And now she had Bert. Had love. Had a future that looked brighter than anything she’d dared imagine. She slept peacefully, her hand in Bert’s, as the plane carried them home. Exactly where they both belonged.
37
Two Months Later
Mary rolled through the main room of LSIMT’s headquarters with the easy confidence that came from being exactly where she belonged. The morning was crisp and bright, frost still glittering on the grass where the sun hadn’t yet touched, and the mountains in the distance still wore their dusting of snow.
She was back at work. Fully back. Not on light duty or restricted hours but completely integrated into the daily operations of the compound. Her ribs had healed, the bruises had faded from angry purple to faint yellow and finally to nothing, and her throat no longer hurt every time she spoke. The physical evidence of Frank’s attack was gone, leaving only the internal changes from the experience that had transformed her understanding of herself and her place in the world.
“Morning, Mary,” Sadie called from her workstation in the operations center, not looking up from the three monitors glowing in front of her. “Logan wants the Q4 budget projections by the end of the day.”
“Already on his desk,” Mary replied, rolling past without slowing. She’d finished those projections yesterday, along with the equipment requisitions for next month and the coordination schedules for the three missions currently in planning stages.
She was as efficient as ever… maybe even more so now that she and Bert had consolidated their living arrangements and eliminated the commute between houses. But more than that, something fundamental had shifted inside her over the past month.
Mary had always been competent. Had always known her worth intellectually, had always understood that her wheelchair didn’t define her capabilities. But there had been a part of her that still felt like she was on the periphery of the team. The administrator, the logistics coordinator, the support staff. Essential but not quite a Keeper in the same way the others were.
Fighting Frank had changed that. Not because violence made someone valuable, but because the experience had proven to her that she could handle a crisis. That her tactical training was still sharp. That her instincts were reliable. While she didn’t want to have to rely on a physical altercation ever again to protect herself, she also knew that she could certainly stand up for herself when needed. And that when someone else needed protecting, she would fight with everything she had.
She wasn’t just support staff. She was a Keeper.
The compound hummed with activity as she made her way to her office. Sisco was reviewing medical supply orders with Timothy. Cory was walking back in after having checked their two helicopters with Tyler’s wife, Justice, who worked maintenance on their aircraft. Landon and Dalton were hunched over a tablet, discussing something that involved a lot of pointing and occasional laughter.
Mary passed the equipment room and caught sight of Bert outfitting Frazier with gear for an upcoming security detail. Bert’s back was to her, his T-shirt pulled tight across his shoulders as he reached for something on a high shelf, and Mary felt that now familiar flutter in her chest that came from watching the man she loved do something as mundane as inventory.
He turned, his eyes finding hers immediately, and winked. It was a small, private gesture that said “I see you, I love you, and I’m glad you’re here.” And it made Mary’s whole day brighter.
Frazier said something Mary couldn’t quite hear, collected his gear, and headed out with a nod and smile in her direction. The moment he was gone, Bert appeared in the doorway of the equipment room, his expression shifting from professional to something warmer, more intimate.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, moving toward her with that easy grace she’d come to associate with him. “How’s your morning?”
“Productive,” Mary replied, tilting her head back as he leaned down. “Logan wanted budget projections?—”
“Which you already finished.” Bert interrupted, then kissed her.
It was a quick kiss, mindful of their surroundings and the fact that they were technically at work. But it was also full of love and promise and the easy intimacy of people who’d chosen each other and were building a life together.
“Exactly,” Mary said when they pulled apart, her smile wide and genuine. “I’m very efficient.”
“You’re very amazing,” Bert corrected, his hand lingering on her shoulder. “Did you have anything in mind for dinner tonight? I was thinking of trying that new Mexican place in town.”
“Sounds perfect. But then any dinner with you is perfect.”
Bert’s expression warmed even more, and he kissed her again, this time with more feeling. Pulling back, he smiled and nodded as he headed back to his equipment room while Mary continued to her office. But as she rolled down the hallway, she couldn’t stop smiling. This was her life. Work she loved, surrounded by people she trusted, and Bert waiting for her at the end of every day.
The afternoon passed in its usual organized chaos. Mary coordinated with vendors about delayed shipments, updated the mission tracking system, and spent an hour on a video call with Canadian authorities, providing additional testimony about Frank’s case. The trial was scheduled for early next year, and the prosecutor wanted to make sure every detail was documented and verified.
Frank wouldn’t get away with what he’d done. The evidence was overwhelming, the charges were serious, and the prosecutor was confident of a conviction. Colin Morrison would get justice. Diane would get closure. And Frank Marcone would spend the rest of his life in prison, where he belonged.
By the time Mary finished for the day, the sun was just lowering behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and casting long shadows. She rolled out to the parking lot where Bert was already waiting by his SUV, having finished his own day a few minutes earlier.
“Ready?” he asked, opening the passenger door and lifting her from wheelchair to seat with practiced ease. She drove herself to work when Bert needed to leave early or stay late, but this was one of the days they finished at the same time.
“More than ready. I’m starving.”
They’d fallen into easy routines over the past month, figuring out how to share space without stepping on each other’s toes.
Bert had moved into her house two weeks after they’d returned from Canada, turning his house across the street into a rental now occupied by a new tenant. They’d combined households with surprising ease. His furniture mixed well with Mary’s, his books shelved beside hers, and his clothes hung in her closet like they’d always belonged there.