She lifted the sleeve of her favorite blazer to her nose. Not a hint of amber spice. No whiff of gunpowder. No sizzle. No Tucker. Just—her.
It might as well have been sterile. That was how she’d lived. Careful. Cautious. Steeped in other people’s causes. Always running at someone else’s noble beck and call and always doing it alone. At the end of every cause, she’d always ended up there. In her bedroom. Without one piece of Tucker to call her own.
Her gaze drifted to the floor. Most women had a pair of men’s boots under their beds. Socks on the floor. Dinner to cook and men’s clothes to wash. She had—nothing.
It was time to change.
Tucker wasn’t perfect, but he loved her, and she wanted inside that man’s arms. She wanted her life back. Her real life.
“I never should’ve left him,” she told Taz as a plan began to percolate. There was a way to turn this around. She’d have to be discreet when she called Alex, careful of what she said and how she phrased her questions. She couldn’t give her intentions away. Alex was sharp, and Tucker might already be on his way home, but if he wasn’t…
The sweet dog in her lap narrowed his eyes at her the way contented dogs do. She stroked him from the crest of his silky head to the tip of his fuzzy tail. “I’m going back to Vietnam, Taz.”
Tucker wavered at the edge of feeling like crap and wanting to die. Some old guy leaned out of the dark and hovered over him for a moment there, but didn’t pull him back. Tucker wasn’t sure if he was real or not.
“Stewart?” he croaked, seeing things for sure. Couldn’t be him. This guy had rheumy brown eyes, not startling blue lasers that pinpoint welded a guy’s backbone to the wall like a deer hide stretched out to dry.
Stewart was like that though, charging into the fray to rescue his guys. Working outrageous miracles when missions fell apart. Like that op in California. The one in Morocco. The one in the heart of Alexandria, Virginia, in Stewart’s own Sit Room. But the blue-eyed devil wouldn’t be charging to the rescue this time, would he? Tucker wasn’t one of his guys.
Somehow that—hurt.
The brown-eyed ghoul came and went, a smart decision. It wasn’t the first to hover over him. A guy with a raging fever sees a lot of old buddies and dead enemies when he’s half out of his head. Some flowing black shadow with bony fingers and a long silver scythe kept passing over his bed. He was sure of it.
Tucker tossed and turned and dreamed of Melissa. Needed her. Ached for her. Burned for her petal-soft skin. The warmth of her lush breasts rubbing against his chest. The taste of her slightly salty skin on his tongue. Her midnight beauty and her exquisite scent—apples and cinnamon and—virtue. Until he’d met her, he hadn’t known virtue had an odor, but it did. Crisp and clean with a bite—a lot like bleach. Too clean. Too straight and too narrow. His Melissa. The woman needed to learn how to play. How to relax.
He floated between reality and shadow, sure that Melissa was perfect just the way she was. Too perfect. As thrilled as he was that she’d kept herself pure and clean after she’d lost Brady, Tucker wanted to mess her up again. To brand her and make her his. To bite her, bruise her, and kiss her lips until she was swollen and wanting.
But she wasn’t there, was she? No. She’d gone off with that handsome bastard Mark Houston and left Tucker behind when he was damned sick. Not good. Covert operators died when they got this sick, and... and... that pesky old guy loomed over him again. Why Tucker had ever thought he looked like Stewart made no sense. It had to be the way he kept slapping Tucker’s hand away and growling, “Do as you’re told.”
“Go ’way. I’m good.” Tucker came back at him with as much SEAL positivity as he could muster. He struggled to his elbows, a tough job that shouldn’t have made the dark little room spin like it did. But damn. The ceiling dipped and bucked like he was back aboard ship in choppy seas. The walls closed in.
He sank back to his pillow to control the nausea lifting up his throat. A shiver raced over his body. That was another thing. Why’s it so cold in this dive? Who left the air conditioner on high? Where’s Isaiah and Deuce?
“Take it easy, Tucker,” came the instant answer. “The air conditioner isn’t blowing on you, but you do have a one-oh-five fever. Your son knew a good doctor, so be nice to Doctor Trang. Stop fighting him. Let him do his job.”
Tucker’s head lolled to the side. He squinted through the fog in his head, pushing the sight in his one good eye to cut through the bullshit. “Where the hell are you?”
Isaiah stepped out of the shadows to Tucker’s bedside. Deuce was right there with him, worry etched on his face, but a welcome sight for Tucker’s one good eye.
“Son,” was all he could say as he reached for his kid. His arms had turned to lead. He settled for fluttering his fingers.
Deuce grabbed hold of his old man’s hand like a good boy. “Dad, you’re sick so relax. Dr. Trang’s got some medicine for you. Please don’t argue with him.”
“I’m... not... arguin’,” Tucker asserted as clearly as he could with a thick tongue and thicker lips. It was easier talking with Isaiah. “Am I?”
“You never quit. You’re a very belligerent patient. Deuce and I tried to take care of you. We didn’t think you’d want a doctor involved, but it’s been three days, and you weren’t getting better. Take your medicine and be good for a change—can you do that? Dr. Trang is going to give you a strong antibiotic.”
“Bullshit.” Tucker tried to put enough determination into that one word to make Isaiah understand. “SEALs don’t get sick, you moron. We’re invincible.
Isaiah had the good sense not to argue.
“Where are we?” A good operator needed to know where he was at all times.
“We’re on the east side of the Saigon River, like you wanted. We’re at the Happy Dragon hotel, less than ten miles from your ex’s place. Once you get feeling better, we’ll swing by for a visit if you still think that’s a good idea.”
Thinking took more mental dexterity than Tucker had at the moment. “Why the hell do we need to visit her?”
Isaiah snickered. “My thoughts exactly. Roll over, Tucker.”
Tucker closed his eyes and rolled over, not sure why he needed to be on his side to talk with Isaiah. “There. I’m over. You happy?”
He heard another quiet snicker as he closed his eyes and—
Damn it! Dr. Trang stuck a needle in the left cheek of his ass.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Melissa cleared customs easily on her return trip. It was simple with only one carry-on to declare. Borrowing Tucker’s over-confidence, she’d caught the first flight back to Tân Sơn Nhất, but didn’t dare tell Alex or Mark, not even to have them contact Tucker and let him know she was on her way. They’d be angry, and there was no reason to tell either of them her business in the first place. She and Tucker would be back home before Alex or Mark were any the wiser.
At least, that was the plan.
She hadn’t an idea where to find Tucker, but she knew where to find his ex. That was Melissa’s first stop after she dropped her bag off at her hotel, the pricey five-star Hotel Majestic Saigon. The stunning hotel of French colonial design boasted a splendid view of the Saigon River, a view she had no intention of relishing once she got Tucker back. Not if she had her way. She meant to wine and dine and molest him to her heart’s content on that plush king-sized bed in her room. They deserved one night of pure unadulterated bliss together before they ended this—mission. She liked that word. That was exactly what she was on, a mission to get her man back.
By now, he had to have located his son, Deuce. He and Isaiah worked well together. Surely they’d accomplished their one and only goal, hadn’t they? They had to be having that final confrontation with Tucker’s ex. She nearly giggled in anticipation, a very un-Melissa-like response, but wouldn’t Tucker be surprised to see her? Wouldn’t he be thrilled she’d tracked him down?
Melissa fully realized this impulsive trip might not turn out the way she e
xpected, but she meant to give it all she could, just in case. She didn’t plan to confront the ex-Mrs. Chase, but she did intend to follow her. A woman who’s just lost track of her son and her only bargaining chip would surely be on the hunt for him. Melissa intended to tail Nicole. If anyone could lead her to Tucker, it would be his borderline psycho ex. This mission shouldn’t take long.
Leaving Tucker behind two days ago had drained her, but returning had the opposite effect. She was energized, even after two long back-to-back international flights. Taz was back at her parents. Finally, the stars had lined up.
Melissa dropped her bag at the hotel. She caught a cab and proceeded with her plan. The cabbie headed east on the Vo Van Keit Highway and into the Thu Thiem Tunnel under the Saigon River. Everything seemed so much easier in the bright light of day. The cabbie was polite and spoke proper English. She had enough VND, Vietnamese Dong, in her tidy backpack for her mission. She’d purposefully chosen denim jeans, a light sweatshirt, and a sturdy pair of walking shoes for the day. She could do this.
At least, that was the plan.
I’m alive. Finally.
Tucker opened one bleary eye, his good one. The sunlight cracking through the window blinds didn’t ping like shards of broken glass in his skull. He drew in a slow breath, relishing the comparative lack of pain. He swallowed, his throat parched, but no longer raw.
“You’re awake.”
He turned to the weary tone in that familiar voice. Isaiah sat in a worn overstuffed chair opposite the bed, his long fingers stretched over his brow and tunneled into his black, curly hair.
“Hey,” Tucker rasped, surprised at the weakness in his own voice. “You got some water around here?”
“I’ll get it,” Deuce jumped up from the floor and offered cheerfully. Damn, he was a sight for Tucker’s sore, tired eye.
Tucker straightened his back against the headboard, hating that his son was waiting on him, but thrilled at the honest familial tone to it. Deuce made him smile. The kid was nothing like his mother.
He brought two bottles of dripping wet, ice-cold water. Tucker popped the cap off the first and drained it. So good. By the time he’d crumpled the plastic, Deuce had the second bottle open and ready. “I knew you’d be thirsty,” he said, his dark eyes bright when he traded for the empty bottle. “You look a whole lot better, Dad.”
Tucker grunted and downed the second bottle. “What have you two guys been doing while I’ve been sick?”
Isaiah shot him a quelling look. “Watching your sorry ass sleep and listening to you complain. What do you think?”
“Me and Luke been watching TV and playing video games, but that’s okay.” Deuce shrugged one shoulder. “He doesn’t have a television at his house, so I’m making sure he has fun.”
Luke? Oh yeah. That skinny little kid from the factory. Tucker looked across the mussed bed for the boy. Luke faced the TV, a game controller in his grip, totally absorbed with the brightly colored antics on the screen. “Doesn’t Luke have a family to go home to?” Tucker asked his son while he pushed a question to Isaiah. “Is Luke well? Did you have that troll of a doctor look at him?”
Deuce wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “No, Dad. He doesn’t. His grandpa died last year, and he’s been alone since, and I kinda thought maybe...”
Tucker closed his eyes, thrilled at the wheedling pitch to his son’s voice. God, he’d missed being a dad. Deuce sounded—normal. Not the prissy boy Nicole had tried to carve him into. It was possible he had more of his old man’s genetics in him than Tucker had suspected. “Let me guess. You want to know if we can keep Luke?”
Isaiah answered, “Dr. Trang checked him. He’s as well as a kid on the streets in this city can be, Tucker. You should’ve seen him eat the first time I brought food. He needs a family or he won’t last long.”
Deuce shrugged. “Well, now that you mention it, yeah. He needs someone, and he could live with us, and he could be my brother, and—”
Tucker closed his eye and chuckled at Deuce’s simple outlook on life. He hadn’t seen his kid in well over a year and the first thing Deuce wanted was to bring home a brother. Life didn’t get any more normal than that. Bizarre maybe, but normal to an eleven-year-old’s way of thinking. What was odd was that Deuce had yet to ask about his mother.
Running a hand over his head, Tucker came up with fingers full of bedhead hair. His mouth felt like something had crawled in there and died. He needed a shave. “Son, I’m going to shower first, then we can sit down and eat breakfast or whatever meal of the day it is. Then we’ll discuss what we can do with Luke if his story checks out. We can’t go kidnapping a Vietnamese national just because we like him, can we?”
Damned if Deuce didn’t fall into his father’s arms instead of arguing. “Dad,” he ground out, his voice packed with emotion. “I missed you so much.”
Tucker buried his nose in his kid’s hair, his heart about as full as it could get. There was nothing better in the world than the love of your son, the warmth of his gangly body in your arms, and your future suddenly brighter. Tucker closed his eye and let the tears track out of it and down his scruffy cheek. This was precisely what he’d come to Vietnam for. “I missed you too, Deuce.”
“I love you, Dad. I’m sorry I left you, and I’m sorry I—”
“Let me up.” That bullshit had to stop. Tucker tousled his son’s curly black hair.
Deuce pulled away, but didn’t let go of his old man’s hand. Tucker cupped his very intelligent child’s chin and looked him in the eye. Man to man. Deuce was a helluva lot smarter than his old man. He’d understand. “Don’t you ever be sorry for anything. You had no say in what happened between your mother and me. It’s my fault. All mine. Not yours. I screwed up. I should’ve been a better father, and I should’ve been a better man. If I had, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Do you still love Mother?” the innocent, hopeful boy asked.
“No,” Tucker said bluntly. That needed to be out in the open. There was no going back to Nicole. “But I don’t hate her either. We had our chance together, and we both blew it. I’ve got a new woman in my life, and I want you to meet her as soon as we get back to the States. You’ll like her.”
It was hard not to miss the disappointment shifting through Deuce’s eyes, but Tucker kept going. “Her name’s Melissa McCormack. She’s a good woman. You ever heard of McCormack Industries?”
“You’re rambling, Tucker. Deuce doesn’t care about prestige and power. He just wants his mom and dad back like they used to be, and that’s not going to happen. Don’t lie to him.”
Tucker shot a quick glance at Isaiah. He sounded like he knew what Deuce had gone through. He might be right. Tucker gripped his son’s arm. “The thing is, people change. I’m not the guy I used to be. I want to be part of your life, and I’m going to do anything I can to prove it to you and your mother.”
Deuce sank against his father, his arms wrapped around Tucker’s neck. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. Don’t change. You’re my dad, and I love you. I want to stay with you. I’m almost old enough I can decide for myself. I choose you, Dad.”
Not likely. Deuce wanted to believe he had a choice in the matter, but the truth was divorce laws varied from state to state. No matter what Tucker or Deuce thought or wanted, some impartial judge would make the final determination as to which parent was the best for this bright young man. Unfortunately, the way Tucker had gone about getting his kid back would weigh heavily in the final outcome.
Tucker’s heart swelled. He blinked hard and failed miserably at pretending he was tough. “Listen, Deuce. You keep thinking positive, and we’ll take this up with a judge the minute we get home. Now let’s go eat.”
A sharp knock at the door startled everyone. “Are you expecting company?” Tucker asked his partner. That would’ve been nice to know.
Isaiah shook his head, his shoulders off the chair back he’d been lounging into. “Not room service, either.” Damned if
the kid didn’t have his pistol already in his hand like a good operator should. Like Tucker wished he had. “You seen my gear bag?”
By then Isaiah was at the door, his index finger to his lips and his eyeball to the peephole. “It’s your ex,” he whispered. “She doesn’t look happy. What do you want me to do?”
“Mother? She’s here? How...?” Deuce asked, a tremble in his tone. “Don’t answer it, Isaiah. Please don’t open that door.”
Tucker ran a hand over his head, not sure how Nicole had tracked him. He wasn’t ready for a showdown, but there she was, probably tapping her high-heeled toes and pissed that no one had answered yet. He looked to his son for the best way forward. “Do you want to talk to your mom?”
“No.” Deuce shook his head slowly. Deliberately. “She told me I had to learn how to work like a man. She told me that guy’s boys are better men than me, but Dad, there’s two of them. She said I was soft, but they’re both fatter than me, and I’m not soft. Feel.” He bunched his bicep for his dad.
Tucker’s temper flared. “She told you that? After all the crap she gave me about you not playing baseball and not going to the gym with me? After making you play violin?”
“But I love my violin.” Poor Deuce glanced at the door, his eyes wide. “But I don’t like it when she lets him hit me. She says it will make me a man. Don’t make me go, Dad. I don’t want to. Please—”
“Never,” Tucker growled, sorry he’d caused his son to think for one second he’d have to go back with his mother. “Deuce, go over there with Isaiah. Take Luke with you while I talk to your mom, and don’t worry. You’re staying with me.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” Isaiah cautioned. “You’re not well and she looks mean enough to hurt you. Look at you.”
Yeah, well... Tucker shoved his hair off his forehead, determined to end this family feud once and for all. He stretched his hands over his head to get the kinks out of his spine, then ambled to the door and jerked it open to the surprised bitch who’d made his life, and now Deuce’s life, hell. “What do you want?” he asked bluntly, “and how did you find out where I’m staying? And what’s this bullshit that you let your asshole husband hit my boy?”
King of Hearts (Deuces Wild Book 1) Page 24
