Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(113)

Holding my hand, Brad studies my face. He's surprised I'm not pushing for Marx's death. I see his expression relax. He can't have more blood on his hands, but I can even if I don't spill it myself.

One day, I'll tell Brad the truth about what happened to Marx. He'll be angry, and we'll argue, but we'll work past it. Deep inside, Brad wants to take the bloody route so he'll know his family is safe.

The Sloanes deserve to be truly free of danger, so I give them this gift even if my soul is dirtied more. I never feel guilty about the choice. Little Maven isn't making the call in her heartless way. Instead, Saskia is choosing to do what's best for those she loves.





31


Brad

Escaping the Past

Marx's disappearance is a big deal for a few days. The police interview me about the last time I saw him. I explain we hadn't spoken much since the New York City shooting, and I probably pissed him off by refusing to do more publicity. My answers aren't lies, and the police seem satisfied with my statement.

Weeks later, the detective in charge of the missing person's case tells me that Marx emptied out his account and packed a suitcase. He also hints at Marx's drug and gambling problems sending him underground.

I have to admire the level of detail the Ramsey Security team uses when setting up a scene for the police. Marx is gone, and his disappearance solved without me knowing the dirty details. One day, I'll thank Saskia for making the choice I couldn't.

Whatever they learned from Marx before he disappeared, the team doesn't share with me, of course. I assume I'm safe since they end our contract. Saskia pretends to worry about the perimeter for a week or two before losing interest in the charade.

Despite her secrets, Saskia leaves her violent life in the past. She remains at my side, leaving the bloody work with Marx to her friends. The night he goes missing, she spends on the couch, watching The Woman in Black while struggling to knit.

"I'm making a baby blanket," she says, frowning at her efforts. "A really ugly baby blanket."

"Our baby will be beautiful enough to overcome even the ugliest blanket," I say, kissing her cheek.

"The correct answer is 'you're doing a great job.' How could you not know that?"

Grinning, I kiss her until she tosses the knitting tools aside and straddles me.

"Take it to the bedroom," Nell says, passing by the family room.

"You heard her," I murmur, standing up with Saskia in my arms.

Mom and Nell adjust to having another sexually active couple around. Their room is on one end of the house while ours is at the other. Saskia says the living situation gives her enough privacy, but I know she'll lie to ensure we stay in the house. She feels safe here. This property is her slice of paradise.

We do leave every few days, so I won't forget how to deal with crowds. We see matinee movies. Eat lunch at two when few people are around. For whatever reason, Saskia enjoys grocery shopping in the early morning. I stumble after her while she happily picks out new foods to cook. Half of her recipes turn out inedible, and even the dogs won't eat them. The other half is pure heaven. I never know what I'll get when I sit down for dinner.

Saskia sucks at basketball. Even when I put her on my shoulders, she can't get the ball into the hoop.

"It's a tall person game," she says, shrugging.

"Maybe I can lower the hoop for you."

"Then it'll be too easy for you. I don't want you cheating on my account."

Laughing, I chase after her playfully. Saskia though takes off running through the yard be-fore disappearing around the house. I can't find her for nearly ten minutes until she reveals herself hiding behind a bush.

"Don't feel bad," she says, shaking leaves from her hair. "I used to be a pro."

"Spent a lot of time hiding in bushes, did you?"

"Oh, yeah. Trees too."

"Were they little baby trees?"

Saskia narrows her eyes angrily and throws the dogs' ball at me. Of course, Peter and Egon descend upon me while she makes a run for it again. This becomes a literal running gag between us for years. Whenever she isn't getting her way, she runs away and hides. If I find her, I carry her to our bed where her punishment is to be on top. If I can't find her, she allows me to ser-vice her. I win either way.

Even with Saskia retired and Marx gone, we never forget how different our paths were that lead us to find each other. We rarely speak of it, though. When I see Saskia's hands shaking and know she's dealing with a long buried pain from her past, I simply hold her and talk about the present.

One night, we watch a movie with a torture scene in it. Even after I forward through it, Saskia's hands won't stop shaking no matter what I say.

"You and I were on the opposite sides of that table, Brad," she whispers.

"Did you ever... work on someone like me or were they always bad people?" I ask before instantly regretting it. "No, don't answer. It doesn't matter. You weren't my tormentor. I wasn't your victim. The past is over."

Saskia watches me with wet eyes. She cries easily now as if nearly thirty years of stored up tears have finally broken free.

"I never felt anything all those years. Now I feel too much," she says, wiping away the tears. "How do I learn to deal with all this crying?"