Chapter 8 The Gang Returns, He Chooses Honesty

# Chapter 8: The Gang Returns, He Chooses Honesty

Morning arrived with a flurry of activity at the safe house. Katherine arrived early, bringing news that arrest warrants had been issued for Lawrence Donovan and his key associates. The evidence from the hard drive had been processed overnight, providing the final pieces needed to move forward.

"We'll take you to the Federal Building now," she explained as I fed Damon. "Your statement will be recorded, and then you'll remain in protective custody until Donovan is apprehended."

"Where's Declan?" I asked, noticing his absence.

"Already there. He's been briefing the tactical team since dawn." She checked her watch. "We should leave in fifteen minutes."

As we prepared to depart, I found myself strangely calm. After weeks of hiding, of running, it felt good to be taking action—to be facing this threat directly rather than cowering from it.

The Federal Building was a fortress of security. We were escorted through multiple checkpoints before being taken to a conference room where Declan waited with several agents and prosecutors. His face brightened when we entered, eyes immediately finding Damon in my arms.

"Everything's in place," he told me, gently touching our daughter's cheek. "Lawrence doesn't know we're moving against him yet. The arrest is scheduled for noon at his downtown office."

For the next two hours, I gave my statement—detailing the attack in my apartment, our escape, everything I knew about the Donovans' pursuit. When I finished, the lead prosecutor seemed satisfied.

"This corroborates everything we have," he said. "With Dr. Carter's testimony and the evidence from the hard drive, Lawrence Donovan will spend the rest of his life in prison."

As the room cleared, Declan and I were left alone with Damon and two security agents posted outside the door.

"Almost over," he said, relief evident in his voice. "By this afternoon, you and Damon can begin a normal life."

I noticed he didn't include himself in that future. "And what about you? What happens after Lawrence is arrested?"

"Legally, I'll need to petition to vacate my death certificate," he explained. "There will be investigations, paperwork, probably some fines for insurance fraud. But Katherine has promised to help navigate the bureaucracy."

"That's not what I meant," I said quietly.

His eyes met mine, cautious but hopeful. "What happens between us is entirely your decision, Evelyn. I meant what I said last night. I'm not asking for immediate forgiveness—just a chance."

Before I could respond, Katherine burst into the room, her usual composure shattered.

"We have a problem," she announced. "Lawrence Donovan has disappeared. The arrest team found his office empty. He knew we were coming."

Declan was immediately on alert. "How?"

"We believe there was a leak. Several of his associates have also gone underground." She hesitated. "And he left a message. For you."

She handed Declan her phone. A text message displayed on the screen: "Tell the ghost I haven't forgotten what he took from me. An eye for an eye."

My blood ran cold as I clutched Damon closer. "He's coming after us."

"We're moving you to a more secure location," Katherine said. "Helicopter leaves in ten minutes from the roof."

Everything happened quickly after that. We were rushed through emergency stairwells toward the roof, surrounded by armed agents. Damon, startled by the sudden movement, began to cry.

"It's okay, sweetheart," I murmured, trying to soothe her as we climbed. "Everything's going to be fine."

The helicopter was already waiting, rotors spinning, when we emerged onto the roof. The wind whipped around us as we hurried toward it.

That's when the first shot rang out.

One of our escort agents fell, blood blooming across his chest. The others immediately formed a protective circle around us, weapons drawn.

"Sniper!" someone shouted. "Adjacent building!"

More shots followed. Two more agents went down. Katherine pushed us toward the shelter of a rooftop maintenance shed as she returned fire.

"Stay down!" Declan ordered, covering us with his body as bullets pinged off the metal shed.

Through the chaos, I could hear Damon wailing, terrified by the noise. I curled around her, trying to shield her with my body while Declan shielded us both.

"We need to get to the helicopter!" Katherine shouted over the gunfire. "It's our only way out!"

"Too exposed," Declan argued. "We need another route."

"There isn't one!"

More shots, more shouts. I could hear the helicopter pilot on the radio, reporting the attack. Reinforcements were coming, but they would take time—time we didn't have.

Then, suddenly, the shooting stopped. The silence was almost more terrifying than the gunfire had been.

"What's happening?" I whispered.

Katherine peered cautiously around the edge of our shelter. "I don't see any movement. They might be repositioning."

A phone rang—Katherine's. She answered cautiously, her expression darkening as she listened.

"It's for you," she said, handing the phone to Declan. "Lawrence Donovan."

Declan took the phone, his face hardening into a mask of controlled fury. "Donovan."

"Dr. Carter," a smooth voice responded, audible in the sudden quiet. "Or should I call you the ghost? You've been quite the nuisance."

"It's over, Lawrence," Declan replied. "Your organization is being dismantled as we speak. Dozens of your associates are already in custody."

"Perhaps. But I'm still free, and I still have something to settle with you." Lawrence's voice was chillingly calm. "You took my family from me. My nephew. My son—indirectly, through your negligence. And now I'm going to take yours."

"Your son died because of a rare complication," Declan said evenly. "I did everything possible to save him."

"And yet he died while you lived. An imbalance I intend to correct." There was a pause. "I'm a reasonable man, Dr. Carter. I'll offer you a choice. Surrender yourself—just you—and your wife and child can go free. My quarrel isn't with them."

I gripped Declan's arm, already shaking my head. He covered the phone. "He's lying," I whispered. "He'll kill us all."

"I know," Declan replied softly. Then, into the phone: "I need proof your men will stand down if I surrender."

"You have my word," Lawrence said smoothly.

"Not good enough."

"Very well. I'll order my men to hold fire while your wife boards the helicopter. Once it's airborne, you come out. Alone."

Katherine shook her head vigorously. "It's a trap," she mouthed.

Declan looked at me, at Damon, then back to the phone. "I need to discuss with my wife."

"One minute," Lawrence agreed. "But know this—my men have the helicopter in their sights. One wrong move, and it goes down with everyone in it."

Declan ended the call and turned to us. "I have a plan, but you need to trust me."

"Declan, no," I began, but he cut me off.

"Listen carefully. I'm going to create a diversion. When I do, Katherine will get you and Damon to the helicopter. Once you're airborne—"

"I'm not leaving you," I interrupted.

"You have to," he insisted. "For Damon."

"There has to be another way," I argued.

"There isn't." His voice softened. "Evelyn, everything I've done for five years has been leading to this moment—keeping you safe, giving you and our daughter a future. Let me finish what I started."

Tears burned in my eyes. "I just found you again."

Without warning, Declan ripped open his shirt, revealing something I hadn't known was there—a tattoo over his heart. It took me a moment to recognize the pattern: an EKG reading. My EKG reading, from a routine physical years ago.

"Five years ago, only my name stopped beating, not my heart," he said fiercely. "This has been with me every day since I left. A reminder of why I was fighting."

The raw honesty of the gesture struck me speechless. This wasn't the calculated deception I'd accused him of—this was pure, unfiltered emotion.

Katherine's phone rang again. "Time's up," Lawrence's voice announced when she answered. "What's your decision, Dr. Carter?"

Declan took the phone. "I'm coming out. But I want to see the helicopter take off first."

"Very well."

Katherine gripped my arm. "The FBI has snipers positioning on adjacent buildings," she whispered. "Once you're airborne, they'll move in."

"And Declan?"

"Will have to take his chances," she admitted.

Declan knelt before me, gently touching Damon's head. "I'll find you," he promised. "When this is over. If you'll let me."

Then he kissed me—brief but desperate, five years of longing compressed into a single moment. Before I could respond, he was moving, positioning himself for whatever he had planned.

"When I move, run for the helicopter," he instructed. "Don't look back."

I clutched Damon tighter, my heart racing. "Declan—"

"I love you," he said simply. "Both of you. Now go!"

He burst from behind our shelter, firing Katherine's spare weapon toward the adjacent building. The distraction worked—all enemy fire turned toward him as Katherine pulled me toward the waiting helicopter.

I ran, cradling Damon against my chest, her cries lost in the roar of rotors. As we reached the helicopter, I risked a glance back. Declan was pinned down behind an air conditioning unit, returning fire while blood seeped through his sleeve.

"We need to go!" the pilot shouted as Katherine pushed me aboard.

"No!" I tried to resist. "We can't leave him!"

But the helicopter was already lifting, rising above the chaos as more FBI agents poured onto the roof. The last thing I saw was Declan, still fighting, blood now visible on his shirt as well as his arm.

As we rose higher, an explosion rocked the rooftop—a smoke grenade, creating a thick cloud that obscured everything. I pressed against the window, desperate for a glimpse of Declan, but there was nothing to see through the smoke.

"He'll be okay," Katherine said, though her voice lacked conviction. "Reinforcements were almost there."

I cradled Damon, who had finally exhausted herself into silence, and prayed for the first time in years. Not for myself, but for Declan—the man who had deceived me, protected me, and finally, chosen honesty when it mattered most.

As the helicopter carried us to safety, I couldn't shake the image of that tattoo—my heartbeat, inked permanently over his heart. Five years of separation, of lies and half-truths, and yet some connection had remained unbroken between us.

Whether Declan survived or not, I knew with sudden clarity that I wanted that chance he'd asked for. The chance to rebuild, to forgive, to see what we might become together—not as the people we once were, but as the people we'd become.

If only we got the opportunity.