Page 134 of Fatal Pattern

This was Tori.

He closed the gap, dropped his mouth to hers, and claimed the kiss.

Her lips were warm, soft, tasting like the strawberry lip balm he’d seen her wear since high school. The kiss started gentle, tentative. A question. Then she pressed closer, and the question became an answer.

His arms circled her waist and pulled her against him until he could feel her heartbeat through the thin cotton of her dress.

Time stopped. The world narrowed to this one moment. Her mouth on his, her arms clinging to him. The way she fit perfectly against him like she’d been designed for this exact spot.

When they finally broke apart, neither moved away. Her breath whispered warm against his cheek. Her forehead rested against his, and in her eyes he saw himself whole. The man she’d been waiting for all these years while he’d been too scared to believe he deserved her.

“So.” She traced lazy circles on his chest. “What happens now?”

He captured her hand, pressed it flat against his heartbeat. “Now we stop pretending we’re just friends.”

“Good. I was getting tired of that anyway.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time. Her hands fisted in his shirt, anchoring him to this moment, this choice, this woman who’d always been his home.

The waves rolled in, crashed, and pulled away, washing away everything that came before. Only this remained.

Only Tori.

Epilogue

The knock on Garrison’s door came in three sharp raps. A pause, then the handle turned.

Tori sat up straighter in her chair. Beside her, Anton did the same. That unconscious mirroring thing twins apparently did, which still caught her off guard every time. Blade’s hand slipped from hers as he leaned back in the chair on her left.

The man who entered wore a charcoal suit that screamed federal authority and a face that belonged on currency—all angles and no warmth. His hair was silver-gray, cropped military short, and his eyes swept the room like he was cataloguing threats.

“Deputy Director Mario Platt, Department of Justice.” He didn’t offer his hand. “Ms. Garrison, thank you for arranging this.”

Garrison nodded. “Of course.”

Platt remained standing, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m sure Ms. Garrison has informed you that Barclay is cooperating fully. He confirms he murdered the Crews on direct orders from a ranking member of the Nexus Initiative.”

No preamble. No small talk. Platt cut straight to it.

“We’ve been going through Wells’s recovered files, and this runs deep. It’s going to take us a while to unravel it all. Especially how you, Dr. Stone, played a role in this.” Platt looked at Anton, whose eyes went wide.

He put his hand to his sternum. “Me? I wasn’t involved. I—”

“Not directly.” Platt cut him off with a wave. “After Barclay framed you for your parents’ murder, he had you transferred to a research facility in Seattle. The intake notes labeled you a juvenile psychopath. Obviously we know this was all fabricated. You were four years old.”

“I remember the building,” Anton said. “Not the rooms. Just the building.”

“The doctor who eventually pulled you out wasn’t supposed to. He saw what the charts said and what you actually were and didn’t see a match. He took you home. He probably saved your life.”

“My adoptive father.” Anton’s voice was barely there.

“Yes. He never knew the Aletheia facility was part of a larger network that kept tabs on you the entire time. Let me ask you, why did you open your practice in Florida?”

Anton glanced at Tori like she might have the answer, but she’d been wondering the same thing. And after everything that had happened, she had a feeling it wasn’t pure coincidence.

“Well, my father suggested I go to his alma mater for my education. When we toured the campus, I thought it was beautiful. Especially the water. The alumni status helped financially, of course. After I graduated, I just stayed.”

Platt nodded. “That’s what I suspected. What about your retainer with McCrary’s firm?”