Redemption

Chapter One“Honey, what's wrong?” Hoyt Wexford came up behind her as she sat in the window, staring sightlessly out the window of his Prince Street apartment. “Nothing,” she said softly. “I'm good.” “Baby doll,” he came up and put his hand on her shoulder. She involuntarily flinched and he quickly removed it. “I wanted to wait for our wedding night too. It was just that, well…you know how it went down last night. It was too much to resist. No man on earth could have that willpower. Bree, I love you more than life itself. If I did anything to hurt you, by God, I'm sorry.” “I'm okay, sweetheart,” she turned to squeeze his hand, then returned to gaze out the window at the early morning darkness. “I'll be fine.” “This isn't about…that guy, is it?” Hoyt's voice thickened. “Heavens, no,” she turned halfway, glancing up at him before looking down at the carpet. “I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the injury. I'll be all right, I tell you.” “Injury?” he squinted. “Look, I didn't end up in Bellevue by mistake,” she briefly flared, then turned to the window again. “Just let me sit here for a bit. I'll be in.” “Okay,” he relented, retreating to the bedroom of the cozy apartment. He left the door cracked open as she sat in the shadowy living room. She was the aggressor that night. He invited her over for dinner and she brought a bottle of wine, though she rarely drank. She was dressed in a sexy purple dress and dark nylons, hair and makeup done to perfection. He couldn't keep his eyes off her throughout their candlelit meal. He told her later he felt as if it was the best night of his life. Afterward, they sat on the sofa and finished off the bottle. She sidled up to him and began making out, which led to heavy petting. He touched her down there for the first time, and she got up and went into the bedroom. She felt as if she had to atone for her sins against him. They had come to within a hairbreadth of breaking up last year. She knew he would have been upset by her not including him in her medical gambit at Bellevue. Only she had no idea that it would have wounded him so grievously. When she finally came to his apartment, he treated her like his worst enemy. He yelled and screamed at her, a side of him she had never seen before. It was weeks before he sent her a card, and days before he returned her thank-you voicemail. A week later they met for coffee, and they slowly began to mend thereafter. She didn't know how she was going to confess this to Pastor Matt, or tell her best friend Rita. She knew she didn't have to do either, but it would be cathartic for her. She saw this as a blood sacrifice as written in the Scripture. She broke Hoyt's heart and nearly destroyed their wedding plans. She gave him her virginity in return. It was the thing of greatest value she had, and it was the price she felt she had to pay. Only if something happened and they did not marry, she would have lost something she could never get back. Hoyt Wexford was her everything. She now knew that if she lost him, there would never be another. She finally got up and returned to the bedroom. He had the night light on his side table and laid on his side, staring at the wall. “I guess I should go.” “Why don't you wait until it gets light? I don't want you driving so late.” “I'm 'that guy', remember?” she said in a small voice. “No,” he sat up and stared at her. “Don't you say that.” “Okay, okay,” she held up her hands. She was dressed only in his shirt, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was getting aroused. Yet she knew he would fight it this time. “Can I make some coffee?” “You go on and lay down, I'll get it,” he hopped out of bed, clad in his briefs. “It's okay, you don't have to…erm, you know. I won't…” “Hey,” she grabbed him around his chiseled waist and pulled him close. She felt him catch his breath as if he had been jabbed. “It is okay. Why don't we just chill out for a while until it gets light?” She pushed him back onto the bed and crawled on top of him. Sabrina Brooks showed up at the new Brooks Chemical Company complex bright and early that Monday morning. They bought the property on Long Island six months ago after the residuals from their Ebola antidote formula began pouring in. Sabrina decided on it after realizing that the old campus at Staten Island held too many bitter memories after Dariya Romanova's death. Regardless of how it went down, she had thought of Dariya as a sister and always would. “Well, good morning, boss lady,” Jon Aeppli greeted her as she moseyed into his office upon arrival. “You seem to be in a pretty good mood.” “I spent the night at Hoyt's,” she admitted, dropping into an armchair along the glass window of his room. “You did what?” he pulled his gold-rimmed reading glasses off, peering at her with his cobalt laser stare. “I mean, it's not any of my business.” “I know,” she exhaled. “Well, why did you…” he seemed nettled. “Look, what you do on your own time is your thing. I don't need to know about it.” “I just had to get it off my chest,” she said grumpily. “You always said you were saving it for your wedding night. Hey, I didn't need to know that then, and I don't need to now.” “You're the closest thing I have to a father figure.” “And your father would've gone over there and whipped the tar out of that man, let me tell you,” he shook his glasses at her. “I'm glad he's not here to hear this.” “You mean,” she knitted her brow, “if he could come back to life…?” “Don't get sassy with me, young lady.” “Oh, don't be such a grouch pot,” she came around behind him and hugged his neck. “You should be happy for me. Just a few months ago, I thought he didn't want me anymore.” “Yeah? Well, there's probably a million guys out there who'd love to take his place,” Jon grumbled, putting his glasses back on. “My, my,” Ryan Hoffman sashayed into the room. He had been promoted to vice-president, and now took to wearing $100 silk shirts and ties to work these days. “Look at you two. Did we get another invitation to the White House?” “Rest assured that if we get another one, it won't include you, young man,” Jon scoffed. “You just try leaving me out, old man,” Ryan waved a hand at him, “and see what happens.” “Oh, this one thinks he advanced the gay rights cause a dozen years with his shenanigans,” Sabrina flitted around from behind Jon's desk and adjusted Ryan's tie. “More like he set them back ten years,” Jon muttered. “You are just scrumptious today,” Ryan fawned. “I just might try to get myself done up just like you for Halloween.” “I just love your sense of ambition,” she gave him a peck on the cheek. “You better behave, or I just might get dressed like you and come over your house,” Ryan wagged a finger at Jon. “Good,” Jon returned to his paperwork. “My wife'll get to try out the double-barreled shotgun I bought her last Christmas.” “Mmm mmm mm,” Ryan swished off down the hall. “Have a nice day, you two.” Sabrina headed off to her office, finally able to settle into her position as CEO of BCC at last. The Ebola research paid off in spades last year, and she had finally made her father and Jon's dream come true. They were a world-renowned company, and her accountants were advising her that they should go public next year. They had grown so rapidly that it was demanding all her attention. It seemed like the days of the Nightcrawler were finally behind her. The world had finally given up on the vigilante. After an exhaustive investigation, Homeland Security announced that the Nightcrawler had disappeared without a trace. Hoyt Wexford and Bob Methot testified at a Department of Justice hearing that the Nightcrawler was shot by the terrorist Apollyon in thwarting his Ebola chemical attack from the Empire State Building. The Nightcrawler dove off the building in an escape attempt, and his body was never found. Considering the fact he survived plunges from the Statue of Liberty and a blimp above the New York Harbor, it was speculated that the crusader might still be at large. Sabrina was reported to have finally recovered from her comatose state after surviving her a*******n by Boko Haram. She was interviewed by Homeland Security and eventually cleared of suspicion of having ties to the Nightcrawler. Upon her return to BCC, she celebrated her staff's discovery of the Ebola antidote and their citation at the White House. Shortly afterward she and Jon decided on the new Long Island facility. It was followed by several proposals for private and public research projects that established BCC as a world-class institution. Now she realized that the two most important people in her life, Hoyt and Jon, would never let her go back to nightcrawling. Hoyt had been so betrayed by her coma scam that any mention of the Nightcrawler might end their relationship forever. Jon had put up with more than enough of her escapades. He had sacrificed too much of his life to BCC to tolerate her distractions any more. She had come to a fork in the road, and she knew that she had accomplished enough in law enforcement to last a lifetime. The dream had been achieved. It was time to move on. Only there were those who would not accept the fact the Nightcrawler was dead. * * * “My gosh, Bree, there's just so much evil going on in the world these days,” Rita Hunt shook her head as she and Sabrina met for lunch that afternoon. “Just when the City thought we found peace at last after the Russian Mob fell apart.” “Well, you know what the Good Book says,” Sabrina said as she sipped her iced tea. “The world will be filled with evil and violence until the end of days. I guess we're kinda lucky we're not there yet.” The two women were as close as sisters, kindred spirits who found a lifelong friendship with one another. They and Dariya Romanova were inseparable, and her death had left a void still felt by them both. Yet it seemed as if it had somehow brought them ever closer in the aftermath. When the three of them went out together, men were stunned by the incomparable beauty of the titian-tressed Sabrina, the chestnut-haired Rita and the raven-haired Dariya. Their hourglass figures, generous bosoms and long-legged statures made everyone take notice, as was the case on this day. Even without Dariya, the men in the restaurant found it impossible not to take notice. “It says here that the armored car thieves made off with $150 million in bearer bonds, the biggest heist in American history,” Rita read from her k****e Fire. “The FBI determined that it was an inside job, and that a man known as the Thinker may have been behind it. They were working with a Russian firm known as the Kaspersky Lab that uncovered that $650 million cybertheft in 2015. They believe that the Thinker was a major figure behind both robberies.” “Isn't that the n***d fellow who poses for all those statues?” “Silly,” Rita kicked her shin with her silk-stockinged foot beneath the table, having removed her heels for comfort. “And look at this one. A professional hit man was sprung from Attica in a raid involving a helicopter and a team of highly-trained mercenaries. It says that Ken “Black Panther” Stevenson was serving ten consecutive life sentences for over a dozen murders and two mass murders. He was in solitary confinement during the escape operation, which made the mission all the more impossible. The Department of Justice is launching a full-scale investigation. They say the manhunt for Stevenson is second only to that conducted during the search for Apollyon last year.” “Well, either you put that thing away, or I'm going back to work.” “Now, I don't get to be on the Internet all day like some big-shot executive I know,” Rita teased in her Kentuckian drawl, putting her Fire back in her purse.