a second. Peter steps closer and wraps his arm around my waist. I lean into his side, appreciating the support he offers. Declan eyes remain laser focused on our group before an eager waiter blocks his line of sight.

“Now would be an excellent time to mingle,” my mother encourages.

I should have known she would have anticipated this and had a plan in place. I swallow the last of the champagne and pass it over. “Good idea.”

Over the next hour, our small group mingles with friends and clients from Hudson as well as Amaryllis Events. Yet…I still feel like I’m being watched. Every few minutes, I turn around, expecting to find Declan.

“Do you really think he’ll approach you here?” Peter asks me when we have a moment alone in the crowd.

“I don’t know.” I truly don’t. He could be here undercover or he could be here for other reasons, none of which has anything to do with me.

That’s when a hand brushes my elbow. Peter’s eyes narrow and he practically snarls at the person behind me. Since this isn’t the first time in the last hour I’ve seen that expression on his face as I’ve been approached by numerous leaches, I expect one more. I turn and find it so much worse.

I’m face-to-face with Declan.

His lips murmur, “Firebrand.”

Before I can find the right words, Pete mutters, “I’m going to get your dad before I kill this guy here and now. Don’t move, Kalie.”

Seconds later, we’re alone in the middle of the crowd.

I study him much the same way I imagine he’s doing me. The other men in the room, with maybe the exception of my cousin, should cry at the way he looks so good in a tuxedo. The way it fits over his broad shoulders and nips in at his waist.

A waist I’ve traced with my hands, my mouth. Begrudgingly, I admit, “You look nice.”

“You look exquisite, Kalie.” He lifts my wrist to his lips and presses a kiss there.

I jerk my wrist away and glance around. “Are you insane?”

“It’s over, firebrand. That’s why I came tonight,” he explains.

My curiosity gets the better of me. “What do you mean, ‘it’s over’?”

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper before he shares, “The Feds took down the Tiberis. They’re in the process of rounding up the remaining Byrnes.”

I can’t hide the relief that flows through my soul, knowing he’ll be safe. Still, I step back. My voice is cool when I say, “Congratulations. Job well done.”

His brows crease into a V. “Kalie, I came back to your house the moment I could the night you last FaceTimed me.”

My heart thunders in my chest when I hear him refer to our night together as that. I affect a diffident expression. “I wasn’t there.”

“I know. I know you left. That was probably for the best. It freed me up to focus on doing my job.”

“Did it?” I fell in love with this sanctimonious ass? The thought flits through my brain. Before I do something stupid like smack him in the face, I snatch up a glass of champagne and sip it.

Declan’s earnest, I’ll give him that. He cups my cheek. “I meant what I said that night, Kalie.”

“Which part?”

“The part where I told you I’d come back for you.” His voice rings with sincerity.

My mouth falls open. Is he really this clueless?

The problem wasn’t his job or the amount of time it took him away from me, but that he broke my trust. I’m about to blast him when he steps forward and stares down into my eyes.

“I kept texting you because I wanted you to know I was thinking of you. I didn’t beg you to come home the way I wanted to because I didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. ”

My eyes close. It would be easy, too easy, to fall back into his waiting arms. I step back again.

He follows.

Then I give him the harsh truth. “It wasn’t the danger that drove me away, Declan. You broke me. That day, you decided my heart wasn’t worth caring for.”

His face pales. “No. I mean, it was. I mean, I didn’t intend…”

“Whether or not you intended to, that’s what you did.

Frankly, your argument sucks. You’re predicating your whole case on two main arguments—the first is that I’d be waiting when you came crawling back.

The second being I’d be willing to forgive you for your mighty list of transgressions since it was for the greater good. Right?”

“I was hoping the news would…”

“What? Make me so happy for you that it would make me want to talk with you?” I scoff. “Go back to law school, counselor. I think you’ve spent too long outside of a courtroom.”

Spinning, I’m about to make my grand exit when his hand clasps my wrist. I twist around and glare at him. My frustration boils over. “What, Declan?”

“Is there really no hope for us, firebrand?” The rasp of his voice strikes a deep chord inside of me.

“I deserve more than to be ambushed, Declan. I deserve to be wooed all over again. I expect you to earn back my trust. Then I’ll decide what happens next.”

With that, I surge blindly into the crowd in an attempt to find Peter or my parents.

A few minutes later, I wish wholeheartedly I’d stayed and argued with Declan when another man approaches. Despite the fact that he’s well-dressed and has a clean shave. His eyes are hard and cold when he slams against my chest.

“Apologies,” he says smoothly. “Your husband sent us to bring you to him. Urgent matter.”

I stiffen, automatically retreating. “I don’t have a husband.”

The stranger smiles. “My mistake.”

Another man appears at my back. I barely notice until it’s too late. Something cold presses in between the boning of my dress. Not a hand.

A knife.

“Don’t make a scene,” the first man murmurs, that same smile never leaving his face. “You want the press catching this? Photos of your death in a room where your daddy couldn’t do a damn thing about this?”

My heart beats faster. “You’re making a mistake.”

“No, sweetheart,” he says. “Dec did. Now, let’s go.”

They flank me—one gripping my elbow, the other behind me. Together, I’m unwillingly guided toward a shadowed exit—a side door near the caterers’ hallway. The music keeps playing. Chatter rings out behind me.

No one notices.

Not yet.

As we pass through a dim service corridor, my heels scuff the tile. “If you hurt me—”

“Oh, we won’t hurt you,” the first man says cheerfully. “Not until he makes us.”

“You’re bait, darling,” the second man adds, pressing the knife tighter to my side.

I try to memorize every corner, every door, every turn they make, hoping to be able to run back to safety. That is until the third man shows up.

“You should’ve kept your hands to yourself. Jack said you were never supposed to be part of this. But Dec made you part of it. That makes you his weakness and we plan on exploiting that.”

A black van waits just outside the door. My hand brushes the amaryllis in my skirt. I squeeze it firmly. With a flash of bravery, I hiss out, “I’m not afraid of you.”

The man holding the knife leans in close, breath hot against my ear. “Good,” he says. “Fear’s boring. But pain? Pain always gets his attention. At least it did that night at Velvet Vice.”

Then, I’m tossed inside the van. Two of the three men jump into the back, sealing the darkness in.

Before we pull away from the curb, I feel the first lick of pain as one of their feet lands on my ribs.

I just hope the transmitter Aunt Em sews into all our formal clothes for just this reason is setting my father’s receiver off like crazy.