by Vicki Hinze
Jake didn’t move. “What is that?”
Drake held up a small black canister. “Nerve gas. Enough to take out everyone within a mile radius.”
Laura’s heart skipped a beat, then another, ricocheting off her ribs. Connor had said ROFF had some ordinance typically found only in Intel circles. Drake would discharge it, too. The son of a bitch would wipe out the entire state of California without batting an eye. What was she going to do? How could she stop him?
Drake talked on, clearly unaware she was there. “Years ago, I tried to tell you how things worked in the big league, Jake. You should have listened to me.”
“I listened. I just didn’t agree.”
“Now you know I was right.” Drake grunted. “Everyone does spy on everyone. It’s always been a matter of power. Control. Even within your hallowed Air Force, spying is a way of life. Corruption is everywhere. The wise man is aware of it, and he manipulates it to his advantage.”
“Not everyone is corrupt, and not everyone manipulates. It’s still not my way.”
Drake glared at Jake. “Why do you do what you do? Eh? Why?”
Jake held his ex-father-in-law’s bold gaze, and spoke softly. “Because it matters.”
“Because it matters?” Drake harrumphed, and a glint lit in his eye Laura didn’t recognize but instinctively hated. “God, spare us from the dangers of an idealistic man.” He snorted. “Because it matters. And that it matters makes your system perfect.”
Jake frowned and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “With imperfect human beings enacting it, what system can be perfect? At least mine works most of the time.”
“For you.”
“For me.”
“You’re still naive, son. You’ll never be effective in the big league unless you learn to play hardball. You’d have been better off if you’d gotten off the field before you got hurt.”
Laura cringed. Jake had been hurt, but he was effective. And when missions required it, ruthless. But temperance and judicious ruthlessness were obviously not in Drake’s repertoire. When Jake shifted on his feet again, she moved to the next bush in the row. He knew she was here, and he was giving her noise to cover the sounds of her moving closer.
“I believe in what I’m doing,” Jake said. “I can’t think of a better reason for doing anything.”
“I can think of two,” Drake countered. “Power and money.”
Laura inched forward. Two more bushes, and she’d be in position to take Drake out. Would Timmy forgive her for killing his grandfather? Could she kill him before he discharged the nerve gas and killed half the people in the subdivision?
Jake shifted again and frowned. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. Why did you put Laura’s photograph in the dead operative’s hand?”
“To prove my point.” Drake’s tone turned bitter. “She ignored my orders, thinking she could get out of my reach by deactivating in Intel and getting out of the military. I warned her to stay away from you. For a smart lady, she made a stupid move. I had no choice but to retaliate and show her that she couldn’t escape me.” He shrugged. “Having her convicted of treason is a worthy retaliation, I think.”
“So you recruited Paul Hawkins to do your dirty work.”
Drake smiled, pulling his teeth back from his lips. “Aside from Madeline, no one hates Laura more. Though I have to say I’m a bit disappointed in Hawkins. When he broke into her apartment, Laura disarmed him before he could get her tracker design. He foolishly underestimated her.”
“So that’s what you were after? Her tracker?”
“Of course. It could be useful to me.” The lilt in his voice turned chilling. “Hawkins is a competent operative, but Laura’s fear of him gives her an edge. A damn shame, that.”
The demon bastard seemed genuinely regretful that Hawkins hadn’t killed her. Laura’s resolve doubled. Keep him busy, Jake. Just a minute more. Just a minute more.
Woozy from the contamination, nauseous, and sweating profusely, she prayed for the stamina to stay upright, then stepped past the last oleander and pointed the gun at the back of Drake’s skull.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, Mrs. Logan,” he said without looking back at her. “I get a little testy when thwarted, as you well know. I could accidentally discharge this.” He held up the canister.
Laura’s heart sank to her knees. “You’ll discharge it anyway. Knowing you, you’ve done something to save yourself. You look pretty damn healthy for a corpse, Drake. But at least if I shoot you, you’ll die with the rest of us.” There was solace in that.
“Yes, I will. So will Timmy,” he said softly. “Is that what you want?”
Laura’s resolve wavered. Not her baby. Not him, too. The mask wouldn’t protect him, not from nerve gas. And his bastard grandfather knew it. Her hand holding the gun trembled with frustration and fear—the effects of the contamination and sheer rage.
“Behave yourself and put down the gun,” Drake said. “Now.”
“Do it, Laura,” Jake added, his voice deceptively soft, his gaze veering to the front door.
Her stomach churning acid, her head light, she stooped down to put the gun on the sidewalk and heard a definite click behind her. Skirting around Drake to stand near Jake, she didn’t dare to glance at the slender window beside the door. The noise had been the deadbolt; of that she felt certain. But who had turned it? Timmy or Hawkins?
The door flew open. Timmy charged through, swinging the bat. It collided with Drake’s left kneecap. Howling, he dropped the canister, and before he crumpled in a heap on the grass, Jake and Laura dove for it. Jake caught the canister, and Laura snatched up her gun, then aimed it at Drake.
“Don’t you move.” Timmy stood over his grandfather, his chest heaving, his eyes stretched wide, the look in them wild. “Don’t you move. Don’t make me hit you again.” His voice pitched high, anxious. “Don’t make me hit you again.”
Laura and Jake flanked Timmy, and Laura passed the gun to Jake, then smoothed a hand over Timmy’s shoulder. “He won’t move, Tiger. It’s okay. Dad and I are fine now. Timmy, look at me, honey. Look into my eyes.”
He finally overcame the shock enough to swivel his gaze.
“It’s okay now.” She dredged up a smile and softened her voice. “Let’s go back inside now and make sure Hawkins is still tied up.”
“He is,” Timmy said. “I put a chair over him so I could hear if he moved.”
“Great. That’s great. So let’s go back inside now. We don’t want to spread any more germs out here, okay?”
“Huh?”
Jake gently squeezed Timmy’s shoulder. “Go with Mom now, Tiger. I’ve got control.”
Timmy glanced from Jake to Sean Drake, lying on his side across the tire ruts Madeline had left in the lawn and clutching at his knee. “Dad?”
“Yes, son.”
Swinging his gaze up to Jake’s, Timmy frowned. “If he moves, shoot him, okay?”
“I will, Timmy.”
Laura nearly wept at the sadness of the situation. A child feeling forced to ask that his grandfather be shot. She could have killed Sean Drake then and there for that alone. Instead, she looped an arm around Timmy’s shoulder and led him back into the house.
“I should have made Madeline abort that little bastard.”
Laura heard the crunch of Jake’s fist hitting Drake, of bone snapping. Timmy tried to look back, but she slammed the door shut, hoping Sean had a broken jaw and a broken kneecap.
When the MPs arrived, Jake’s knuckles were still stinging like fire. He heard running, looked behind him, and saw the Military Police coming up the sidewalk and cutting across the lawn. “Watch out for the tire ruts,” he shouted in warning.
The decontamination sweepers arrived as well, pulling up to the curb in muted green vans. Men poured out, the
n streamed past him and into the house.
Within a matter of minutes, Sean Drake had been handcuffed, read his rights, and tossed into the back of a cruiser. Jake glared at him through the window. “Of all the miserable things you’ve done, what you did to Madeline and just tried to do to Timmy is the worst. You’re an abusive bastard, Drake, and I’m glad you’ve been dead and Timmy has been spared from seeing you. Kids and grandkids are a gift, not tools. If you learn nothing else before you really die, I pray to God you learn that.” Jake lifted a finger. “You contaminated my home. My family better be all right, or I’ll be back for you. You can’t hide, Drake. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
Drake looked away, slumped and defeated. His empire had crumbled.
Jake turned over Drake’s canister of nerve gas to an officer, then ran to the door. The house was crawling with people wearing contamination gear. Laura was in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Timmy and surrounded by a medical team. “He’s been medicated,” she said, motioning to Timmy. “I haven’t. And I feel like hell.”
Jake’s heart constricted. She had had medication. But only enough for one person. And she’d given it to Timmy. But if Jake mentioned it, she’d give him that you’re-being-testy look and say, Of course.
A medic with a stethoscope looped around his neck gave her an injection and then passed her two pills. “Take these, Mrs. Logan. You’ll start to feel better in about fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed the pills.
“Laura.”
Tilting back her head, she saw him and scrambled to her feet. “Jake.”
He hugged her hard, lifted an arm to motion Timmy to come to him, and then pulled him into their circle. They were all okay. Everything was going to be okay.
Jake let the litany replay in his mind, giving it time to sink in and settle—giving himself time to believe it.
After decontaminating the three of them, the medic turned to Jake. “You can take them out of here, sir. We’ll finish up the sweep. While there isn’t a field test to prove it, we’ve taken samples and they match the others ROFF has used. We’re ninety-nine percent sure it’s strong anthrax. Same specifics as with the operatives. Timmy’s reacting well to antibiotics, and Hawkins isn’t wearing protective gear.”
“What about outside?” Both Laura and Timmy had been out there.
“The air samples are within the safe range. It’s not a problem.”
“When can we come home?” Laura asked.
“Within a few days. The house will be ready within a week, max. Even with retardants, applied like this, strong anthrax is harmless beyond that time frame.”
“Thank you.” Arms around their shoulders, Jake led Laura and Timmy out through the front door. The crew would vacuum, disinfect, sanitize, and sterilize every single thing in the house, and the house itself.
Laura didn’t want to let go of Jake. She couldn’t force herself to let go of him. When she saw that they were heading to his Jeep, she stepped off the damp lawn and onto the concrete driveway. The streetlight cast a shadow over Jake’s jaw. “Where are we going?”
“Alice’s.” He unlocked her door, then Timmy’s. “Betsy won’t sleep a wink until she sees for herself that you two are okay.”
Timmy grinned. “She’s a little protective of us, huh, Mom?”
“Yes, I guess she is,” Laura said, sliding into the bucket seat.
Timmy settled in the backseat, then clicked his seatbelt closed. “Can me and Betsy stay at Alice’s until the house is okay again?”
Jake cranked the engine, turned on the headlights, and then answered, “Sounds like a good plan.” He closed his door, and the overhead light snuffed out.
Recalling the moment of panic she had felt when the tracker light had gone out and she hadn’t known if Jake was dead or alive, Laura started to shake. She couldn’t fasten her seatbelt. “Where are we going to stay?”
Jake leaned over and clicked it into place. Noting that he wasn’t exactly steady-handed himself, for some reason, comforted her.
The light from the streetlamp streamed in through the window, fell across his face, and the look in his eyes warmed. “I thought we’d stay at your apartment.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. Maybe Madeline had been wrong. Maybe Jake could love her as more than just a friend. Laura courted disaster by risking to hope it, but hope flamed inside her anyway, and she wanted it badly enough to go for it.
Considering what they’d just gone through because of his ex-wife, he would probably think Laura had lost her mind for thinking he’d even contemplate another relationship with a wife. And maybe she had lost her mind. Or maybe she just loved the man so much nothing else mattered, including their agreement.
Just after midnight, it started raining.
Laura couldn’t have cared less. Bear was well on the road to recovery, Betsy and Timmy were snug and safe at Alice’s, and Laura and Jake had showered and now lay in her clean, warm bed. She was curled up next to him, talking over all that had happened. The darkness was soothing, not chilling, and it gave them both the freedom to say things they might be hesitant to say in the light of day. Slowly, they were working through it all, and making the transition back to a normal life.
“When I heard you took down Hawkins, I nearly died.” On his side, his leg tossed over hers, Jake lifted a strand of her hair, then rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb, his free arm folded under his pillow.
“I was terrified, and I seriously considered killing him,” she confessed, glancing up to a ceiling she couldn’t see. “But you know what, Jake?” She fondled the hair on his forearm. Rough and smooth, and hard and soft—all at once. “I chose not to kill him, and it felt really good to be that tempted and stay in control. And to get rid of the fear.”
“I’m glad.” He pecked a kiss to her forehead.
“Me, too.” She let her eyes drift closed, wondering how he’d react to her coming disclosure. “I’m going back into research full-time. I think I can do it now and not feel it’s tainted.” Laura opened her eyes and let her hand skim up his arm to his chest. “Jake?”
“Mmm?”
She scooted over, shoving the sheets out from between them so she could touch him skin to skin. So what if he thought she’d lost her mind? She needed comfort and to feel close to him. Needed reassurance that this time they’d both survived. “Madeline was wrong about a lot of things, but she was right about some of them, too.”
“What do you mean?” He wedged a knee between her thighs and let his hand slide down her side from ribs to waist, as if he too needed life-affirming reassurance.
“Just that there are always extenuating circumstances, and different perspectives, and special considerations in things.” She paused, then shrugged. “I guess that things just aren’t simple.”
“Life isn’t simple. It’s messy,” he said, adding his thoughts. “Sometimes, so are the fears and doubts and decisions that despite our logic our hearts make for us. But we have to deal with them, Laura. And just because they start out messy, that doesn’t mean they can’t end up being good.”
Exactly what did that mean? “I suppose it doesn’t,” she said, following her instincts. Wanting to see his face, to gauge his mood and reaction, she reached over and turned on the lamp beside the bed. Light pooled on the nightstand, spilled across the flowered sheets, and he opened his eyes.
She worried her lip with her teeth, then took the plunge. “I know we’ve had a lot going on since the adoption and everything, but I want to tell you something.”
He stroked her chin with the back of his hand, the line of her jaw, and his eyes went solemn. “You look worried.”
Dragonflies swarmed in her stomach. She pressed a hand to it to still them. “I am worried.”
“Why?”
Tender a
nd gentle. God, but he did choose the most lousy times to get gentle on her. “Because you might not want to hear what I have to say.” If ever she needed courage, that time was now. “I know I promised I wouldn’t, but I broke our agree—”
He interrupted, pressing a fingertip over her lips. “I love you, Laura.”
Truth burned in his eyes, and she caressed his face. “I know you do, but that doesn’t mean you’ll want to hear this.” After Madeline, how could he want to hear this? Laura must be crazy to even think of telling him now. Maybe later would be better. Maybe when Timmy graduated from high school, or college. Yes, surely by the time Timmy finished college, Jake would be over the shock of it.
No, she swore to herself. No, no, no. No more evasive tactics. No more alternate truths. No more taking shelter in those gray areas. Only the truth. The glaring, unadorned, simple truth.
“No, honey, you don’t understand.” Jake grabbed something from the nightstand, rolled over and braced himself above her, and then cupped her face in his big hand.
God, but she loved the feel of his hands on her. Strong. Capable. Gentle. And, when the need arose, ruthless. His knuckles were swollen from the blow he’d landed on Sean Drake. Fortunately, he hadn’t killed the man, or he’d still be at headquarters filling out the reports.
“I bought you a gift,” Jake whispered against her ear. “Until we were on the chopper, I didn’t think you’d want it.”
Until that moment, she would have sworn only losing Timmy could arouse fear in Jake Logan. But he was afraid now. And she hated it.
He opened a white velvet box and tilted it so she could see its contents. A sparkling white solitaire diamond winked at her. And a slim gold wedding band.
His eyes went sober, and his voice shook. “Will you wear them?”
“Oh, Jake.” What it must have cost him to ask her this. Her eyes filled with tears. “They’re beautiful.”
“I don’t mean for them to be part of a lie or an illusion, Laura. I mean for them to be part of something real.”
“You want me to be your real wife?” So much joy bubbled up inside her she feared she couldn’t hold it all. “But what about our agreement?”
