Page 16 of Sweet Deal (Honeysuckle, Texas #4)

Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at Rachel’s throat, but she shoved it down, forcing her voice to remain even, a calm anchor in the swirling chaos.

Lily, a terrified child in Michael’s agitated grip, dangled precariously from the fourth-story window.

One wrong move, one shift in Michael’s fractured reality, and the unthinkable would happen.

“Michael, look at me. Ignore the voices. Look at me.”

His eyes, wild and unfocused, flickered briefly to her face. His grip on Lily remained firm as the child dangled from the window, her small legs kicking in terrified desperation.

“Mommy!” Lily’s cry pierced the air.

Kathy took a lurching step forward, but Rachel subtly raised her hand, stopping her. Any sudden movement might push Michael over the edge—literally.

“I know you love your sister,” Rachel continued, inching closer. “I know you’d never hurt Lily. The real Lily.”

Michael’s face contorted with confusion. “This isn’t—”

“It is,” Rachel interrupted gently but firmly. “Look at her bracelet, Michael. The one on her wrist.”

His gaze dropped momentarily to the beaded bracelet on Lily’s tiny wrist.

“You made that for her,” Rachel pressed, taking another careful step. “For her birthday. Remember? Green beads because it’s her favorite color.”

Something flickered across his face—a moment of clarity cutting through the delusion.

“These voices, Michael, they’re confusing you.

Making you see things that aren’t real. But I’m real.

Lily is real.” Rachel was close enough now that she could almost touch them.

“And you don’t want to hurt her. She needs you, Michael.

She needs her big brother to bring her back inside where it’s safe.

Let me help you. Let’s bring Lily back in. ”

Slowly, she extended her hands toward Lily. “Give her to me and then we’ll figure this out. Together”

Time seemed to stretch as Michael stared at her, the battle behind his eyes visible in the rapid shifting of his expressions. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

“I’m going to take Lily now.” With infinite care, she reached for the little girl.

Michael’s grip loosened further, allowing Rachel to slide her hands under Lily’s arms. As soon as the child was inside, she clung to her desperately as Rachel pulled her away from the window and stumbled back, her heart hammering.

She spun around, her eyes finding Jim, who had remained a silent, steady presence by the doorway, his own face, a mask of controlled tension.

She gestured for Jim to come close. Slowly, he moved beside her, gently taking Lily into his arms. Returning her focus to Michael, she kept her voice low, almost a whisper, and dared to face Jim.

“Get her and Kathy out of here.” She could see the objection forming in his eyes. “Please.”

As Jim carried the sobbing child to Kathy, he gently urged them toward the door.

“But my boy,” Kathy sobbed, clutching Lily to her chest.

“Is in the best possible hands,” Jim’s voice mirrored the same calm Rachel worked desperately to display. “We need to give Rachel space to help him.”

As they disappeared into the hallway, Rachel took a deep breath, focusing entirely on the troubled young man.

Michael’s expression shifted again—the momentary clarity disappearing as quickly as it had come. “No!” he shouted suddenly. “You tricked me!”

He lunged forward, but Rachel stood her ground. “Michael, no one is tricking you. I promised to help, and I will.”

“The voices said you’d lie,” he accused, half in and half out of the window. “They said everyone lies.”

“Remember what Dr. Feldman told you? About how your brain sometimes plays tricks?”

Michael hesitated, and Rachel seized the opening. “You’ve been off your medication, haven’t you?”

He nodded reluctantly. “They make everything fuzzy.”

“I know.” Rachel nodded. “But they also make the voices quiet.”

For a moment, it seemed to be working. Michael’s posture relaxed slightly, his eyes focusing more clearly on her face. Then the distant wail of sirens shattered the fragile calm. Michael’s head snapped toward the sound, panic washing over his features. “They’re coming for me! You called them!”

“No, Michael, I—”

But it was too late. Terror propelled him out the window, leaving him perched precariously on the narrow ledge outside.

“I have to get away,” he babbled, his entire body trembling. “They’ll lock me up again. They’ll hurt me.”

“Michael, please.” Rachel slowly, carefully, leaned into the windowsill. “Come back inside. We can talk to them together. I won’t let them hurt you.”

The sirens grew louder, approaching the building. Michael pressed himself against the outer wall, edging further along the ledge.

“Rachel,” Jim’s voice, low and tense, came from behind her. He was supposed to be downstairs with Kathy and Lily. Safe from here. “The police are coming up the stairs.”

Blast. None of this should have happened. “If the police burst in here, it’ll push him over the edge. Literally. Explain the situation. Buy me some time.”

The conflict in his eyes was palpable—the need to protect her warring with the understanding that she knew what she was doing. “Two minutes,” he said finally. “Then I’m coming back, police or no police.”

Rachel nodded once, already turning back to Michael.

“Michael,” she called softly. “It’s just you and me now.”

“They’re still coming,” his voice was tight with panic.

“I know. But I’m not going anywhere,” Rachel promised. “And I know how scared you are right now.”

“You don’t understand.” Tears streamed down his face. “No one understands.”

“Then help me understand. Tell me what the voices are saying.”

Michael shook his head frantically. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Michael. I think you need help. There’s a difference.”

The sirens stopped, the sudden silence almost more ominous than the wailing. Footsteps thundered up the stairwell.

Michael’s panic visibly increased. “They’re here!”

Without hesitation, Rachel climbed onto the windowsill. “I’m coming out there with you.”

“What are you doing?” Michael’s eyes widened in shock.

“I promised I wouldn’t leave you,” Rachel carefully maneuvered onto the narrow ledge beside him. “And I keep my promises.”

The world suddenly, and frighteningly, tilted on its axis.

One second Rachel was pleading with Michael from the safety of the room, the next she was swinging her legs out, settling beside him on that impossibly narrow fourth-story ledge.

Jim’s breath hitched; his heart hammered against his bruised ribs with a force that made him wince, a pain completely separate from the terror gripping him.

He’d told her two minutes. It hadn’t even been one.

He’d just reached the apartment doorway, Kathy and Lily safely on their way down with one of the officers who’d arrived, when he saw Rachel make her move. His instinct was to yell, to rush forward, but some deeper, horrified part of him knew any sudden action could send them both tumbling.

“What the hell is she doing?” one of the remaining officers muttered, his voice tight with a tension that mirrored Jim’s own. His hand hovered near his radio, his stance alert.

“We’ve got eyes on the subject, young male on the ledge, fourth floor. Child and mother are clear. Social worker is on the ledge with suspect.”

“Her name is Rachel Sweet. The boy is Michael Benson, seventeen, schizophrenic. He’s hearing voices.”

The officer nodded. As he repeated the information into the radio Jim stepped fully into the room, his gaze locked on Rachel and Michael.

He had to trust her, trust her training, her connection with this kid.

But damn, it was hard. He could hear her voice, incredibly calm, a low murmur against the sudden, awful silence that had fallen now that the sirens were cut.

He couldn’t make out the words from here, but he could see the subtle shift in Michael’s posture as she spoke, the way his head tilted slightly towards her.

Transmission done, the officer started to inch past Jim, and he shot out an arm, barring the officer’s path. “Hold it. She said if you go near that window, you’ll spook him. Make it worse.”

The officer hesitated, his eyes flicking from Jim to the precarious scene on the ledge. “Sir, my priority is their safety.”

“So is hers,” Jim bit out, never taking his eyes off Rachel. “She’s an experienced social worker. This is what she does. Just… give her a chance.” He willed the man to understand, to see the quiet strength in Rachel, the almost hypnotic way she was engaging Michael.

On a sigh, the officer nodded, but like Jim, he seemed ready to pounce.

Every muscle in Jim’s body was coiled tight.

He was useless here, a spectator to the most terrifying moment of his life.

He could only watch, his own breathing shallow, as Rachel continued her quiet conversation.

He saw her hand move, a slow, deliberate gesture, and then, unbelievably, Michael’s head turned slightly, his gaze seeming to focus on her.

Time warped, stretching and compressing.

The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the faint sounds from the street below and the almost inaudible murmur of Rachel’s voice.

Jim found himself cataloging every detail—the way the slight breeze ruffled Rachel’s hair, the rigid set of Michael’s shoulders, the sheer, terrifying drop beneath them.

Then, a movement. Michael shifted, his body angling infinitesimally back towards the window opening. Jim’s heart stuttered. Was this it? Was she getting through?

Slowly, agonizingly, Michael swung one leg back inside. Then the other. He was in, collapsing onto the floor, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

The officer moved in, another only steps behind him. With a quiet professionalism, they approached Michael, speaking to him in low, reassuring tones. Paramedics, who must have arrived with the police, were being ushered in.

Rachel remained on the ledge a moment longer, her face pale in the afternoon light. Jim darted across the room, past the officers, the paramedics, and the troubled youth who had set the terrifying scene in motion.

Arms outstretched, Jim grabbed hold of her wrist. With what looked like a monumental effort, one arm on the windowsill, the other still firmly in his grip, she maneuvered herself back through the window, her legs unsteady as she stepped onto the solid floor.

An overwhelming flood of relief threatened to buckle his own knees.

He didn’t say anything, couldn’t. He just pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, feeling the tremors that now racked her body.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her, the scent of sunshine and unimaginable courage.

The world narrowed to this single point, this woman in his arms, safe.

When he finally eased her back, his hands still gripping her shoulders as if afraid she might disappear, he searched her face. “Rachel…”

She looked up at him, a shaky smile touching her lips.

He couldn’t stop himself. He leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn’t for show, not for the town, not for family.

This was for him, for her. A kiss that poured out every ounce of terror, relief, and a love so fierce it stole his breath.

It was a promise, a claim, a desperate acknowledgment of everything she’d become to him in such a short, chaotic time.

Pulling back, resting his forehead against hers, he let out a ragged breath. “Please,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, “tell me this isn’t just another day at the office?”