Chapter 7 A Second Proposal in the Morgue

# Chapter 7: A Second Proposal in the Morgue

The morning of our return to Boston dawned cold and clear. Katherine Shaw arrived at the cabin just after sunrise—a tall, no-nonsense woman with silver-streaked hair and the watchful eyes of someone who had spent decades hunting dangerous people.

"Dr. Carter," she greeted me with a firm handshake. "It's good to finally meet you. Your husband has spoken of little else for five years."

"Former husband," I corrected automatically, then felt a twinge of guilt at Declan's carefully masked reaction. "Legally speaking, anyway."

Katherine's slight smile suggested she understood more than she let on. "Of course. Legally speaking."

The journey back to Boston was tense and mostly silent. We traveled in an unmarked government SUV with tinted windows, Katherine driving while Declan sat vigilant in the passenger seat. I remained in the back with Damon, watching the wilderness give way to suburbs and eventually the familiar Boston skyline.

"We'll be taking you directly to a safe house," Katherine explained as we entered the city limits. "Tomorrow morning, we'll bring you to the Federal Building to give your statements. If all goes according to plan, we'll have Lawrence Donovan in custody by tomorrow afternoon."

"And his organization?" I asked. "What about his associates?"

"We're moving against his key lieutenants simultaneously," she replied. "The evidence Declan has collected over the past five years has given us a comprehensive map of the entire operation."

I glanced at Declan, still somewhat amazed by the methodical patience this required—so at odds with the impulsive surgeon I'd married. "Five years," I murmured. "Planning every detail."

"Not every detail," he said quietly, turning to meet my eyes. "I never planned for you to be pregnant when this all came to a head."

The safe house was a modest brownstone in Cambridge, nondescript from the outside but equipped with state-of-the-art security systems within. Two agents were already there when we arrived, setting up surveillance equipment and checking entry points.

"You'll be comfortable here for tonight," Katherine assured us. "There are two bedrooms upstairs. We've arranged for baby supplies and a security detail outside."

"What about tomorrow?" I asked. "After we give our statements?"

Katherine and Declan exchanged a look that immediately put me on alert.

"What aren't you telling me?" I demanded.

"There's one more piece to securing this case," Declan explained carefully. "Something we need to retrieve from Boston Memorial."

"From the hospital? What could possibly—" I stopped as realization dawned. "Your office. The evidence you've been collecting."

He nodded. "Most of it has already been transferred to Katherine, but there's a hard drive hidden in the safe that contains the most damning evidence against Lawrence—recordings of him ordering hits, including the one on you."

"Why wasn't this moved earlier?" I asked.

"Because it's also the most dangerous piece of evidence," Katherine explained. "If the Donovans knew it existed, they'd burn the hospital down to find it. We needed to wait until we were ready to move against Lawrence immediately."

I processed this information. "So we need to go to the hospital to retrieve it."

"I need to go," Declan corrected. "You and Damon will remain here under protection."

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "I'm done being sidelined, Declan. If this is as important as you say, I'm coming with you."

"Evelyn, it's not safe—"

"None of this is safe," I cut him off. "But I'm a doctor at that hospital. I can move through it without raising suspicion. You're supposed to be dead. I'm coming with you."

Katherine cleared her throat. "She has a point, Declan. Dr. Carter's presence would actually provide better cover. Two doctors moving through a hospital attracts less attention than one man trying to avoid being recognized."

Declan looked like he wanted to argue further but finally nodded. "Alright. But Damon stays here under protection."

That, at least, we could agree on.

After settling Damon with one of Katherine's trusted agents—a matronly woman who'd been a neonatal nurse before joining the FBI—we prepared for our midnight hospital visit.

"We'll enter through the staff parking garage," Declan explained as Katherine provided us with communication devices. "My office is on the fifth floor. We retrieve the hard drive and exit the same way. Twenty minutes, maximum."

"And if we encounter hospital staff?" I asked.

"You're checking on a patient. I'm a colleague assisting you." He handed me my hospital ID badge—something he must have retrieved from my apartment after the attack. "Simple and plausible."

It wasn't until we were in the car, heading toward Boston Memorial, that the reality of our situation fully hit me. Three weeks ago, I'd been a pregnant widow preparing for single motherhood. Now I was sneaking into my workplace with my not-dead husband to retrieve evidence against a crime boss who wanted us both dead. My life had become unrecognizable.

"You're quiet," Declan observed as Katherine drove us through the darkened streets.

"Just processing," I replied. "Everything's happening so fast."

"It will be over soon," he promised. "By this time tomorrow, Lawrence Donovan will be in federal custody. And then..."

He didn't finish the thought, but he didn't need to. Then we would have to figure out what came next—for him, for me, for Damon. For us, if there even was an "us" anymore.

Boston Memorial loomed ahead, its windows illuminated against the night sky. The hospital never slept, a constant hum of life and death, healing and suffering. It had been my professional home for nearly a decade, and I felt a strange pang at seeing it now as a place of danger.

Katherine dropped us at the staff entrance to the parking garage, where Declan's ID—or rather, Dr. Daniel Collins' ID—still granted access. "I'll circle the block," she said. "Twenty minutes, then I'm calling in backup."

The garage was quiet at this hour, with only a few cars belonging to night shift staff. We moved quickly toward the service elevator, avoiding the main lobby where we'd be more likely to encounter people.

"This feels surreal," I whispered as the elevator doors closed behind us. "Being back here."

"I know." Declan's eyes scanned my face with concern. "Are you okay?"

"As okay as I can be, given the circumstances." I straightened my shoulders. "Let's just get this done."

The fifth floor was dimly lit, most offices dark and empty at this hour. We moved silently down the corridor toward Declan's office—Dr. Collins' office—our footsteps muffled by the institutional carpeting.

Just as we reached the door, voices emerged from around the corner. Without hesitation, Declan pulled me into a nearby supply closet, closing the door quietly behind us. We stood pressed together in the darkness, barely breathing, as two night nurses passed by, discussing a patient's lab results.

"That was close," I whispered once their voices had faded.

Declan didn't respond immediately, and I realized how close we were standing—close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body, smell the familiar scent that five years hadn't erased from my memory.

"Evelyn," he said softly, his voice rougher than before. "If something goes wrong—"

"It won't," I cut him off, not ready for whatever he was about to say.

"But if it does," he persisted, "I need you to know that these past few weeks with you and Damon, despite everything, have been the happiest of my life."

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten. Before I could respond, he opened the door carefully, checking the corridor before motioning me forward.

The office was exactly as I remembered it from our previous visit—unremarkable at first glance, with its generic furniture and bland decor. Declan locked the door behind us and moved immediately to the hidden safe behind the landscape painting.

"The combination is Damon's birthday," he said as he spun the dial. "I changed it the day after she was born."

Something about that simple detail—that in the midst of crisis, he'd thought to commemorate our daughter's birthday this way—touched me unexpectedly.

The safe opened with a soft click, revealing the same collection of mementos I'd seen before, plus a small external hard drive nestled among them. Declan reached for it, then hesitated.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing." He shook his head slightly. "Just... saying goodbye, I suppose. To this life, this identity."

I realized then what this moment meant for him—the end of five years of careful deception, of living in shadows. Whatever happened next, Daniel Collins would cease to exist. Declan Carter would have to face the world as himself again.

He pocketed the hard drive and began to close the safe, then paused. "There's something else I want to take." He reached in and retrieved the small velvet box I'd seen during our previous visit—the one containing the wedding ring he'd hoped I might someday wear again.

"Declan—" I began, not sure what I wanted to say.

"Not for now," he clarified quickly. "Just... I don't want to leave it behind."

I nodded, understanding. Whatever happened between us, that ring represented something important—a hope he wasn't ready to abandon.

We retraced our steps to the service elevator, making it down to the fourth floor without incident. But as the doors opened, a security guard stood directly in our path.

"Dr. Carter?" He looked shocked, then immediately suspicious. "You're supposed to be missing."

"I'm not missing," I said, thinking quickly. "I'm checking on a patient. Confidentially."

The guard's eyes shifted to Declan, narrowing slightly. "And you are?"

"Dr. Collins," Declan replied smoothly. "Trauma consultant."

Something in the guard's expression changed—recognition, then confusion. "You look familiar, but not as Dr. Collins..."

"We really must get to our patient," I interrupted, taking Declan's arm and trying to move past the guard.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Carter, but I need to report this." The guard reached for his radio. "You're the subject of an active missing persons case."

Declan moved with startling speed, pinching a pressure point on the guard's neck that made him slump forward. He caught the unconscious man before he could hit the floor.

"Help me get him into this storage room," he instructed calmly. "He'll be out for about ten minutes—just long enough for us to get clear."

"Did you just—was that some kind of nerve pinch?" I asked as we dragged the guard into a supply closet.

"Something I picked up during my time away," he replied vaguely. "Come on, we need to change our exit strategy. That elevator will be monitored now."

"Where are we going?"

"Down to the basement level. There's another way out through the old morgue tunnels."

The morgue. Of course. The place where this had all started five years ago, where Declan had identified a body that wasn't his and set this entire deception in motion.

We took the stairs down to the basement level, moving quickly but cautiously. The old morgue was rarely used now that the hospital had a new state-of-the-art facility on the first floor, but it was still occasionally needed for overflow.

The basement corridors were eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Declan navigated the maze with practiced familiarity until we reached the heavy doors marked "Morgue."

"How do you know about this exit?" I whispered as he used his ID to gain access.

"I spent a lot of time exploring the hospital's less-used areas when I first returned," he explained. "Always good to know your escape routes."

The morgue was dimly lit and cold, the stainless steel examination tables gleaming dully under the emergency lighting. It looked much the same as it had five years ago, when I'd stood over what I thought was my husband's body, my world collapsing around me.

Declan seemed to sense the direction of my thoughts. "This is where it started," he said quietly. "Where I made the choice that changed everything."

"Where you let me believe you were dead," I confirmed, unable to keep the edge from my voice despite everything we'd been through.

"Yes." He didn't try to justify it again, just acknowledged the truth of my words. "The service tunnel is through that door. It leads to the old delivery entrance on the east side of the building."

We were halfway across the room when the overhead lights suddenly flashed on, momentarily blinding us. When my vision cleared, I saw two men blocking our exit path, both holding guns.

"Dr. Carter," one of them said with mock politeness. "And the ghost himself. Mr. Donovan will be pleased."

Declan moved subtly, positioning himself between me and the gunmen. "How did you find us?"

"Anonymous tip that Dr. Carter had been spotted in the hospital," the man replied with a smirk. "We've had people watching all possible exits. Though I must say, the morgue is poetic—considering it's where you'll both end up."

My heart pounded as I assessed our situation. Two armed men, at least fifteen feet away. No visible way to reach the exit without passing them. No weapons on our side, unless Declan had something I didn't know about.

"What do you want?" I asked, trying to buy time.

"The hard drive," the second man said, extending his hand. "We know you have it. Give it to us, and maybe we only kill one of you."

Declan's posture shifted slightly—a subtle change that I recognized from our years together. He was preparing to do something reckless.

"Don't," I whispered, but he ignored me.

"Here's what's going to happen," Declan said calmly. "You're going to lower your weapons and walk away. Because in about thirty seconds, FBI agents will storm this building. They're already in position outside."

The men laughed. "Nice try, doc. But we both know that's not true. Now hand over the drive."

"It was worth a shot," Declan shrugged, then suddenly grabbed a metal instrument tray and flung it at the lights above the gunmen's heads.

Glass shattered, plunging half the room into darkness. In the confusion, Declan shoved me behind one of the autopsy tables and dove in the opposite direction as the men began firing.

Bullets pinged off metal surfaces as I crouched behind the table, heart hammering in my chest. I could hear shuffling, grunts of pain—Declan was fighting one of the men in the semi-darkness.

I needed to help, but how? My eyes landed on a cabinet marked "Chemical Storage." Formaldehyde. Caustic. Dangerous if it got in the eyes.

Moving as quietly as possible, I reached the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of formalin solution. When I peered around the edge of the table, I could make out Declan struggling with one gunman while the other tried to get a clear shot.

I waited until the second gunman moved closer, then hurled the bottle at his face. It shattered on impact, the chemical splashing into his eyes. He screamed, dropping his weapon to claw at his burning face.

"Evelyn, run!" Declan shouted as he continued wrestling with the first man.

"Not without you!" I moved toward the fallen gun, but before I could reach it, the morgue doors burst open again.

More men with guns—but these wore FBI jackets. Katherine led the charge, weapon drawn.

"Federal agents! Freeze!"

The fight ended quickly after that. Both Donovan men were subdued and handcuffed, while Katherine checked us for injuries.

"Are you both alright?" she demanded. "When you didn't return to the car, I called in the team."

"Perfect timing," Declan said, wincing as he touched a cut on his forehead. "We got what we came for."

He patted his pocket where the hard drive was safely stored, then reached into his other pocket and pulled out the velvet box. To my shock, he dropped to one knee right there in the morgue, surrounded by FBI agents and subdued criminals.

"Declan, what are you doing?" I hissed, mortified and confused.

"Something I should have done differently the first time," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "Last time, 'death' tricked you; this time, 'resurrection' did too. Marry me for the third time, Evelyn, and I promise to only deceive you until we grow old together."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're proposing? Here? Now?"

"In the place where I made the worst mistake of my life," he confirmed. "Where better to start making it right?"

Katherine cleared her throat awkwardly. "We should... give them a moment," she told her team, though no one actually left the room—the prisoners still needed guarding.

"This is insane," I said, torn between laughter and tears. "We're in a morgue, Declan. Surrounded by FBI agents and men who just tried to kill us."

"I know it's not ideal," he admitted. "But I've learned that waiting for the perfect moment means missing the moments you actually have." He opened the box, revealing the ring inside. "I'm not asking for an answer right now. I'm not even asking for forgiveness yet. I'm just asking for a chance—to be Damon's father, to rebuild your trust, to earn my way back into your life."

I looked at the ring—similar to my original wedding band but not identical. A new beginning, not a return to the past.

"The Donovans are still out there," I pointed out. "Lawrence hasn't been arrested yet."

"He will be by morning," Katherine interjected. "With this hard drive, we have everything we need."

I looked back at Declan, still kneeling before me in this cold, sterile room where I'd once identified what I thought was his body. The symmetry was almost too perfect—life and death, endings and beginnings, all circling back to this place.

"Keep the ring," I told him, closing his hand around the box. "Not as a no, but as a 'not yet.' We have a lot to figure out, Declan. A lot to rebuild."

He stood, something like hope flickering in his eyes. "I can work with 'not yet.'"

Katherine approached, respectfully clearing her throat. "I hate to interrupt this... unique moment, but we need to move. Dr. Carter, we'll take you back to the safe house now. Declan, you'll come with me to secure the evidence."

"I'll see you in the morning," Declan told me, his hand still warm around mine. "When this is over."

As the FBI escorted us from the morgue through the service tunnels, I found myself thinking about Declan's impromptu proposal. Five years ago, I would have called it romantic—dramatic and impulsive in the way he'd always been. Now, I recognized it for what it really was: a man trying to reclaim his life, to anchor himself to something real after years of living in shadows.

The morgue had been where our story fractured. Perhaps it was fitting that it might also be where we began to piece it back together—not as the people we once were, but as the people we had become through loss, deception, and ultimately, survival.

Not yet, I had told him. Not no, but not yet.

And for the first time since he'd reappeared in my delivery room, I found myself genuinely considering the possibility of "someday."