Invincible

by Joan Johnston

  The door opened and a small voice whispered, “Gram, it’s me.”

  “Come in, Flick.” Bella set her book aside and pulled her glasses off and laid them on the bedside table, so her arms would be free to hold her grandchild.

  Flick climbed up onto the bed and right into her arms. The strange thing was, Bella had never done this sort of thing with her own children. She wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe because her parents—and her aunt, once her parents were both dead—hadn’t done this sort of thing with her. It had simply never occurred to her that children could, or should, climb into their parents’ bed in order to cuddle with them.

  “I thought I heard your parents putting you to bed,” Bella said.

  Flick grinned. “You did. I had Dad check all the windows and look under the bed and in the closets twice. And I said my prayers with him and let him tuck me in, as though I were a baby.”

  Bella chuckled. “You naughty girl. Making your parents worry that you’re still traumatized by that burglary, when you’ve been sleeping like—dare I say it?—a baby for months without a single nightmare.”

  Flick looked up at her with hope in her eyes and said, “It’s working, Gram. Our plan is working!”

  “I don’t deserve any credit, Flick. It was your plan.”

  “Mom and Dad have gone out. I think they’re on a date,” the child said.

  “I think you might be right. I can hardly believe you spent the entire day together.”

  “After we visited Gramps, we had lunch at the fish counter at Harrods,” Flick said. “Then we went sightseeing to Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London and Westminster Abbey, where one of the Blackthorne dukes is buried. Then we went to the British Museum and saw the dinosaurs. They were pretty neat. Then we went to dinner at an Indian restaurant near the museum. I love Indian food,” Flick gushed.

  Bella thought what Flick loved was enjoying a wonderful day in London with both of her parents. It had been Bella’s goal since the day she’d left the hospital in Richmond to get her son together with the mother of his child. She’d been surprised to get so much help from Flick.

  During the time she and Flick had spent together when Flick first arrived at the Abbey, Bella had discovered how much her granddaughter missed living at home. And how much she dreamed of having a father. Bella had been as delighted as Flick when Max had shown up at the Abbey uninvited and met his daughter. Flick was nothing short of ecstatic when Max insisted on spending time with her.

  Bella had felt vindicated in her efforts to arrange a marriage between her son and the mother of his child. But it was also clear that Kristin and Max had significant issues they were going to have to work out in order to make a halfway normal marriage possible. And plenty of pitfalls threatening to keep them apart.

  This morning, the Times had broken the story that Max Benedict, youngest son of Bella and Bull, had a love child. The tabloids were having a field day betting whether Max would acknowledge the child or marry her mother. Max had made paper airplanes out of the lurid articles and sent them flying out the dining room window. But Kristin had been obviously unsettled by the vicious nature of the attacks on her good name.

  Fortunately, Kristin had gotten some good news during this past week. The Shooting Incident Review Team had recommended no further disciplinary action. Her suspension was over. Her job with the FBI was secure. Which created as many problems as it solved, as far as Bella was concerned. How were two people with demanding careers on different continents going to manage to live together in the same house?

  It was Flick who’d come up with the perfect solution.

  “I dropped a lot of hints today,” Flick said. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon.”

  “Do you really think they’ll go for it?” Bella asked.

  “I could tell Dad loves tennis. I know Mom does. It’s the one thing she always finds time to do, even when she’s busy.”

  “Do you think your grandfather will go for it?” Bella asked worriedly.

  “I had a talk with Gramps today while Mom and Dad were talking to the doctors,” Flick said. “I suggested maybe Mom and Dad could help him out at the academy. I think he knows he’s not going to be able to work as hard as he used to. I just hope Mom and Dad realize it’s the perfect solution. If they helped Gramps with the academy, we could all live together in Miami and be a normal family.”

  Bella hoped Flick would get her wish. She had her fingers crossed that Max and Kristin would discover for themselves the “perfect” solution to their problems that Flick had seen so clearly.

  “Can I sleep with you, Gram?” Flick asked.

  Bella realized the child might be more prone to nightmares than she was admitting to anyone. The bogeyman might have come into her room while she’d been gone.

  “Of course, my dear.” The bed was large. It had been slept in by royalty, once upon a time. But Bella was sure her granddaughter was the most precious thing that had ever deigned to curl up in this old bed.

  Flick turned onto her side facing away from Bella, then scooted around until her tiny rump was pressed firmly against Bella’s hip.

  Bella put her glasses back on and picked up her book.

  Flick glanced over her shoulder and said, “Watch out for the dog, Gram. He’s kind of scary.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Flick.” Personally, Bella thought the situation between Flick’s parents was scarier. She had five children to get married off before her heart failed. But she didn’t dare leave London until she was sure Max and Kristin had resolved their problems. Maybe Emily could help. She would have to think on it.

  She set her book and glasses aside for the second time and focused on her dozing granddaughter. She’d never expected, when she’d set out to help her children find love, that she would find herself wanting it for herself, as well.

  Where are you, Bull? she wondered. What are you doing tonight? She wondered if there were some perfect solution to their differences like the one Flick had found for her parents. She fell asleep trying to work one out.

  30

  Kristin had butterflies in her stomach, fluttering violently. The reason was simple. The day of the exhibition match had arrived.

  She shouldn’t be nervous. She and Max had practiced long and hard for the match. Yesterday, when they’d played Elena and Steffan, they’d beaten them soundly. However, Kristin knew that in the actual competition, Elena and Steffan would play harder to win. And nerves might cause her to choke.

  “Worried?” Max murmured from his place beside her in the corridor leading out to Centre Court.

  “Terrified,” she admitted.

  “Me, too.”

  She shot him a surprised look. “You have nerves of steel.”

  “And a herd of zebras in my stomach.”

  She laughed. “Sounds painful.”

  “Nice to see you laughing,” he said. “Don’t worry, K. We’re going to beat the socks off them.”

  Kristin continued to smile after the laughter had faded. She’d spent an amazing week with Max. They’d practiced in the mornings, then eaten lunch in the Players Lounge and spent the early afternoons in the Wimbledon locker rooms, talking and listening for any hint of an assassination conspiracy.

  They’d frolicked—that was the word that came to mind—in the late afternoons with Flick and enjoyed the long, languid evenings with each other. Kristin didn’t think she’d enjoyed a week more in her entire life. She was sorry their time together was coming to an end.

  It doesn’t have to end. You and Flick can have a life that includes Max. You just have to reach for it.

  Was she willing to make the sacrifices necessary to be with Max? It would mean leaving her job. It would mean taking the risk that he would stay with her through adversity. It would mean trusting him with her heart. In her mind, that was more perilous than any work she’d done for the FBI.

  Max had spent the past week showing her what life with him could be like. He’d driven the Range Rover, rather than
the Porsche. He’d cooked dinner for her in his home in the West End, near his parents’ mansion in Berkeley Square. She’d been impressed by his menu—the green salad, leeks and potatoes with salmon and the mangoes with pound cake and Britain’s amazing heavy cream for dessert.

  Max lived in a surprisingly modest, three-story flat that a decorator had furnished for him. “It could use a few personal touches,” he’d admitted. “Any suggestions?”

  She’d suggested a more comfortable chair in his study. “There’s nowhere in here for you to relax.” Lighter curtains on his bedroom windows. “It’s too dark in here. Like a bear’s den.”

  He’d waggled his eyebrows and agreed he’d done a great deal of hibernating there.

  She’d also suggested two chairs for the outdoor balcony. “So we can sit and enjoy the sunset.”

  “That sounds pretty damned wonderful to me, K,” he’d said.

  They were standing on the balcony when she’d made her suggestion, and she’d seen he wanted to kiss her. Since she’d wanted it, too, she’d stood still and waited. He’d drawn close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. Then he’d waited, ever so patiently, for her to bring their mouths together.

  The kiss had been a mere touch of lips. Sweeter than sweet. For about five seconds. Then Max had opened his mouth over hers and his tongue had come seeking the honey within. A streak of desire had raced through her breasts and down her belly to settle between her legs. She’d pressed her body against his, wanting to feel hard male flesh.

  Max didn’t disappoint.

  She’d wanted him, and she hadn’t seen one good reason not to have sex with him. This week together was a brief moment in time. She wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

  Max had backed her into his bedroom from the balcony, and she’d realized why he had dark curtains on the bedroom windows. The bedroom became a dark cave in which the savage beast could claim its mate.

  The liaison had been brief. She’d come as fast as he had. Her orgasm had been as powerful as his.

  It was only later, lying in bed alone at Bella’s Berkeley mansion, that Kristin regretted what she’d done. Because the prospect of spending the rest of her life without Max suddenly seemed a tragedy of vast proportions. All she saw ahead of her were long, endless years alone.

  Kristin felt a tug on her tennis skirt, pulling her away from her thoughts. She looked down to find Flick standing beside her.

  “Mom,” Flick whispered. She gestured Kristin down to her level.

  Kristin bent down and asked, “What is it, Flick?”

  “I just wanted to say good luck.”

  “Where’s your grandmother?” Kristin asked, looking around the hallway. Bella was supposed to be taking care of Flick. Kristin didn’t see her anywhere.

  “She’s waiting in the box for players’ coaches and families, where we’re sitting.”

  When Kristin narrowed her eyes, Flick admitted, “I snuck away. But I’m going right back.”

  Kristin gave her daughter a quick, hard hug and said, “Thanks for coming, Flick. Now hurry back. Your grandmother will be worried about where you are. You know you need to be seated before the match starts, or you’ll have to wait for a break to get inside.”

  “I’m going. As soon as I wish Dad luck.”

  Kristin let go of her daughter and watched as Flick tugged on Max’s short white sleeve. He’d been talking with Steffan and seemed as surprised to see Flick as she’d been.

  “What are you doing here, young lady?” he said, his voice showing his disapproval of her appearance. “Where’s your grandmother?”

  Flick shot Kristin a chagrined look before she said, “Mom asked the same thing! I came to wish you and Mom luck. I’m going right back to the box where Gram and I are sitting.”

  He flipped her bangs, then said, “Thanks for coming. Now get out of here!”

  “Good luck, Dad. Good luck, Mom,” Flick called as she hurried away. She was looking back over her shoulder when she spoke, so she ran smack into someone coming down the hall, who wasn’t watching where she was going, either.

  Flick went sprawling.

  “Flick!” Kristin dropped the tennis bag she had over her shoulder and ran to aid her daughter.

  Flick was already on her feet by the time Kristin reached her, swiping at the liquid that had spilled on her blouse from the cup the woman was holding, and apologizing profusely to the lady she’d run into.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Veronica,” Flick said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “I’ll say!” Veronica was swiping at her skirt, which was covered with what Kristin could see was the remnants of a plastic cup of Pimm’s, Wimbledon’s version of the Kentucky Derby’s mint julep. Pimm’s drink dated back to 1840 and consisted of cut-up citrus fruit, cucumbers and crushed mint with iced soda and alcoholic spirits. “Next time, watch where you’re going!”

  “She told you she’s sorry,” Kristin said curtly.

  “She should be,” Veronica retorted. “Look at me! I’m a mess.” The reporter’s white skirt was stained with the brown liquid. “What is she doing here, anyway?” she demanded.

  “She’s here to wish her parents luck. What are you doing here?” Kristin shot back.

  “Mom,” Flick said, tugging on her skirt. “Mom.”

  “Just a minute, Flick.” Kristin had been anxious about the match and Veronica’s attack on Flick gave her a place to vent her high-strung emotions.

  “What’s going on?” Max asked, joining them.

  “Your daughter ran into me and I ended up spilling Pimm’s all over my skirt,” Veronica said.

  “And all over Flick,” Kristin pointed out, holding out her daughter’s white blouse, which was wet from the drink.

  “Mom,” Flick said urgently, tugging on her mother’s tennis skirt.

  “What, Flick?” Kristin said, irritated at the interruption.

  Flick held a hand up to hide her mouth, as though she wanted to speak to Kristin privately and tugged on Kristin’s arm.

  When Kristin had taken a couple of steps away from Veronica, Flick tugged her down so she could whisper something in her ear. “What is it, Flick?” Kristin asked, irritated at being drawn away from the other woman.

  “I didn’t think of it till I saw her in that white skirt again,” Flick said, still holding her hand up to hide her mouth from Veronica. “Miss Veronica is the lady who came into the locker room and talked to Miss Irina.”

  Kristin nearly turned to stare at Max’s old girlfriend but managed to resist the urge. She kept her face level with Flick’s and said, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  She stood upright and took Flick’s hand and said to Max, “I’m going to take Flick into the locker room and rinse her off. I’ll be right back.”

  The moment she got Flick away from Veronica she said, “Are you sure Miss Veronica is the woman you saw with Miss Irina in the locker room, Flick?”

  Flick nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh.”

  “Why didn’t you say something when you saw her in the park?”

  “I guess I didn’t think about it,” Flick said. “I was kind of excited about riding.”

  “You’re sure she’s the one.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  At that moment, Veronica slammed open the locker room door and headed for one of the sinks. She turned on the water, wet a white towel and began brushing at the brown stain on her skirt.

  “I’m really sorry, Miss Veronica,” Flick said.

  “I heard you the first time,” Veronica said ungraciously.

  Kristin was afraid Flick would blurt out something about her mother’s inquiries and hurried her daughter out of the bathroom. At the last moment, she turned back to the reporter and said, “You deserve that—and more—for printing that article about Max.”

  Veronica shot her a sour look without replying.

  Kristin took her daughter by the arms and hurried her down the hall as she instructed, “Go back to the box and sit down beside you
r grandmother and don’t move until your father and I come to get you. Do you understand?”

  “Is Miss Veronica the one who wants to assassinate President Taylor?” Flick asked.

  Kristin stopped dead in her tracks, staring at her daughter. “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, Mom. I’m not stupid. I’ve heard you and Dad talking.”

  Kristin couldn’t believe she and Max had been that indiscreet. “When did you hear us?” she demanded. “Where?”

  Flick looked guilty. “I snuck into Gram’s sitting room after you put me to bed one night. I heard you discussing all the tennis players and who might be suspected in an assassination plot. I had to look up suspected and assassination and plot in the dictionary. Jeez, Mom. What are you guys, anyway, some kind of secret agents?”

  “Hey, Princess,” Max called to Kristin from down the hall. “What’s holding you up? They’ve announced our names. It’s time to go!”

  Kristin didn’t want to let her daughter out of her sight. But she was going to cause a scandal if she failed to show up for the doubles match. She took her daughter by the arms again, to make sure she had her attention, and said in her severest voice, “I want you to forget what you think you heard. I want you to go back to your seat beside your grandmother and be quiet and not say a word. To anyone. Your father and I will come get you when our match is completed.”

  “All right, Mom. But if Miss Veronica is planning to kill the—”

  Kristin put a hand over her daughter’s mouth and looked around to see if she’d been overheard. “That’s enough, Flick. You heard what I said. Not another word. I mean it!”

  Flick made a face. “Okay. But—”

  “No buts!”

  “K! Come on!” Max yelled.

  “Go find your grandmother. Now!” Kristin waited until Flick was started on her journey before she turned back to Max. She hurried down the hall, glancing at the closed locker room door, wondering if the reporter inside was a potential assassin. And whether Veronica was involved in a conspiracy with Irina, and perhaps her son.

  “Max, I have something—”

  He shushed her and grabbed her hand. “Come on. We need to get out on the court.”