by Vicki Hinze
Squelching her resentment against Drake and James, she avoided looking at Jake and gazed across the table at Timmy, who was still hard at the what-if questions. The only good thing about her not being on active duty in the military or active full-time in Intel was that her absence removed her and her family from the dangers inherent to the job. Her consults did pose the potential for danger, but typically she was in and out of the operation quickly, and only those with the highest security clearances ever knew she had been involved. Much safer for Timmy. There was solace in that.
Still, this Shadowpoint consult was serious enough that she had to tell Jake about it, and she would—just as soon as they got Timmy calmed down and into bed for the night. “Stop worrying, Tiger,” she said to him. “Your dad and I will be there.”
Outside, tires screeched.
Seconds later, the beams of bright headlights flooded in through the kitchen window. A car jumped the curb and headed straight for the kitchen. Oh, God, was it going to hit the house?
“It’s not stopping.” Jake jumped up.
Closest, Laura snagged Timmy, knocking a chair against the wall. She pulled him away from the outer wall, out of the kitchen, then shielded him behind her and watched Jake run toward the front door.
Through the arched opening between the entryway and the kitchen, she saw the car finally stop. Its still running engine had the walls and window vibrating, and Laura’s nerves shot. And Timmy was as white as a sheet. “It’s okay, Tiger.” She swept a shaky hand down his hair, praying she wasn’t inadvertently lying to him. “Just stay put until your dad assesses the situation.”
A car door slammed. “Where is she?” a woman shouted, her voice slurred. “Where is she?” A pause, then, “Don’t you dare tell me to lower my voice, Jake Logan. I’m not married to you anymore. You can’t tell me what to do. Where is the bitch?”
Madeline. And Timmy had to have heard her. For God’s sake, why couldn’t the woman think of him just once? Just once?
“Timmy.” Laura cupped his trembling chin. From the pain haunting his eyes, she knew he’d recognized Madeline’s voice. “Why don’t you go take your shower now, okay?”
The fear and anger burning in his eyes seeped into his voice. “It’s Madeline.”
“Yes, it is,” Laura admitted, more relieved that it was her than someone else. There were other possibilities. With Jake’s job, terrorists or malcontents seeking revenge or intelligence information were a possibility and a potential threat.
Timmy’s chin quivered, and he looked a blink from tears. “She’s drunk again.”
“I’m afraid so.” Laura swallowed hard. How could the woman keep doing this? Why did she insist on continuously hurting Timmy this way? “Go on now, and don’t forget to brush your teeth. Dad and I’ll be in a little later to say good night.”
Biting down on his lip, Timmy clenched his jaw. “She’s gonna do it again, isn’t she, Mom?”
Laura didn’t have to ask what he meant. Twice Madeline had pulled her consent before Jake and Laura could see the adoption through to fruition, and this felt frighteningly like a prelude to a third withdrawal. “I hope not.”
“Me, too.” He walked through the entryway, then across the family room and down the hall toward his room.
“Damn it, let go of me, Jake! I want to talk to the bitch, and I’m not going anywhere until I do.”
Fuming, Laura forced herself to stay in the entryway until Timmy stepped out of sight, then she went to the door. Madeline was yelling loud enough to wake the dead. No way could Timmy—or every neighbor in a three-block radius—not hear every word. Jake and Timmy deserved so much better than this. So much better than this.
Laura stepped outside, down onto the concrete landing, and saw Madeline sway on her feet. Her car had stopped closer to four feet than six from the kitchen window. The engine was still running, the lights were still on, and half the sod that had been the lawn now clung splattered on her car’s back fenders. So much for all the work they’d put into grooming every blade for the past two weeks. Laura grimaced. “I’m right here. What do you want, Madeline?”
She jerked around, her black suit as crumpled as if she’d slept in it for a week. Her once beautiful face, puffy and bloated by alcohol, twisted with hatred that ran soul-deep. “You’re not getting him. Timmy’s mine.” She thumped her thin chest with a wild, waving hand. “You got Jake, but you’re not getting my son.”
“I understand.” Laura crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the hurt and holding it inside. “Is that it?”
“You coldhearted bitch. Timmy belongs to me. He’s mine. M-I-N-E.”
Laura ignored the woman and swiveled her gaze to Jake. “Should I call the police?” That had been their attorney’s advice.
“No.” Jake frowned. “Timmy’s upset enough without having to see that, too.”
Truthfully, Laura felt a little relieved. The neighbors were gawking. Discreetly peeking out from behind their drapes and through the slats of their mini-blinds, but gawking. That infuriated and embarrassed her. Hell, it humiliated her, and she knew it had the same effect on Jake. “She obviously can’t drive.” A diplomatic understatement; the woman could barely stand. It was a shame her overindulgence hadn’t shut her mouth. “I’ll go call her a cab. You get the car off the lawn.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not standing here.” Madeline tried to sling off Jake’s grasp on her upper arm.
He held fast with little effort. She was tiny, about Laura’s five-five height, and Jake towered over them both. “That’s enough, Madeline.”
“Nothing is black and white,” she shouted at Laura. “I told you, there’re always shades of gray. Damn it, I told you . . .”
She had told Laura that. Repeatedly. But what exactly she had meant by it, only she, God, and the demons that drove her to drink knew. Laura turned to go inside.
“Don’t walk away from me, bitch.” Madeline fought Jake harder, spitting her words out from between her teeth. “I hate it when people walk away from me!”
Jake restrained her, kept Madeline from going after Laura. The woman was sick, and they should have compassion, but a resentful part of her half-wished Jake would turn Madeline loose so Laura could legitimately belt her in self-defense. It would be wrong, but after so many years of these type altercations, her tolerance level had dipped low. At the moment, it had dipped to nearly nonexistent. Yet Laura understood the value of discipline, so she restrained herself and retraced her steps on the walkway to the covered landing at the front door. Only she would know she tasted blood from biting her tongue. There was solace in that.
Madeline screamed. “Don’t walk away from me!”
Without looking back, Laura went inside, shoved the door shut, resisted an urge to kick it. She jerked up the phone, shaking in fury and fear that Madeline would stop the adoption again. Muttering intermittently against the aggravation, the frustration, and the indignity of putting up with stunts like this one, she first called a cab to come get Madeline and then phoned Bill at Green’s Automotive to come and tow away her car.
In the morning, the woman wouldn’t have a clue where she’d left it, and Laura would rather pay the towing fee than risk Madeline returning here so soon. Laura’s tolerance definitely had sunk too low to risk her having the patience to deal with that.
Hanging up the phone, soul-weary and worried half-sick about tomorrow, she glimpsed Timmy out of the corner of her eye. Hunkered against the hallway wall, he looked so lost, so alone and afraid, it broke her heart. The urge to physically force Madeline into a serious attitude adjustment hit Laura hard. Instead, she went to Timmy, stooped down, and then hugged him close, trying to absorb all the fears from him. “I’m so sorry, Tiger.” The child was shaking like a leaf. “Are you okay?”
“She scares me, Mom.”
“She’s sick, h
oney.” Laura rubbed little circles on his back, trying to soothe him. “Really sick.”
A few minutes later, Jake came back inside.
Timmy was still shaking. “Is she gone, Dad?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“Yes, son.” Looking as weary as Laura felt, Jake tried to reassure Timmy. “And Bill Green just left with her car. Everything’s okay, except the front lawn. We’ll need a truckload of dirt and a good bit of sod to get rid of the tire ruts.” Jake heaved a sigh and rubbed at his neck. “Guess that settles the question of what we’ll be doing next weekend.”
“Guess so,” Laura said. “But Sutter’s Mill will still be there the weekend after for us to visit. We can handle this.” That was true, if annoying. Repairing the lawn only required time, money, and hours of backbreaking work and sweat. The real worry was in wondering what Timmy would require to heal from this.
Jake scooped up Timmy and hugged him to him. Though Laura felt down to her core the regret and worry Madeline had put in Jake’s eyes, she pretended not to see it.
Half an hour later, they had all calmed down considerably, and Timmy was back to the what-if questions Judge Neal might pose to him.
“Stop worrying.” Jake ruffled Timmy’s hair. “You’ll turn gray before you’re ten. Mom and I will be there, son. Didn’t she tell you everything would be fine?”
“Yes.”
“And doesn’t she always tell the truth?”
“She always has,” Timmy conceded, sliding a longing look at Laura that this time she was being honest with him, too.
“We’ll be there,” Laura repeated to reinforce it, hearing the phone ring.
Closest to the phone, Jake grabbed the receiver, then answered. “Logan.”
His shoulders tensed, and he buried his expression under his professional mask. “Fine.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Laura’s heart wrenched in her chest. It was a business call. He was being sent out on a mission.
Tomorrow in court, Jake wouldn’t be there.
Three
As a Special Assistant to General Bradley Connor, Jake expected to contend with interruptions of his personal life and with sensitive missions. But did they always have to come at the worst possible time?
Normally, to meet with the general, he would dress in Class-As rather than the regular uniform of navy blue slacks and pale blue shirt, but Jake opted for the regular. It was a Sunday night, and anything that had Connor summoning Jake then would render the issue of uniform moot.
He drove to headquarters, clipped his building access ID to his shirt pocket, and then nodded at the security guard just inside the front door, doing his damnedest to keep his grimace to himself. Most of the time Jake didn’t resent the interference of his duties on his private life, but being called in and ordered to report directly to General Connor’s office for briefing when Jake should be at home reassuring Laura that Madeline wouldn’t dare pull the damn papers again, and reassuring Timmy that this time would be different and the adoption would go through, had Jake feeling nothing but resentment.
Oh, Laura had bailed him out with Timmy. She always had smoothed over challenges with an incredible ease Jake felt grateful for, and he envied. Being truthful about the odds of the adoption going through with Jake absent—slim as a pencil, but they’d give it their best shot—she’d cuddled Timmy and urged him to not lose faith. Things would work out. Then, ever so gently, she’d reminded him that Jake had no choice. He had to go to help others who couldn’t help themselves just then, and, as his family, she and Timmy had to understand the importance of that.
“Responsibility isn’t a coat,” Timmy had said, wise beyond his years.
“Right.” Stroking his nape, Laura had given him one of her soft smiles. “You’re either strong enough to wear it all the time, or you leave it in the closet and suffer when it’s cold.”
Timmy’s anger had drained to resignation. He’d stiffened his thin shoulders, and his expression had turned solemn. Tilting his chin up, he’d looked into Jake’s eyes, and then he’d asked, “Daddy, when are you going to have time for me?”
So simply put. Yet if Jake lived to be a thousand, he’d never forget the pain flashing through Timmy’s eyes, or the determination in the set of his chin that meant he would patiently wait until Jake did have time for him. Remorse shafted straight into Jake’s soul, and, as it had then, guilt flooded him now. And not for the first time since Madeline had opted for Scotch and Jake had divorced her, ripples of doubt that he was a good parent crashed over him in confidence-eroding waves. When would he have time for his son?
So long as he was assigned to Special Ops, everyone and everything else in his life had to rank second. There were no other options.
The guard at headquarters’ front desk gave Jake a snappy salute. With the familiarity of the long-performed, Jake returned it and then headed down the long tile walkway, bypassing the elevator for the stairs. At that moment, he had too much frustration roiling inside him to ride up to the third floor. Maybe a stint on the stairs would give him a breather—time to shift gears from “Daddy” to “Major.” Laura would do her damnedest to see to the adoption; of that Jake had no doubt. Like she’d told Timmy; they had to have faith. All of them—including Jake.
What he’d ever done to deserve her, or what he’d ever do without her, he had no idea. And he prayed he’d never find out. Amazing, considering that living with her these past three weeks was slowly killing him.
Laura wasn’t a quick-kill type of woman. She didn’t send men spiraling into fantasyland with a quick glance or a glimpse, though she was just as lethal. Laura seeped inside a man, into his every pore, until one day it hit him like a sucker punch that he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
In their thirteen-year friendship, she’d done a damn lot of seeping into Jake Logan. But nothing in comparison to what she’d done to him in the past three weeks.
What had happened? What was different? He’d actually started having fantasies of theirs being a real marriage.
After his stab at wedded bliss with Madeline, him having fantasies of a real marriage with Laura had to be the sickest twist his mind ever had taken. They’d been friends for years, for God’s sake. Best friends. And it wasn’t as if they had never awakened in the same house. Jake couldn’t even claim unfamiliarity as the reason, or household intimacy. They had lived together platonically twice before now. True, it was only to convince the social workers theirs was a normal family, and as soon as Madeline had jerked the papers, Laura had moved back to her apartment. But she hadn’t affected him like this either of those times. Hell, during survival training, they had even slept in the same sleeping bag to share body warmth. Okay, so he’d had a few fantasies then, but who wouldn’t? Laura was a beautiful woman. Inside and out.
Yet she had married him only for Timmy. Because she was his friend, and not because she wanted a husband. Jake couldn’t afford to forget that. Neither of them needed the pain of dreaming about a future. He likely didn’t have a future, and they had agreed no future. He couldn’t afford to forget that, either.
Still, those fantasies were giving him hell.
What would it be like to have a woman really love you? To have Laura really love him?
That he never would know had him suffering a potent shot of pure envy. Anger at himself chased on its heels, and Jake chided himself for thinking of the forbidden and foolish. He didn’t know what being loved would be like. He never would know. And he had accepted that a long time ago, when Madeline had deliberately gotten pregnant with Timmy. So why did something Jake had sworn off wanting now have his temper escalating into overdrive?
For Laura, he decided. She deserved better. She deserved more, and no way could Jake be indifferent to that, or to anything involving her, even if he was helpless to give her more.
Forcing thoughts of her and Timmy to empty from his mind, Jake opened the door to the third-floor hallway. The smell of pine cleaner hanging heavy in the air, he walked by the dark and empty offices lining both sides of the hall. Typical for a Sunday night. Only the Operations Center would be an active hub. Monitoring various operations worldwide, activity there never ceased or shut down.
After dumping his gear, Jake made his way to the general’s office.
Connor’s door stood open. Walking over the cool gray carpet toward it, Jake paused at the threshold. The general sat behind his desk, staring up thoughtfully at a painting of General Patton. Everyone in Ops knew of the general’s admiration for Patton. He had fought with his men, not hugged safer perimeters, and Connor emulated him. He’d done well, too. He had been awarded the Purple Heart in two campaigns, one of which had been in the Gulf War. Jake respected the man. That helped a lot, considering some of the things Connor asked Jake and the rest of his team to do. It was hard to follow a man into a war zone if you lacked respect for him as an officer, or as a human being. With Connor, that wasn’t an issue.
Jake also had worked for the man long enough to know what his staring at Patton’s portrait meant: tough decisions were being weighed and made. Hell was coming to call.
“General?” Jake asked, surprised to find Connor alone. Where was the rest of the staff? And why were they meeting here and not in the briefing room?
