by Rebecca Deel
Rowan blew out a breath, blinking back the moisture. She’d figure out the details of her new life. Lots of single mothers worked full time and raised a family. The first step was bringing Alexa home. Everything else would work itself out in time. The one thing she knew for sure? Alexa would never wonder whether Rowan loved her and wanted her.
Brent returned and motioned for her to come inside. Good thing, too. Rowan was starting to spook herself out here in the darkness. She needed better lighting at the door, doubly important now that she had Alexa to protect. “Find anything amiss?”
He shook his head and grabbed the bag he’d left at the door. After he locked the door, he set his bag against the wall.
Rowan dropped her purse on the side table. “Would you like some coffee or a soft drink?” She stopped, eyes widening. “You must be starving. We didn’t have a chance to eat.”
“I am hungry,” he admitted. “What about you?”
She wrinkled her nose, shook her head.
“So you’re one of those.”
“One of those?”
“One of those people who don’t eat when dealing with an adrenaline rush. Some of my operatives exercise until they drop to burn off the energy. Others eat. Still others listen to music. Then there are folks like you who can’t eat until the adrenaline bleeds off.”
“When will that happen?”
“Sometime in the next hour or so.” Brent brushed back some strands of Rowan’s hair clinging to her cheek. “When that happens, you may be too tired to eat.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Do you have eggs and bread?”
Her mouth gaped. “You’re expecting me to cook for you?”
He chuckled. “Actually, I was going to cook for both of us. If you can eat anything, it’s likely to be comfort food.”
“Don’t you need something more substantial?”
“I’ll be fine. Now, do you have the eggs and bread? If not, I’ll run out and buy some.”
“I have both.” Luckily, she’d made a trip to the grocery store two days ago and hadn’t been home long enough yet to eat anything she’d bought, a hazard of working long hours as a small business owner.
“Excellent. Go change into something comfortable while I work on the eggs and toast. Take your time.”
She reached up and cradled his face between her palms. “Thank you, Brent.” Rowan kissed him lightly and stepped back.
Brent caught her upper arms. With excruciating slowness, he brought her back, cupped the nape of her neck, and tilted his head toward her. His lips captured hers.
Oh, man. The combination of gentleness and confidence turned her to mush. This man with rapier sharp combat skills was treating her with the delicacy of spun glass. Was this normal behavior for him with a woman or was this gentleness in deference to Heather’s death? Whichever it was, it worked for her.
His tongue brushed her bottom lip, silently asking for permission to deepen the kiss. When she sighed and shifted closer, giving in to his request, Brent wrapped his arms around her and eased her against his chest.
By the time he released her, Rowan’s head was spinning. Good grief, Brent Maddox had serious skills.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he murmured.
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. Ever since I set eyes on you a year ago in the coffee shop.”
She scowled. “Why didn’t you do something about it before now?” A year? This guy was a Navy SEAL. He couldn’t have been afraid of her.
Without answering her question, Brent gently turned Rowan and nudged her toward the hallway. “Go change, baby. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re finished.”
“But you don’t know where anything is.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Taking him at his word, Rowan went to her room and closed the door. She leaned against the wooden surface. Oh, goodness. What was she going to do? Brent could be dangerous to her heart. He was special. Special enough to risk her heart? Time would tell.
She hurried to her dresser and pulled out a comfortable pair of jeans and her favorite Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt. Rowan glanced at the closed door. The food preparation would take a few minutes, long enough for her to grab a quick shower. After being at work since four this morning, she felt grungy.
Minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and dressed. After tying on her running shoes, Rowan walked to the kitchen. As soon as she stepped into the room, Brent turned.
His gaze took her in damp hair and her sweatshirt. “We might have a problem, sweetheart.”
Her muscles tensed. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m a Philadelphia Eagles fan.”
She shrugged. “We’ll have a lot of fun ribbing each other when my Cowboys stomp your Eagles.”
“I’ll be sure to send you flowers in sympathy when your boys lose.” Brent brushed her mouth with a soft kiss, then said, “Food’s ready. Come eat.”
She turned to the breakfast bar, saw that he’d already plated some scrambled eggs and toast for her. Thankfully, the portions were small. Beside her plate was a mug with steam rising from it. “Coffee?”
“I didn’t think you needed coffee, especially not with your stomach in knots. I found some chamomile tea in your pantry. I hope that’s okay.”
“Perfect.” That particular tea was one of her favorites.
Brent sat beside her at the counter and dug into his eggs. Instead of tea, he’d made coffee for himself.
“Not a tea fan?” she asked, looking at him over the rim of her mug.
“Ever known me to order tea in your shop?”
She smiled. “I might not have the right tea in stock.”
A snort. “The only tea I’d drink would have to taste exactly like coffee and have the same caffeine kick.”
For the next few minutes, Brent told her about some of the funny incidents on his missions in the SEALs and his operations with Fortress while omitting mission details.
“Wait. You still go on missions?” Rowan laid her fork on her plate, surprised to note that the plate was empty. Probably the reason Brent had been telling her stories. Something told her that wasn’t a common occurrence. He didn’t seem the type to talk about himself.
“Keeps my skills sharp, baby.” He pushed his plate aside and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “When we figure out where Alexa is, I’ll be leading a team to rescue her.”
“You don’t even know her.” But he would risk his life for Rowan’s niece, a fact which melted her heart.
“I know you, and you love her. That’s enough for me. Besides, who could resist that angel face? I’m looking forward to bringing her home.”
Oh, yeah. She’d been right. Brent Maddox was a special man. Any woman would be lucky to capture his interest. She was afraid to hope he was interested in long term with her. Rowan didn’t want to be disappointed if he was passing time until someone better came along. That didn’t seem like something he would do, but what did she really know about him aside from his job title and his preference for black coffee, the stronger the better?
Was this the time to tell him what she’d decided while washing the scent of coffee and pastries from her hair? Better to start as she meant to go on. If he wanted a woman who was content to sit back and let him take all the risks, she wasn’t the right one for him. That thought actually made her heart hurt. “About that. When you go after Alexa, I’m coming with you.”
His thumb stopped mid-stroke, leaving her lip tingling. “You’re not serious.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re not a trained operative, baby.”
“I am her legal guardian. If we have any chance of getting her out of wherever she is without legal difficulties, I have to go along.”
“We won’t have a problem with that.”
“I’m going with you.” She leaned into him and kissed his frowning mouth. “Please understand. I have to do this. Alexa needs me and she’s been through enough trauma w
ithout adding a bunch of new strangers taking off with her again.” She stopped, her blood running cold. “You weren’t planning to drug her, were you?”
He hesitated. “We have trained medics on every team.”
“No more drugs. Your medic doesn’t know anything about dosing children. He’s used to dealing with grown adults, not six-year-olds.”
“True enough. Still doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t a trained operative.”
“So train me. I know I won’t be as proficient as your people, but you can teach me a few simple things to protect myself and Alexa.”
He studied her face a moment. “I’ll think about it.”
“Think fast, Maddox.” She slid from the stool and took their dishes to the dishwasher. “Because my mind is already made up.”
He sighed. “I’m learning some new things about you, Rowan Scott.”
“Such as?”
“You’re a fabulous kisser and as stubborn as anyone I’ve ever met.” His lips curved.
“Yeah? I’ve learned a few things about you, too, Brent Maddox. You have skills in the kissing department as well and you have a heart of gold even though you try to hide behind that tough-guy image of yours.”
He winced. “Don’t tell my people that. They think the tough-guy image is the real thing all the way through.”
She grinned over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
Once the kitchen was cleaned up, Rowan set aside the dishtowel she’d been using. “Do you want me to make up the guest room bed for you?”
Brent shook his head. “I’ll stay on the couch. It’s a more central location. Are you ready to sleep?”
Rowan assessed what her body was telling her and admitted the truth. “I’m afraid I’ll toss and turn if I try to sleep now. I still feel as though I’ve been drinking coffee by the vat.”
“What normally helps you sleep? Reading a book or watching television?”
“Television. Books rev me up.”
“Come with me.” Brent took her hand and led her to the living room couch. When they were settled side by side, he grabbed the remote and surfed the available channels until he came to a station airing an old western. “Let’s try this.”
“You like westerns?”
“One of my operatives got me hooked on them last year. Eli loves them, especially the ones with John Wayne. They’re perfect for relaxing the mind and body.”
She turned her attention to the screen, skeptical. “If you say so.”
With a chuckle, Brent settled her against his side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Just trust me.”
With a sigh, she settled deeper into the sofa cushions. Before long, heat from Brent’s body wrapped her in warmth and she was surprised to find herself becoming sleepy. Must be the slowly developing plot of the movie. Could the trail ride last any longer, she thought as she yawned.
At the next commercial break, Rowan leaned her head against Brent’s chest. Might be a good idea to close her eyes during the commercial break. She’d go to bed in a little while. Right now, she was enjoying being held by Brent too much to move.
Brent drew her more fully against his chest and shifted his arm to her waist. “It’s okay to sleep, Rowan. I’ll be here.”
“But this is where you’re sleeping,” she mumbled.
A soft laugh. “When I’m ready to call it quits for the night, I’ll move you.”
The next thing Rowan knew, she was being lifted. She gasped and clutched onto the nearest hard surface.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Brent said. “I’m carrying you to your room.”
“I can walk.”
“Let me do this for you. It’s little enough after the night you’ve had.”
“Mmm.” She shifted her hold from his shoulders to wrapping her arms around his neck. “Guess the western worked.”
“Told you. Works for me every time.”
She lifted her head from his shoulder to eye him. “Have you been asleep, too?”
“I’ll never tell.” Brent turned sideways to carry her inside the room. He set Rowan on her feet. “I’ll see you in a few hours. If you need anything, I’ll be on the sofa.”
“Good night, Brent.”
He brushed her lips with a light kiss, then left.
A keeper, she thought as she toed off her shoes and climbed under the covers fully dressed. Too tired to change. She dreamed of gunshots and screams in the darkness.
Sometime late into the night, Rowan sat up, heart slamming against her ribcage. Had the blood-soaked nightmares woken her or was it something else, something more sinister?
Her gaze shifted to the doorway. Brent had left her door wide open. Had he made a noise that startled her? Rowan listened to the silence, not sure what she’d heard. She was ready to chalk it up to the trauma of losing Heather when a sound by her window caught her attention. Against the curtain, a man’s silhouette moved closer to her window.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A scream from Rowan’s room ripped away the veil of fatigue. Brent leapt from the couch and, weapon in hand, sprinted down the hall. Despite his need to reach her, his movements were utterly silent. No need to alert an intruder to his presence. Brent would love to take this guy down, if indeed one of the clowns who killed Heather and Jay were coming after Rowan.
“Brent!” A rush of feet indicated Rowan’s dash toward him.
“Here.” He caught her with his free arm as she barreled into his chest. “What’s wrong?”
She shivered in the cold breeze blowing from the open window. “A man on my fire escape. When I screamed, he ran.”
He bent down and grabbed his backup weapon from his ankle holster. “Ever fire a gun?”
Rowan shook her head.
He pressed the weapon into her hands. “Hold it like this.” Brent wrapped her hands around the stock. “Point and shoot. Keep shooting until the magazine is empty. Got it?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Track this guy down. If anyone comes after you, take him out. You go with no one but me or one of my people. They’ll identify themselves. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“After you lock up behind me, go to the living room and wait. I’ll be back soon.” He crossed to the window and slipped out onto the fire escape into the cold pre-dawn air.
Brent spotted a figure clad in black racing down the alley. He took the stairs two at a time and set off in pursuit once he reached the ground. The intruder glanced back, saw him, and surged ahead.
No way. Brent’s jaw clenched as he increased his speed. He wanted to question this guy. What concerned him the most was the man didn’t have that black van idling nearby which told Brent he had no intention of taking Rowan to Alexa. This guy planned to kill her. What had Jay Maxwell gotten himself into that was worth the risk of killing three adults and kidnapping a child? This guy had to know law enforcement would be all over a child’s abduction.
He jumped over a trashcan the guy overturned to slow him down. Brent still gained ground on him. The other guy was becoming winded. Must not have spent any time pounding the pavement or running on a treadmill. One final burst of speed, and Brent tackled the other man and brought him to the ground.
The ski-masked man twisted, throwing punches to Brent’s face and ribs. He blocked, countered with a roundhouse punch to the jaw and a short jab to the gut. The guy subsided with a groan.
Brent flipped the intruder to his stomach again and, with a knee in the middle of the guy’s back, grabbed a zip tie from his pocket. Once his hands were cinched, Brent yanked the man to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“What do you want, man? I didn’t do nothing.”
“Right. Tell it to the cops, buddy.”
The guy tried to jerk away from Brent and was unsuccessful, which led to a string of vile curses.
Brent scowled. “Shut up.”
The guy glared at him, but lapsed into silence as Brent frog-marched him
back to Rowan’s apartment. At the door, he knocked. “Open up, sweetheart. It’s me.”
A moment later, the locks disengaged and the door swung open. Rowan gasped when she saw the masked man standing beside Brent. “You got him.”
Amused, he grinned. “You’re surprised?”
Rowan’s cheeks flushed as she stepped back to allow them to enter the apartment. “He had a head start. I didn’t think you’d be able to catch him.”
“Your peeping tom isn’t in good shape, something he can work on in prison.”
Another glare from Ski Mask again, trying to jerk free.
Brent cuffed him across the ear. “Knock it off.” He turned to Rowan. “Bring one of your dining chairs. Once this clown is secured, we’ll call Taylor.” Wouldn’t take long for his detective friend to arrive.
Rowan hurried off and returned with a sturdy chair.
“Perfect. Back up a few more feet, babe.” When she complied, he said, “Point your weapon at him. If he moves, shoot him.”
The color drained from Rowan’s face, not a reaction he wanted. He did notice the nervous glances the other man tossed her. Good. If the guy was worried about Rowan putting holes in him, he might not try to escape when Brent secured him to the chair. “Sit,” he ordered the masked man.
Another glance at Rowan and the man reluctantly complied. Brent made short work of securing the man to the chair. “Keep your weapon pointed at him, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
Brent yanked off the guy’s ski mask. Dark hair, dark tanned skin, brown eyes glittering with fury and hatred, hands clenched into fists, muscles bunched, waiting for an opportunity to strike, an opportunity Brent wouldn’t give him.
He grabbed his phone and called Taylor. “Caught a guy trying to break into Rowan’s apartment. If you don’t show up soon, I’m turning Jon loose on him.”
“Address?” the detective snapped.
Brent gave him the necessary information.
“Don’t call Smith. You hearing me, boss?”
“Clock’s ticking,” he said instead of acknowledging the order.
Taylor growled and ended the call abruptly.
Brent turned his attention back to the man in black. “Cops are on the way. Let’s chat before they arrive.”
