Broken (42 page)

If Berg doesn’t drop her weapon on demand . . .

No question, it would be the coup of the decade for Consiglio and the perfect platform to relaunch his political and CPD careers.

Jay forced himself to hit the brakes and slow down as he drove past the deserted school, checking out the surrounding scene. There was no sign of Consiglio or any CPD officers, but he knew he didn’t have much time.

Berg had obviously avoided parking in the immediate area, and he did the same, circling the block and coming up from the south of the school instead. He gunned it over the baseball and track fields, drove through a large concreted area, and parked behind the main building under some thick green trees.

He jumped out of the car at a flat run. If Arena was to be believed, the cavalry would be arriving at any moment. He left his phone in the car and switched off so they couldn’t track him.

He ran around the building, trying a few doors, while scoping out potential positions Berg could lie in wait. The windows facing the street were covered with foliage from the well-established trees in front of the school, but the roof was raised above the tree line and a more likely position for a sniper.

Not bothering with lock picking, or finding the door Berg had used, he kicked open a rear fire door and ran inside to find a stairwell on the first floor. Taking the ten flights two stairs at a time and gasping for breath, he reached the roof and tried the door.

Fuck! Locked
.

He pounded on the metal door, yelling over the deafening sound as it reverberated down the stairwell, “Berg! Open up!” He pounded again, but could hear nothing on the other side. He was running out of time—and options.

Taking a step back, he kicked the door once, hard, and used every ounce of power, strength, and adrenaline he possessed to force it open, but the thick fire door didn’t budge. He kicked it again, and again, until he felt one of the bones in his right foot snap with a sharp pinch. He barely registered the pain as he slammed his foot into the unyielding metal again and again. Finally, the lock and doorjamb shattered and the door flew open.

He stumbled out onto the roof to find . . . nothing.

“Goddamit!” he bellowed.

Arena had been lying all along! When Consiglio arrived, he would find Jay, all fresh from breaking and entering, tied up in a neat little bow for arrest.

How could I be so stupid?

He kicked the wall, further enraging his foot, and collapsed onto the sticky black asphalt roof and rested for a minute, planning his next move. He was going to kill Arena—with his bare hands . . . literally—then happily go to prison.

Lurching and grunting back to his feet, he leaned his shoulder against the wall and saw what looked like a foot sticking out from behind an ancient air conditioning unit. He ran around to find a black-clad Berg lying on the ground on her belly next to a long-range hunting rifle. He picked it up and sniffed—it hadn’t been fired.

Relief surged though him, and he turned his attention to the prone Berg. The comfort of finding her was short-lived when he realized she was unconscious. He rolled her over onto her back. Her eyes were closed, her head lolled to one side, and she was soaked head to toe with sweat.

“Berg?” he said, lightly slapping her face. Her skin was like fire—she had a fever, a bad one. He shook her a little more firmly. “C’mon, Berg. Consiglio’s on his way, we have to get out of here!”

Berg moaned, her eyelids briefly flickering before closing again. She moaned again, trying to say something. It sounded like ‘the baby.’

Jay was desperate and could barely think. He had to get Berg and the rifle off the roof and into his car in a matter of seconds, but he had no clue how to pull this off. His heart hammered, audible to his own ears, as he forced his panicked brain to function.

Quickly hatching a plan, he grabbed the rifle and ran to the far side of the roof overlooking the bushes he’d parked in. Ejecting the cartridges—only two of them, he noticed—he put them in his pocket and hefted the heavy rifle over the edge of the roof, aiming for the thicket near his car. He was momentarily satisfied to see it land where he had aimed.

He ran back to Berg, picked her up, and threw her over his back in a fireman’s hold. Had he been able to fully take the situation in, he would have been alarmed to note how little she weighed for a woman of her height, and how she moaned in pain when his shoulder connected with her hard, swollen abdomen. For the time being, he concentrated on getting her out of there before CPD arrived.

He flew down the stairwell, almost tripping more than once while ignoring the pain in his foot, and ran out the school’s back door. Throwing her into the back of his car, he frantically searched through the brush, found the rifle, and threw it in the spare wheel well of his trunk—not a great concealment job but it would have to do. He transformed the manicured grass into a dirt drive as he gunned the car and fishtailed his way out the same back way he’d come in.

As he realized he had pulled off their escape, a wave of euphoria hit him. He took a deep breath and felt his hammering heart rate slow. He glanced in the back at Berg, still unconscious, and he headed to the nearest hospital.

He couldn’t stop the half smile that formed.

The plan had been sketchy, but he noticed that Berg was wearing gloves and he hadn’t touched anything beyond her and the gun with his hands, so there shouldn’t be any evidence tying them to the break-in.

His plan had never included leaving her there to be shot down.

Not even for a second.

Chapter Forty-Four

I know you’re here.

I know you’re gone.

I never asked you to stay.

I’m waking up, baby,

now tell me:

are you okay?

–Fauxliage, “All The World”

B
erg peeled open her eyes, blinking rapidly at the bright lights and scratchy dryness. She tried to sit up, but her whole body felt heavy, numb.

Where am I?

Frowning, she tried to jog her memory.

Someone else’s house? In someone else’s bed . . . again?

Bitter, familiar shame flooded her body.

She blinked a few times and tried to wipe her eyes, but a tugging and sharp pain stopped her. She looked down and saw a needle and tubing taped to the top of her hand. Following the tubing upward, she found the bag, stand, and after another slightly more complete inspection of the room, she realized she was in a hospital of some kind. She tried to look around once more but found her eyelids were so leaden, and as she slipped back into the black, images started to flash at the edges of her consciousness—
a gun, a roof, terrible heat . . .

Elizab—the baby!

Her heart skipped a beat.

How had she gotten here? What had happened? She searched her barely conscious mind for some kind of memory or clue.

Then came the crushing realization—she had failed. Failed little baby Emma because she had been a coward who hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. The baby was probably already dead because Berg felt guilt over dispatching a murderer.

I’m disappointed in you
, Leigh whispered.

Her thoughts flickered briefly to her own child, but that child was gone. Tears rolled down the sides of her face and she let herself gladly slip back into the black.

A warm, strong hand grabbed hers, and she wrenched herself back.

“How are you feeling?” Jay appeared in front of her fuzzy vision, his brow furrowed over his brilliant eyes which were almost overshadowed by the large black circles underneath them.

Berg shifted slightly, noticing his bandaged foot that was propped up on a chair, and his rumpled clothes. “The baby,” she whispered, her voice cracking and breaking. “She’s going to kill the baby! I have to go—” She tried to sit up, winced in pain, and fell back.

Jay smoothed the tangled hair back from her damp forehead. “Relax. I know, I believe you.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Berg mumbled. “I had her in my sights, and I couldn’t pull the trigger—”

“Of course you couldn’t. You’re not a murderer.”

“I am. There’s something wrong with me. Leigh knew it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Berg. You’re not a monster.”

Berg knew that was a lie, but didn’t have the energy to argue the point. “But . . . I have to save the baby!”

He held her hand tighter and stroked her head. “We’ll save the baby, I swear. Marilyn gave Cheney a statement implicating her daughter in Emma’s death. If she has given us anything concrete, we’ll pick Elizabeth up straight away. At the very least, we can get her in for a formal interview, and Hudson is petitioning the Family Court for custody as we speak, and Marilyn won’t contest. I won’t let her hurt that child, I promise.”

“Jay, I’ve tried everything, but she covers her tracks too well. I’ve got nothing on her! Not a single shred of evidence! This was my only chance, and I couldn’t even do it.” She wasn’t worried about the second part of her plan—that could easily be carried out at a later date.

Jay leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “It will be okay, I promise.”

Berg, too exhausted and feeling warm and safe with Jay, only nodded.

Jay took a deep breath. “I spoke to the doctor. I said I was your husband. It was the only way they’d let me stay. I’m sorry, but they couldn’t do anything about . . . about your baby. I’m so sorry.”

Berg felt tears escape her closed lids as she nodded. “I know,” she whispered.

“The doctor said there was an infection. They had to do something called a curette. They’re hoping the antibiotics will clear up the infection so you won’t have to have a hysterectomy.”

Berg squeezed her eyes shut.

“So I’ve gotta ask . . . because I’ve been sitting here, wondering about, well, about the baby. I suspected you were pregnant, but I thought you and Arena were . . . I mean . . . I just . . . well, he said that he wasn’t the father and so now I just want to know, well, what I need to know is—
was
the baby mine?”

Berg nodded, tears streaming down the sides of her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I have taken another child from you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do after . . .”

Jay took a deep breath, exhaled, and clenched his jaw. “Wow,” he whispered. “Funny how you can mourn the loss of something you never even knew you had.” His eyes shone with unshed tears.

Berg rolled away from him, curled in a ball, and started to sob softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Berg sniffed and wiped her face with the corner of the starched, white sheet. “Denial, at first. When it became clear I really was pregnant, I didn’t know how to tell you. I freaked out after we slept together, and you moved on, rightfully so. I didn’t want to be the ex that came with unwanted responsibility. Then I finally worked up the courage to tell you, and they told me I lost the baby. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to be responsible for you losing another child, not after everything you went through with Renee. So I decided you’d be better off not knowing.”

Jay was silent for a really long time. “Jesus, Berg. How the fuck did we get here?”

The question was clearly rhetorical so Berg didn’t even bother answering.

Jay sat silently rubbing his upper lip and staring into nothingness before he finally spoke. “So Arena said you and he . . . that you . . . do you love me? And do me a favor. Be honest.”

Berg didn’t want to answer that question. She had never uttered that word to anyone in her life—outside of the sex all those months ago—and didn’t want to start now.

“Please, Berg? I need to know,” Jay whispered.

Berg decided that she had screwed his life up enough. He deserved to know this one, simple truth. “Yes,” she said. “I do love you.”

“And I love you,” he replied.

Berg looked at him in surprise. “But what about Carla?”

“I tried to make it work when I thought you and Arena were together, I really did, but I don’t love her. I love you.”

She felt a surging hope at his words, then crushing reality. How was she ever going to be normal enough to be with him? All her attempts so far had failed, and if he ever found out about her past—the things she’d done, the things she would continue to do? Death seemed like the easier option.

She sobbed into her hands. “I don’t know how to be normal for you.”

“I don’t want you to be normal, I want you to be . . .
you
. I love you the way you are, with all your flaws and your control freak ways. I love that you’ll do anything to get justice for people who need it.”

He says that now . . .

Berg remained silent so Jay kept talking.

“I know you said, all those months ago when I was the one in the hospital bed, that you didn’t want a man to rescue you, that you wanted to rescue yourself?”