“Yes,” she answered calmly.
He went for her weak spot. “If something happens to you, who’ll take care of Noelle?”
She lifted her eyes and laid them on him, too soft, too sweet. “First of all, I do trust you to make sure that nothing happens to me.”
“I can only do so much.” He had no idea how they might be attacked. When. With what kind of force.
“What about you?” she whispered. “You say you want to be a father, that you want Noelle to know about you. If anything happens to me, you might get your chance.”
Didn’t she know better? Didn’t she know what he would do to protect her? “Baby, if Holly gets to you that means I’m already dead.”
“If anything happens...” she began.
“Let’s cut the ‘if anything happens’ crap. Say it like it is, Vic. What we’re talking about is you ending up dead.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Say it,” he said, certain she didn’t grasp the severity of the situation.
“I could end up dead,” she said, her voice soft but not at all shaky. “But I don’t think that will happen.” For a split second, she looked as if she was going to reach out and touch him. And then she didn’t. “I think you’re very good at what you do, Del. You can keep me safe.”
“You haven’t thought this through.”
“I have. For the past few hours, I haven’t thought about anything else.”
Del gave up and sat on the side of the bed, a couple of feet away from Vic. “It’ll be dangerous.”
“I imagine so.”
In the end, he was the one to reach out and touch her, brushing back a curling length of honey-colored hair. He couldn’t stay angry with her, no matter what she’d done. She was the mother of his daughter and she’d done everything in her power to protect the child. Part of that protection was from him, which still rankled, but he did owe her… something.
“I’ll make the arrangements.”
The living-room drapes were closed tight. Del paced nervously while Vic perched on the couch. He’d finally agreed to stay here, but he didn’t like the idea. Surely he knew she was right. It was best to get this over with, once and for all.
Shock and four other agents were watching the house from all angles, but it was Del’s presence that made her feel safe.
It was nice to be home, no matter what the circumstances. She was more comfortable in her own clothes—loose-fitting blue pants and a matching top that were cool and comfortable. She should use the opportunity to paint, but she’d left many of her supplies at the cabin, when they’d escaped in the night. She had brushes and paints here, though, as well as a number of blank canvases, but she knew she’d never be able to make her mind be still enough to work, not with Del in the house and Holly on the loose.
Instead of painting today she’d wandered the house aimlessly, searched for answers, and now she sat on the couch clasping her hands and watching Del pace.
They still hadn’t come to any decision regarding Noelle. Should they tell her he was her father? Wait a while? Keep it a secret forever? She wished there was an easy answer, a way to take back the hurt Del felt and still keep Noelle safe. She hadn’t been able to come up with that answer, or anything close.
She jumped when the doorbell rang, something deep inside her remembering the morning she’d been kidnapped, when she’d walked to the door blithely unaware of the events that would follow. Del grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt and flicked a switch.
“Go ahead.”
Shock’s tinny voice answered. “Female, dark hair, approximately five foot six. Really nice hooters.”
Vic rolled her eyes.
“She’s alone,” Shock continued. “Got here in a red minivan.”
Vic relaxed. “That’s Wanda,” she said. “My friend. She’s okay.”
Del relayed the message, and Vic went to answer the door just as Wanda rung the bell for the second time.
“Where have you been?” Wanda asked as she stepped into the foyer.
Vic glanced around, behind her friend, to the neighbors’ yards and down the street. There was no obvious sign of surveillance. No suspicious vans, no shaking bushes. Five men were watching. Where were they?
“I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m sorry,” Vic said as she followed Wanda to the kitchen. “I should’ve called...”
Wanda came up short as she entered the kitchen, then turned to Vic and smiled wickedly. “You’re forgiven,” she said softly. “Wow.”
Vic followed Wanda into the kitchen and saw the reason for her friend’s smile. Del stood at the counter, his back to them, making coffee and looking very much at home.
“Hi,” Wanda said, walking straight toward Del, who turned at the sound of her greeting. “I’m Wanda Freeman.”
“Del Wilder.” He offered his hand for a shake as Wanda came near. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Not a lot, Vic thought as she watched the two shake hands. She’d told Del that Wanda was her friend, and that they’d learned the single-mother routine together— since Wanda’s husband had passed away just months after Vic’s divorce. She hadn’t told him that having Wanda around had kept her sane for the past six years. That confession would be far too telling.
“That’s just not fair,” Wanda said, her smile widening. “I haven’t heard a thing about you.”
“Vic and I are old friends.”
Wanda accepted that explanation, nodding her head. And then her eyes lit up. “Del! Are you the guy Vic’s dad—”
“No,” Vic said sharply. “Del, Wanda and I are going to sit in the living room. Let me know when the coffee is ready.” With that, she took Wanda by the elbow and led her from the kitchen. When had she mentioned Del to Wanda? She didn’t remember ever saying anything. Not a word!
And then it hit her. There had been that one night, four or five years ago, where they’d finished off a bottle of wine and spilled their guts to each other. It had been one of those really bad Valentine’s Days, and they’d decided to declare it a man-free holiday and celebrate their singleness together. The night was a hazy memory, and had been the very next morning. How much had she said? Surely she hadn’t told Wanda that Del was Noelle’s father. Surely not.
Too bad Wanda’s memory was so much better than her own.
“He’s so cute,” Wanda said softly as they reached the living room. “No, not cute, that’s the wrong word. He’s more like… gorgeous. Wow.”
Vic couldn’t make herself return Wanda’s smile. Not only did Wanda know too much, she wasn’t safe here. How could she kick her friend out without explaining everything? Wanda wasn’t one to run from a fight. If she knew there was trouble, she’d insist on helping. That would never do. “Del doesn’t know about what my dad did,” Vic whispered, “and I’d just as soon not tell him.”
“Why not?” Wanda’s own smile disappeared. “That happened ages ago. What difference does it make—”
“I’d just rather not go there,” Vic said too sharply.
“Okay,” Wanda said, unhappy with the decision but agreeable, as always.
As much as she would like to curl up on the couch with Wanda and watch old movies and talk about the kids—her Noelle and Wanda’s three boys—it was too risky. What if Wanda was here when Holly dropped by? Vic shuddered. Too many people she loved were in danger.
“This is really not a good time,” she said, her voice low.
“I can see that.” Wanda waggled her eyebrows.
“No, not...” Oh hell, what difference did it make what Wanda thought? All that mattered was getting her out of here before anything happened. “You know how it is.”
“I wish!” Wanda’s easy grin came back. “I haven’t had a decent date in months, and I can’t remember the last time I had a good-looking man in the kitchen making coffee.”
When the doorbell rang, Vic jumped out of her skin again. Del headed for the front door, casting a glance her way as he passed. A
moment later, he led Shock into the living room.
“Vic,” Del said. “You remember my friend Albert.”
“Sure.”
The agitated man cast a warning glare at Del. “Shock,” he said, offering his hand to Wanda. “Albert Shockley’s the name, but everyone calls me Shock.”
“Wanda. Wanda Freeman.”
The two shook hands, and when Wanda turned around to face Vic, her back to both men, she mouthed that word again. Wow. A wow for Shock? She didn’t get it. Over Wanda’s shoulder, Shock was mouthing something at Del. From the expression on his face, his excitement had nothing to do with Holly, surveillance, or any other kind of official business. He was probably all excited about Wanda’s hooters. Men.
The four of them had a quick cup of coffee, and Shock and Wanda talked about music. Stevie Ray Vaughan and Miles Davis, specifically. They were each delighted to find someone of a like mind where music was concerned.
Del contributed nothing to the conversation. He was wound tighter than usual; in fact, he was downright jumpy. Every now and then he looked as if he really wanted to physically toss Shock and Wanda out of the house.
Vic couldn’t seem to make her mind settle down long enough to absorb much of anything that was said, so she sat back and watched. She watched Wanda and Shock charm each other, and she watched Del brood.
Maybe he hadn’t been paying attention to the segment of the sentence Wanda had spoken before being interrupted and led from the kitchen. She could hope for that, right? She could really, really hope that his mind had been elsewhere at that moment or his hearing had failed him. So much had happened lately, that surely wasn’t too much to ask.
To say Wanda and Shock hit it off would be an understatement. Wanda was immediately smitten with the gangly man with the quick smile, and it was obvious that Shock was attracted to Wanda.
Wanda saw that attraction, too; she was no dummy where men were concerned. They weren’t far into their conversation when she gave Shock “the ultimate test” and mentioned her three boys. The widow had been burned before, by men who were attracted to her good looks and her easy laugh but then backed off when they found out she had three kids under the age of ten.
Shock didn’t seem at all taken aback by the news; he didn’t even blink. He actually asked questions about the boys.
Del didn’t say much, but every now and then Vic caught him staring at her. Too hard. She wanted Wanda out of here and safe, but she dreaded the moment she and Del were alone once again. Nothing had been settled between them. Would it ever be?
Shock suggested that the four of them take in a movie. Del quickly declined, in a smooth way that told Vic this had all been planned via two-way radio. Wanda didn’t seem to mind when Shock mentioned that the two of them could go on alone, and she quickly agreed, since her mother had the boys for the evening. That had been the plan all along, Vic imagined, to get Wanda out of the house. Shock wasn’t the only man on guard duty—there were two other DEA agents, as well as two local detectives, watching the house and waiting for Holly to make her appearance. Apparently they could afford to lose Shock for a couple of hours.
Shock and Wanda said their goodbyes. Del locked the door behind them. He stood there for a moment, his hand on the dead bolt, then he turned to face her.
His dark blue eyes had gone deep, unreadable. Tension was evident in the set of his jaw, the twitch of his mouth. Moving slowly, with deliberation, he crossed his arms over his chest.
She could run, she supposed, but there was no place to hide.
Finally Del spoke. “Am I the guy your dad… would you care to finish that sentence for me?”
“Not really,” Vic answered softly.
“He didn’t even know about us, did he?”
They’d gone to great pains to make sure that he didn’t. Vic had known all along that Del Wilder, with his long hair, bartender mother and sinful charm, was not the kind of guy her father would approve of. Knowing that didn’t make her love him any more, or any less.
Del had only come by the house when her father was gone. They met on the sly and tried to hide how they felt from everyone. And it hadn’t been enough.
“He found out,” she whispered.
“So? What did he do, Vic?”
Maybe Wanda was right. This had happened ages ago. It wasn’t important. It was ancient history, bad memories she’d managed to put behind her a long time ago. So why didn’t she want to tell Del what had happened? Because she was afraid she’d break down and cry, and she didn’t want him to know her weakness? Because it was too late to change what had happened?
Or because, deep in her heart, she still blamed Del. Just a little.
“He threatened to have you arrested,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“What?” It was clear from the expression on his face, this was not what Del had expected to hear.
“My father said he had friends in the police department, and with your background they’d have no trouble setting you up and sending you away for a very long time.”
“He didn’t have me arrested.”
Vic shook her head. “Because I did as he asked.” What difference did it make? After all this time, no difference at all. So why did tears sting her eyes? “I sent you away.” She’d stood on the porch—hands clasped too tight, heart beating too hard—knowing her father was behind the door listening closely, knowing she had no choice but to do as he commanded. There hadn’t been a chance to warn Del that she didn’t mean what she said, no way to get a message to him to stay away from the house.
She’d been terrified that night: of her father, of losing Del, of the horrible feeling of helplessness that churned inside her. She’d known what her father was doing was wrong, but she didn’t know how to get around his demands and his threats. She didn’t know how to save Del from her father and keep him at the same time, and every emotion had bubbled wildly inside her. Fear. Love. Anger.
She felt that way now, her stomach churning, her eyes burning. “I sent you away.” She looked up at Del, her eyes accusing, her heart breaking, after all this time. “And you left.”
Chapter 10
Del felt like someone had just kicked him in the gut; it was becoming a familiar feeling.
“What?”
He expected Vic to tell him to forget it, to turn her back on him and stalk away, but she didn’t. She hit him in the chest with the flat of her hand. Hard. “You just left,” she said, still sounding stunned. Sounding amazed and hurt and betrayed. She dropped her eyes, likely so he couldn’t see the tears that sprung there, but the move came too late. “You believed me,” she said softly, hitting him again. Since there wasn’t any real anger or power in that blow, he ignored it. “I told you that I didn’t love you, that I didn’t want to see you anymore. You should have known better. You should’ve...”
A tear slipped down her cheek and she turned her back on him and walked away. Again, the move came too late to hide her response.
“Vic...” he called as he followed her.
“Forget it,” she snapped. “That was a long time ago. A lifetime ago. I’m just upset by everything that’s happened recently. It has nothing to do with something that happened a hundred years ago. I’m not used to people trying to blow me up or shoot me. It might be an everyday occurrence to you, but I find it quite upsetting.”
“Look at me.”
She didn’t. Instead she ran up the stairs. “Good night,” she said, trying to sound calm and falling far short. Del stood at the foot of the stairs and listened as Vic ran to her room and closed the door.
He wandered purposefully through the bottom floor of the house, checking the locks on the front and back doors, double-checking the latches on the windows, using the walkie-talkie to check with the agent who was now in charge until Shock returned. And all the time his mind was only half on the tasks at hand. The other half was caught up in that really bad, warm night, sixteen years ago.
He should’ve known Vic hadn’t me
ant the things she’d said. He’d thought her agitation and the tears that had been so quick to spring to her eyes had been caused by nervousness, not fear. It had been so easy for him to believe that he was nothing more than a diversion for the little rich girl, the boy from the wrong side of the tracks who’d been fun for a while. Nothing more. Everything between them had happened so fast, he’d had his very breath stolen away. His breath and his young heart and his reason. He’d felt like such a chump, for loving her. So he’d walked away without looking back, never imagining, never wondering...
Del climbed the stairs slowly, his feet like lead, his heart the same. He’d hated Vic for dumping him that way, he’d cursed her for years for being so cold. And all that time she’d been protecting him. No one had ever protected him before, not like that. He’d taken care of his mother, fellow soldiers in the marines, his partners in his years with the DEA, even the women who’d been a part of his life in the past sixteen years. He was the strong one, right? No trembling, scared little girl could possibly protect him.
But Vic had. And if Wanda hadn’t let something slip tonight, he never would’ve known. He might’ve walked away again, when this was over, without knowing what had happened.
In the upstairs hallway, he stopped before Vic’s closed door. He laid his hand on the doorknob. If it was locked, he’d move on. If she’d locked him out, he’d let her be. He was considering not turning that knob, locked or not, when he heard a soft sob.
The door opened easily, and he stepped inside. Vic lay on her still-made bed, her back to him, her body curled up and rigid. Only the soft shaking of her shoulders and the occasional sniffle gave her away. She didn’t turn to face him, and she didn’t tell him to get out. She just lay there, fighting tears. It was a losing battle. Angry, after all this time, that he had believed her when she’d told him she didn’t want to ever see him again.
He placed his walkie-talkie on the bedside table, and removed the Glock from his waistband. When he placed the pistol on the table beside the radio, it landed with a thud that was too loud in the quiet room. Vic jumped a little, but she didn’t roll over to face him and she didn’t order him from the room.
WILDER DAYS Page 11
