When Danger Calls (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  His chest rose beneath her head, then floated down. "We can make it work. We're good together."

  "Great sex isn't enough for a relationship."

  "It wasn't just great sex. We made love, Frankie. There's a difference. But there's more than the physical side." His fingers drew feather-light strokes along her back. "You're smart, you're talented, and you're strong. You chase away my nightmares. And you make me laugh. In my world, there's not enough laughter. I'm not giving up on us."

  "Us. That's the biggie. The way I see it, there would be a lot of time when the 'us' is me and Molly."

  "And her brother or sister. Or both."

  Frankie raised her head. "Whoa. That's kind of jumping ahead."

  "I'm still in fantasyland." He stroked her hair, and she settled back onto his chest, listening to the rhythmic thumping of his heart.

  "You sure are. For once, I'm looking ahead further than next week. Considering long-range plans. Dealing with what I want. I refuse to think of Molly as a mistake, but getting pregnant changed my life. I took a job I didn't really like because it was the best thing for Molly. I gave it up to come home and take care of Mom, who never even asked me to. Bob wants to be near his sister. She'll need long-term care, but he wants to be close, and Mom agrees."

  His heart thudded a little faster. "Your mom. She'll want to be close to you and Molly, won't she? Will you go with her? I saw the 'For Sale' sign, and I almost had a heart attack thinking you were gone."

  "Not yet. Bob makes Mom happy. He made her go to a different doctor, and it turns out her medications were causing her memory problems. But even if she really was losing it, he wouldn't care. She told me he loves her a minute at a time."

  "But you're still leaving?" His hand stopped moving.

  She hesitated. "Yes, but not right away. I'm going to finish out the school term. Molly's been uprooted once this year already. No more Three Elks, though. It'll be tight for a while, but we'll manage. Once the house sells, I'll get a third of the proceeds. And I want to pursue photography for real."

  Ryan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him. "Could you do it around San Francisco instead?

  "Why? What's there?"

  "Me. Blackthorne." He tucked her hair behind her ears.

  Even though she'd expected them, hearing the words out loud made her heart drop to her stomach. "You're going back to work for them?" She rolled beside him and arranged the covers over her.

  "My job's available. I can do good."

  She twisted the sheet in her hands. "Would you quit your job for me? Find a normal occupation? Safe? Come home for dinner at the same time every night? Be at school plays and ballet recitals?"

  He sobered. "Is that what you want?"

  "What I want is the answer to my question. Would you quit saving the world for me and Molly?"

  "Is this a test?" His voice lost its dreamy quality and took on a hardened edge.

  "Think about it. You came in here telling me how it would be, like it was a done deal. Don't you think you should ask me? Find out what I want?"

  He stared into the distance for a long time. She waited, knowing tonight might be the last night they'd have together. She studied him, wanting to memorize every hair on his head, the creases at the edges of his eyes, the dimple in his cheek. Her gaze took in the scars, those reminders of his sacrifices for what he believed in.

  When he spoke, his voice was thick. "I don't think I can quit, Frankie. I walked out once, and it was for a stupid reason. I need to do what I think is right. I hope you understand that. I love you. You're the most important thing in my life, but I have to think of the lives of other people. They're important, too. And knowing you'd be home waiting would make the job even more meaningful."

  Her emotions roiled at the thought of what he did. She respected it. Admired it. Envied it, maybe. But could she live with it? The ugly reality was Ryan killed people. Bad people, to be sure. She chided herself. She'd have done it too, to save her child. Ryan saved everyone's children.

  "I've thought about it. A lot. What it would be like to live with someone who might walk out the door in the morning and never come home. Sitting at the dinner table, and not being able to do the basics, like, 'Tell me about your day, dear.' All the uncertainty. And what about Molly? If she loves you, and you…go away…it would be devastating."

  "No life comes with guarantees. You know that. But there are a lot of family guys at Blackthorne, and countless military families who deal with separation all the time. It's not easy, but they pull it off. You could, too. You've never needed someone to be around all the time."

  She moved to get out of bed, but he held her back. "No pacing. We're going to talk this out, face to face, eye to eye." He turned on his side and his determined gaze trapped her. She sifted through her thoughts, searching for the words she'd rehearsed all week.

  "Would it help if I begged?" he said. The hint of humor in his tone didn't reach his eyes.

  "No begging. Not for this. Your work is important. To you, and to so many people. Mine might not be 'save the world' stuff, but it means a lot to me. If it's going to work between us, we'll both have to sacrifice. Compromise. I can't do this only for you."

  "So, are you saying you'd accept me as a field agent?" He couldn't disguise the hope in his eyes.

  "I've played out all the alternatives, and I can't see you happy being anything else."

  "So, did I pass your test? I'm not hearing the answer."

  "You haven't asked the right question."

  He cradled her face and kissed her. A soft, gentle kiss. "Frankie—"

  "Wait," she said. "Please don't ask yet. I don't want to hurt you when I say I have to wait a while longer before I'll know for sure."

  He grinned. "You'll wait? I can do waiting. Waiting's not the same as 'Go to hell, Ryan'—oops. I meant, 'Go to blazes.' I told you I wouldn't go away."

  She tousled his hair. "That's borderline babbling, you know."

  "You've unearthed a whole new me."

  "Not a new you. A part you could never show. You're a warrior. A warrior with a layer of marshmallow fluff hidden inside, but a warrior all the way."

  He burst out laughing. "God, I love you."

  "I love you, too. And for what it's worth, you gave me the right answer. Giving up what you love would make us both resent each other."

  "If it helps, my days in the field are probably going to end sooner than I'd planned. I saw the doctor, and the knee is never going to be a hundred per cent. Once I started slowing down a team, I'd quit the field work. They need people behind the scenes coordinating operations, and I can do good there, too."

  "You didn't mention that part. So you were testing me, too?" She tried, but couldn't summon up any resentment. She'd done the same to him.

  He kissed the top of her head. "I think we're both using our brains here, instead of our hormones for a change. Neither of us would be happy knowing the other one sacrificed their dreams."

  She smiled. "So, if I want to travel for my photography, you'd be okay with that?"

  "All the way." His eyes widened. "You're not going to want to photograph combat zones, or political uprisings, or things like that, are you?"

  "Maybe. It might be interesting." At his look of panic, she smiled. "Nah. I think I'll leave that to your brother. I'll stick to nature." She threw back the covers and ran her finger down his naked torso. "You're a natural subject right now. Maybe I should test my new camera."

  His eyebrows shot up and he yanked the sheet up to his waist. "No way. I have one more present for you." He kissed her forehead and leaned over the edge of the bed. She watched his tight behind as he fished on the floor for his pants. When he brought up a small velvet box, her pulse raced.

  "Ryan, this isn't right. I said—"

  "Open it."

  With trembling fingers, she pried the lid open. Inside was a gold, heart-shaped pendant with a diamond in the center. She traced the surface with a fingertip. "It's beautiful."
>
  "Come here." He took the box and lifted the necklace, dangling it from its fine gold chain. "You've got my heart, Frankie. Wear this and remember, no matter where I am, you've got the most important part of me with you all the time. I'll always come back."

  When he fastened it around her neck, tears welled and her throat closed. "You're making me cry. I never cry."

  With his thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. "You promise never to say another word about marshmallow fluff, and my lips are sealed."

  She pressed her mouth to his.

  "Bad choice of words," he mumbled as he opened to her probing tongue.

  "And there's a part of you that's definitely not marshmallow fluff."

  "If you'd like, I've got a few more fantasies we can try."

  She reached for him. When he put his arms around her, she knew this was where she belonged. With Ryan. Who had her heart.

  (The End)

  *****

  And a peek at another Blackthorne, Inc. novel:

  DANGER IN DEER RIDGE

  Copyright © 2011 by Terry Odell

  Chapter 1

  “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll be safe here. Grace said so. And so did Miri. Can we live here forever?”

  Elizabeth squeezed her son’s shoulder. There’s no such thing as forever, she wanted to say.

  Will turned away from the window. “They’ll come back, won’t they?”

  At least his tone had changed. His somber mood had lifted when they’d passed fields with horses and cows alongside the road as they drove to their new home. And ever since he’d seen the herd of deer walk through the yard, he’d stopped complaining about leaving Grace’s house.

  Pointedly avoiding his first question, she nodded. “The town is called Deer Ridge, so I’m sure there are lots of deer around. I think they have favorite places. If our yard is one of theirs, I’m sure they’ll come again. But probably not right away. They have things to do. And so do we.”

  Will’s brown-eyed gaze, so like the puppy’s he’d had to leave behind, captured her heart. How could someone so young be so solemn? And so blasted perceptive.

  She ran her fingers over his recently shorn hair, missing the blond curls. Will seemed to accept the changes their new lives required, but could he maintain the façade? She understood the constant effort it took to avoid anything someone might recognize as Julie Ann.

  Starting with the name. Damn, she had to stop thinking of herself as Julie Ann Vaughn. Thanks to Grace’s magic, Julie Ann Vaughn was dead. Elizabeth had read the online article about the memorial service, complete with pictures of a grieving husband. The man could play a damn good role, right down to the crocodile tears.

  For a short time, when she’d first run, she’d been Jillian, but now she was Elizabeth. Plain, boring Elizabeth. Elizabeth Parker.

  Ignoring the chill that shuddered through her, she found a grin for Will. “Right as rain, buster. Now go put your things away. If you do it yourself, you’ll know where everything is.”

  With Will busy in his room, Elizabeth started dinner preparations. For their first night in their new home, she’d let Will pick the menu. Hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, and, because she’d insisted on something green, string beans. And it did seem to be the sort of meal Elizabeth Parker would cook for her eight-year-old son.

  She’d stopped at a Walmart the day before, on the drive from San Francisco to Colorado, and bought enough basics to get them started. They might not have much, but at least she had a pot to cook in. Groceries, she’d bought today, at a Safeway about an hour away. She remembered the clerk trying to convince her to get the discount card, and how he’d raised his eyebrows when she’d refused. Had that been a mistake? Would she be more memorable for refusing?

  Didn’t matter, she reminded herself. No paper trail. No computer trail.

  She filled the pot with water, then set it on the burner. Checking the unfamiliar gas range, she matched the knob with the appropriate burner and twisted it. Nothing. She waited. Tried again. Was she supposed to light the burner with a match? Where was the instruction book? She yanked open drawers hoping to find one. Nothing.

  Taking a calming breath, she twisted the knob again, leaning forward to listen for the hiss of gas. Still nothing. She sniffed. Nope.

  Great. Grace’s Realtor had promised the rented house was move-in ready. Elizabeth ran the water in the sink. After several minutes, it hadn’t warmed.

  Stop. Think. Lights work. Refrigerator works. Those were electric. The stove was gas, and she suspected the water heater was as well. Heat? The sun streamed in, and she hadn’t noticed a chill in the place. But if the heat wasn’t working, it would get cold once the sun went down. The Colorado mountains weren’t known for sultry nights in June.

  Biting back a curse, she dried her hands and went to the car for her rudimentary tool kit. She’d picked up a few skills helping Miri keep Galloway House running, but she was more of a tool passer than a Ms. Fixit. Would she know a gas line if she tripped over it?

  Become more self-sufficient. Another thing to add to her growing “To Do” list.

  She popped the trunk and reached in for the red metal case. The sound of footfalls behind her had her jerking upward, slamming her head into the edge of the trunk. She forced herself to move slowly.

  Ignore the pain. Keep both hands free. Did she have time to open the chest and grab something heavy? Wasn’t there one of those tire-changing things lying in the trunk? Trying not to be obvious, she groped along the carpet-lined space.

  “Ms. Parker?” A deep male voice conjured images of a linebacker-sized hit man. But why would a hit man use her new name? Her mind whirled. The voice wasn’t Victor’s. If Victor sent some thug, wouldn’t he be asking for Julie Ann? Who other than Grace and a Realtor she’d never met face-to-face knew she was here? The Realtor was a woman. Should she admit to being Elizabeth Parker?

  And then a thought surpassed all others.

  Will’s alone in the house.

  Her fingers wrapped around cool metal. Barely registering its four-sided shape, she hefted it. Heavy enough to do some damage. Awkward to conceal. She half-turned, keeping her head down.

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry I’m late. I’m here to turn on the gas.”

  Relief supplanted some of the fear. Warily, her makeshift weapon at her side, she searched for a gas company vehicle. She saw a pickup at the far end of her steep, winding driveway, but she couldn’t make out a company logo. Was he blocking her in? If he was from the gas company, where was his toolbox? She hated this life, having to be your-life-might-be-at-stake careful instead of the normal-woman-alone careful.

  “Got a flat?” the man asked.

  She dared to look at him directly. Not a linebacker. Baseball player, maybe, although the dirt-streaked blue coverall he wore hid his shape. But there was no denying the underlying muscular build. A rugged face, jaws shadowed with stubble. Snapping her gaze from his face, she looked more closely at his uniform, seeking some gas company identification. Instead, a red-and-yellow embroidered patch with a helicopter and “Life Flight” stood out against the dark fabric. Beneath it was a small green cartoon logo, but she wouldn’t step close enough to see exactly what—or be caught staring. He kept looking up the driveway toward his truck, then back at her, his expression more questioning than menacing. Did he have a partner there? Was he signaling him?

  He cleared his throat. “I can change your tire if you need it.”

  “What?” she said.

  “A flat.” He tilted his chin toward her arm. “You’re holding a lug wrench. Assumed you needed to change a tire.”

  His expression said he knew damn well what she’d planned to use it for.

  “Lug wrench. Right. Um … no. I was getting the tool kit. To fix the gas. But if you’re here to do that—”

  “I am.” He reached into a deep pocket of his coveralls. Her heart fluttered. Her grip on the wrench tightened as he brought his hand forward. Did he have a gun? No, not a gun. A w
rench.

  He cast another quick glance toward his truck. “Rhonda Simmons sent me. Mountain Realty?”

  Rhonda the Realtor. Right. Another layer of wariness peeled away. He must have caught her staring at his chest. He craned his neck toward his truck again, then patted the patch. “Oh, this. Yeah, I’m a backup pilot for Life Flight. We had a rescue, which is why I couldn’t get here when I was supposed to. I hope you haven’t been inconvenienced.”

  “Not really. Not yet. We just got here today.” She felt like a fool holding the lug wrench, so she set it in the trunk. But didn’t close it. “Are you also with the gas company?”

  “No, but I live down the road, and I do a lot of handy work in the area, so Rhonda called me. Won’t take more than a few minutes. Or, if you’re worried, you can call the gas company directly, but it’s Friday. They probably won’t get here until Monday at the earliest. And they’ll charge you twenty bucks. Your call.” He gave her a friendly enough grin, but there was something half-hearted about it.

  Her brain seemed to have come to a screeching halt after the tangle of thoughts that had been racing through it. “Um…Can you wait here one minute?”

  “No problem. I have to check something. Only be a second.” He started up the driveway.

  “Wait,” she called after him. “Your name?”

  He grinned again. This one seemed for real. She avoided thinking how his mouth turned up more on one side than the other, and raised her gaze to his eyes. Which, she’d already noted, were a greenish-gold with a dark ring around the iris. And why had she noticed that? Dropping her gaze to his chest didn’t work either.

  “Mark Grinciewicz,” he said. “Folks call me Grinch.”

  She wasn’t going to. Although she wasn’t sure she’d be able to repeat Grinciewicz without practicing. She slammed the car trunk closed. “Thanks.” She darted for the house. Grinch. That was the green thing on his coveralls. Well, he sure as heck wasn’t going to steal anything from her or Will.