The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Alex Troutt Thrillers Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  His hand touched my bare shoulder. I reached for it, but he took it away.

  “Okay, let’s talk.” He tossed the paperwork toward the end of the bed.

  For a moment, I felt like the sophomore who’d just been asked to Homecoming by the senior quarterback. It was nice to be noticed by my husband of...

  “How long have we been married?” I sat facing him, cross-legged, my pulse showing a bit of life.

  He gave me a genuine smile. “Fifteen years and three months.” He pushed his laptop farther away, tossed the packet of paper on the bedside table, removed his glasses, and faced me, also cross-legged.

  I was drawn to his deep eyes, a chestnut brown that showed depth and resilience, but there was also a mystery about them. His thick head of hair pushed across his forehead in a casual way. He wore a day-long beard, which highlighted a chiseled chin. Following the slope of his neck to his well-shaped shoulders and down to his chest, I could see he either had a strong workout regimen or good DNA. Maybe both.

  I wanted to grip his shoulders, then pull myself closer and touch his lips without saying another word. But something held me back—something inside me that said I couldn’t just bed a man I found attractive without knowing if he felt something for me. Or was there more to why I felt apprehensive, even a bit anxious?

  Turning away for a second, my sights found a framed picture of the two of us at a game.

  “Did we go to a Red Sox game?”

  “Yeah,” he said, chuckling when he glanced at the picture. “Just after the bombing at the Boston Marathon, I got tickets through the firm. Everyone rallied together. Neil Diamond led everyone in singing ‘Sweet Caroline.’ It was one of the coolest things I’ve been a part of...we’ve been a part of. Boston Strong, you know.”

  I kept my gaze on the picture. Unsure if it was out of sheer want, images and sounds of that day fired off in my brain.

  “Big Papi,” I said.

  “Yeah, you’re getting it.” He touched my knee for a quick second, and I flinched.

  He noticed more bandages. “Another result of your incident, I see.”

  “Surprised?” I asked.

  “Not in the least. You’ve always been a tough son of a gun. A hell of a tennis player back in the day.”

  I nodded, now connecting the dots on how at least part of my brain functioned. I could have delved further into all of my athletic glory, but tonight wasn’t about me. Not in that sense. “You were talking about the Red Sox game,” I prompted, wanting to get back on track.

  “Yeah, Ortiz had a big game, the Red Sox won. But it was one of those times when you could just feel the support and camaraderie of people you didn’t even know. And you believed the world still had something good to offer.”

  He stared at the picture for an extra moment, and I wondered if he was trying to recapture something.

  I swallowed back a hint of emotion. “Were we happy?”

  He rocked back a bit and released another chuckle, this one slightly less authentic. “Why do you say it like you’re talking about a previous life?”

  “Well, it kind of is for me.”

  “I get it. I know this transition back to your old life can’t be easy.”

  “Working with Nick again has helped not only to jog some memories, but to make me feel comfortable. It helps being around people I know and trust, even if I don’t have a ton of memories.”

  “Sure.”

  “This helps too,” I said, pointing at him then me. “I mean, I definitely feel something for the kids, our family, and while it’s foreign on some levels, it also seems natural, at least in some ways. It’s kind of difficult to explain, I guess.”

  “Dealing with kids can be foreign to me too,” he said, looking down at the comforter. “Don’t beat yourself up. Your memory seems to be coming back slowly.”

  “Just not fast enough.”

  “Patience isn’t exactly your strong suit,” he said while raising one of his eyebrows in a playful way. It enhanced his sexiness but also his emotional distance from me. I felt like he was trying to point out a flaw that he’d secretly never liked about me, but now he was able to let it out while he hid behind the cloak of my memory loss. I tried to brush it off. Maybe my radar was in oversensitive mode.

  More and more questions were starting to come to mind. Then I realized he’d never answered my happiness question. I took another angle. “What did we do for fun?”

  “Well, when it snows, the whole family goes outside and builds a snowman...you know, when it’s not a work or school day.”

  I nodded. “Sounds cold, but fun. What else?”

  “We try to see the kids do their things—Erin’s cheerleading and Luke’s basketball games—then we might go get an ice cream afterward. Oh, we saw a movie a few weeks ago. It was Luke’s first PG-13 movie. It was one of those 3-D, in-your-face dinosaur movies. He loved it.”

  I wondered if he’d understood my question. It was nice hearing about family events, but I wanted to know more about the two of us, the foundation of our family. “That’s cool. So, what did you and I do for fun?”

  “Oh, us?” He looked off in the corner, as if he were trying to come up with a viable story. After a few seconds, he tapped my leg then pointed at me. “Just a few weeks ago, we went to a nice dinner. Took out a client and his wife. Real nice Italian place in Back Bay. It was a great evening. You seemed to really hit it off with Charlotte.”

  I picked at my nails, thinking he was either avoiding the topic, or the bucket of fun was basically empty.

  “Sorry, but that night isn’t coming back to me. What did I like about Charlotte?”

  “She’s a driven woman, a bit of a ballbuster, like you.”

  “Ballbuster. In what way?”

  “Charlotte has worked her way up the corporate ladder. You guys traded a lot of stories about breaking through the glass ceiling. She’s one of those super moms. An executive by day, then hits the gym, takes taekwondo classes. She said it helps her feel more confident that she can kick the ass of the guy stabbing her in the back at work. She also has two kids.”

  A buzzing sound. Mark reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his cell phone from under his stack of papers. He looked at the screen, then clicked it dark and set it aside. “Just work stuff.”

  “Are you full-blooded Italian?”

  “Wasn’t expecting that question, but yes, Mom and Dad are from Sicily.”

  “Part of the Mafioso?”

  “Not exactly. They moved here when they were still young, teenagers, I think. Settled in DC, opened a pizza place. I went to Georgetown, both undergrad and law school. That’s where we met.”

  He got my attention. “Thus, all the Georgetown shirts.”

  “Right. I can still remember the day I first saw you.” He shifted his eyes to me and held his gaze without saying a word.

  “I’m all ears,” I said.

  “It’s actually pretty simple. You caught my eye from across the bar.”

  “You actually picked me up in a bar? Nice.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. I heard you laughing with your friends at this tavern called the Tombs. It was this big hangout place where people just chill. I was up at the bar ordering a beer, and I turned when I heard you laugh. Your smile just lit up the room. And your eyes...” He shook his head and again stared right at me. “Those blue eyes melted me right then and there.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “What happened next? Did you ask to carry my books to class?”

  He smirked. “I was smitten, but I wasn’t clueless.”

  I could see he wasn’t fond of being ribbed. “So when did I notice you?”

  “When I invited you and your friends to a party that night. Later at the party, you and I sat on the back porch and drank from a bottle of Goldschlager. We talked about everything, including who was better, Bon Jovi or Bruce Springsteen.”

  “It’s the Boss all the way.” />
  “That’s what you said back then. It was wrong then, and it’s wrong now.” He laughed, touching my leg again. I put my hand on top of his before he could take it away, and then I lifted my eyes to his. He gave me a tight smile, then scooted his hand away and ran his fingers through his hair.

  What the hell?

  Looking down, I touched my left hand.

  “You’re wondering about your rings, aren’t you?”

  “I just wasn’t sure if...”

  “If I gave you a ring? What kind of guy do you think I am? You put them in a little jewelry box in your dresser, top one on the left.”

  I lifted off the bed, walked over, and pulled open the drawer, spotting a tiny container. “It’s silver and red?”

  “That’s the one.”

  I opened the jewelry box, which was lined with satin. I took the two rings from the box and held them to the light. “Platinum bands, and look at that puppy,” I said, admiring the emerald-cut diamond on the engagement ring. “Wow, how big is it?”

  “I think it’s—”

  “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. It’s amazing.” I glanced over at Mark. “Stupid question: why do I put my rings in here?”

  “Your job mostly. You said the rings are so big you knew they’d catch on something or someone. Plus, you didn’t want people thinking you were loaded.”

  “And you didn’t have a problem with that?”

  “Didn’t love it at first, when you took the job at the FBI, but I got used to it. Plus, you’d take them out and wear them around the house and whenever we went out.”

  I nodded, set the rings on the top of the dresser, and rejoined Mark on the bed. A yawn escaped my lips.

  “I think you need your sleep,” he said.

  “Yeah, I’ve got an early meeting with Nick and this intelligence analyst named Brad.”

  “You’re really pushing hard with your new cases. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. And I’m sure you don’t want to hear that you should slow down, or even take some more time off.”

  Part of me just wanted to know that he cared, although it sounded like he knew my core personality trait, which I was becoming reacquainted with. “I’m not taking on anything that will hurt me. We can’t waste any time with this one. Lives are on the line.”

  He nodded and stared at me. “I know, I know. Lives are always on the line. I won’t ask about the details of the case. You won’t tell me, and my brain can’t begin to process everything in your world on top of my crazy work life.” He blew out a tired breath, so I decided not to delve further into his work issues. After a moment, he said, “Listen, Alex—”

  But I interrupted him. “Where did we go on our honeymoon?”

  “That came out of nowhere.”

  “I’ve just seen the pictures around. Looks amazing, fun...even, dare I say, romantic.” I felt a tingle in my body.

  “Oh...” His lips turned up at the corners, then he looked away.

  “What?”

  “We had a blast. Went to Italy. Spent most of our time on the Amalfi Coast.” Bringing a hand to his mouth, he released a chuckle. Was he blushing?

  “Mark...”

  “We did something naughty.”

  I could see his dark eyes looking me up and down. “I’m all ears.”

  “We...”

  “Yes?”

  “We went skinny dipping in the middle of the night in the hotel pool.”

  We both howled, then quickly shushed ourselves to not wake up the kids, at least not Luke.

  “That trip must have cost a ton, Mark.”

  “Mom and Dad picked up the bill. They wanted to give us something nice and let you see my family’s roots.”

  “They play a big role in our lives?”

  “You know, they like to express their opinions.”

  I wondered if I’d locked horns with them, but I wanted to avoid a drama discussion.

  “Luke, after all, is named after Dad,” he added.

  “What about Erin?”

  He looked down and tugged on the comforter, then said. “That was your mother’s middle name.” His voice softened with the words.

  “My family. Sounds like a taboo subject.”

  “It’s hard,” he said. “Your childhood had some bumps. Your mom died, and your dad...”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Yes. Donald Troutt is his name.”

  “Troutt?”

  “Apparently your mom teased you with the name when you would sulk. Pouty Troutty is what she called you.”

  “Pouty Troutty,” I repeated. I tried to move on. “Where did I grow up?”

  “Moved around some, but you spent your last few pre-college years in South Texas. On the coast. Port Isabel.”

  I thought about my longing for the ocean and warmer weather. “That actually makes sense,” I said. A quick flash of me riding a jet ski—laughing, screaming—popped in my mind. Was my dad on it with me?

  “What are my dad’s issues? From your tone, I can tell something is not right.”

  “Mainly alcohol-related. That’s why I didn’t rush and call him about your accident. He’s up and down and not really reliable. Last you told me, he was living with some woman he’d just met at the local Walmart.”

  I could feel my stomach tighten a bit. “I guess I need to call him at some point. Just to reconnect, try to remember more of my younger life. But now may not be the best time. I need to feel a bit more comfortable with who I am and with everything here at home first, before I jump into that moat.”

  “It will be okay. We’ll be okay,” he said, touching my leg and holding it there an extra second.

  “Thank you.”

  I let out another yawn, and without saying another word, we both crawled under the covers. A slight wedge in the middle of the bed funneled us closer, and within seconds, we were joined at the hip. My eyes grew heavy, despite my mind swirling about everything I’d just learned and even felt from Mark.

  “Alex,” he said softly, breaking the silence. “I love you.”

  My eyes popped open for a second, as I replayed his words. “Love you too, Mark.”

  For the first time I could recall, a sense of calm relaxed every muscle in my tired body. And then my eyes shut.

  15

  Gazing out windows through bubbles of condensation at the Starbucks at Harvard Square, I watched fellow Bostonians execute their early-morning ritual, some moving much faster than others. Most of the overnight snow had been shoveled into piles on the side of the road and sidewalk—Nick had said we picked up about six inches. But the biggest hazard at the moment was the blustery wind as temperatures hovered in the low twenties.

  Pockets of frozen snow dust danced across the square, spraying the prickly specks of snowflakes across the landscape, smacking unsuspecting men, women, and college students in the face. I brushed the slivers of ice off my coat—a red trench coat to replace the one with a bullet hole in it—and draped it over the chair next to me while I waited for Nick to bring my coffee.

  A ding, and I turned to see the front door push open. An older man with a pipe lumbered inside. His eyes were watering from the cold, his weathered cheeks a bright red. He wasn’t who we were waiting on. The man put his shoulder against the door and leaned, trying to counter the force of the howling winds. His slick dress shoes slipped a few times as a blast of ice shot through the crack. The door finally shut, and he removed his pipe and blew out an exhaustive breath.

  I could relate.

  “Piping hot,” Nick said, extending the smoky cup just under my nose.

  “Thanks.” I took a sip of my non-fat mocha with whip and felt the liquid warm my chest from the inside out. My eyes gravitated back outside. At that moment, a man’s green Celtics cap blew off his head and smacked a lady in the nose. She grabbed the cap in midair and threw it to the ground while screaming something—a profanity was my guess, though I couldn’t hear it—in his direction. Tapping my phone, I noted the time. Ten minutes afte
r eight.

  “I know he talked a good game last night during our quick call, but your man Brad isn’t proving to be very reliable. He’s ten minutes late.”

  Nick slurped in a shot of caffeine. “First of all, he’s not my guy. If anything, he’s your guy.”

  I scrunched my eyes. “The only person I’d call ‘my guy’ is at work, probably buried in paperwork. The kind that would bore me to sleep, if not death.”

  Setting down his coffee, Nick leaned on his elbows. “Has someone finally hit paradise on the home front?”

  “Not sure I’d call it paradise, but last night was nice.”

  “Nice. That’s what you’re going to call it? Sounds very pedestrian and boring. I guess he’s not that good.”

  I poked his hand. “Don’t go there, Nick. It’s not like that. We never got that far. But we did bond a little. It was...nice.”

  “Right. Nice.” He smiled and took another slurp of his coffee.

  I heard the front door open again and glanced over Nick’s shoulder. A young couple wearing Harvard jackets walked in, mid-giggle, acting as if it were a fifty-degree day.

  “Fifteen minutes late and counting.” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Dammit, Alex, don’t be such a drill sergeant. He’ll be here, and then he’ll blow your socks off.”

  I recalled our conversation from late last night. Lots of yes ma’ams and no ma’ams. It seemed as if Brad was trying to show me some respect, but it only made me feel like a grandmother.

  Someone bumped the back of my chair, and I spilled my coffee on the table.

  “Hey...” I said, flipping around, only to see a massive belly about two inches from my face.

  “Quit taking up all the space, lady. It’s a fuckin’ free country, even for those of us who are weight challenged,” a man with four chins said.

  I reached for the badge in my purse, but was stopped stone-cold by a stench I didn’t know existed. Puffing out my cheeks to hold my breath, I turned back to Nick, who was rolling his eyes.

  “Hey, Alex.”

  Lifting my eyes slowly, a man stood on the other side of the table. He was shedding his overcoat, revealing a stylish beige sweater, which matched his straw-colored locks perfectly. A wisp of hair fell across his gunmetal-gray eyes. He extended his hand.