Free Promises to Keep by Maegan Beaumont Page B

clear: I’m here to make sure you don’t get any silly ideas about riding off into the sunset with your Lady Cop—”
    â€œFunny, I thought that’s what the dirty bomb attached to my spine was for.”
    â€œâ€”so, just remember: She’s a hell of a lot more expendable than you are.”
    Michael holstered his gun and curled his hands into fists, squeezing them so hard he felt his knuckles crack. “Pushing me … it’s a stupid move.”
    â€œI’m not the one being stupid,” Lark nearly growled at him, and Michael laughed again. Lark had him there. When it came to Sabrina, Stupid was his middle name.

Sixteen
    Cofre del Tesoro, Colombia
July 2008
    â€œWhat is it?”
    Christina stood at the edge of the grass, small fingers worrying against the seams of her pale pink dress. She looked up at him.
    â€œIt’s a tire swing,” Michael said, jamming his hands into the pockets of his fatigues.
    â€œWhat’s it for?”
    â€œIt’s for fun.” What seemed like a good idea this morning now felt silly. He grimaced at the old jeep tire and rope he’d found in the garage. He hadn’t even thought to wipe it down before stringing it up. Jesus, he was bad at this. “Never mind. You want to go back inside?”
    â€œNo.” She said it quickly, her pigtails bouncing wildly with the forceful head shake she gave him. “I’m tired of inside.”
    He smiled down at her. “Me too. Want to give it a try?” he said, cocking his head at the swing.
    â€œYes, please.” She smiled back, looking at him like he’d just offered her something priceless. The smile faded a bit and her fingers started to worry again. “What am I supposed to do?”
    He took her by the hand and led her onto the grass. When he’d first found the tree a few months ago, he’d hardly been able to believe it. An oak tree growing on an island off the coast of Colombia. He’d been so curious that he’d asked one of the other guards about it.
    â€œWhen Mrs. Reyes was pregnant, Hefe had it shipped all the way here, fully grown from America and had it planted so that his son would have a good, sturdy tree to climb,” the guard had told him. “ Hefe is still waiting for his son.”
    He hadn’t said it, but the implication was clear: Christina was a disappointment to her father. The tire swing had been an impulsive reaction to what the guard had told him. A fuck you to Reyes for discarding his only daughter like a broken toy. For treating her like a thing instead of a child.
    They stood in front of it now, and he gave it a push so she could watch it swing gently back and forth. “You put your legs through the hole and sit on the edge,” he said to her, brushing the black smudges touching it left on his fingertips off on his dark pants.
    â€œI’m going to get dirty.”
    â€œProbably,” he answered, ready to take her back into the house.
    Christina watched the tire sway for a few moments, doubt slowly being replaced by determination. She lifted her arms, looking up at him, this time with expectation, and it took him a second to realize what she was asking. Lifting her, he held her up so she could thread her legs through the hole in the tire. “Hold on here,” he said gruffly, suddenly attacked by the memory of doing almost the exact same thing for Frankie when she was little. He moved her hands to the base of the rope. “Don’t let go,” he said just before giving her a gentle push, sending the tire away from him.
    She came back and he pushed her again, a little bit harder this time, and she spun around on the return trip, her eyes wide with worry but also something more. Excitement—the kind of terrified joy that makes you believe you can do anything. That you are not a disappointment. That you are perfect, even if your hair is loose and your dress is smudged with grease and road