by Cathie Linz
“I’m grateful to have my family all around me,” Gram said before giving a meaningful glance to her sons.
“Yeah, I’m grateful for that too,” Megan’s uncle said.
“Me too,” Megan’s dad said.
“Same here,” Aunt Sara said.
“I’m grateful that we get to eat all this great food now,” Megan said. “Dig in.”
The only discussion following that was how great everything tasted. Although Megan kept her eyes on her plate for the most part, she was very aware of her family around her. For the first time, there was a gap, something missing. Someonemissing. Her mother. She’d always felt her absence growing up, but this was different. Now she had a way of filling that gap.
After dessert of pecan pie, the men headed to the kitchen to wash up, another family tradition.
Gram pulled Faith’s mom upstairs to consult about some top secret Christmas gifts, leaving Megan and Faith alone. “How’s Logan doing?” Faith asked. “Is he spending the holiday with his family?”
“He didn’t tell me his plans. The man just shows up,” Megan said in exasperation.
“Caine used to do that too.”
“What did you do about it?”
“I married him.”
“That seems a little drastic.”
Faith grinned and shrugged. “Works for me.”
“Works for me too,” Caine said as he joined them.
“Don’t tell me your work in the kitchen is done.”
“You family didn’t like my suggestions.”
“Marines don’t give suggestions. They give orders. I better go check things out.” She got up and headed for the kitchen, snagging a bottle of cough medicine from the sideboard along the way.
Caine took the chair his wife had just abandoned. “You know, it occured to me that we have something in common. Both our dads never remarried.”
“Yes, but your mother really was dead.” Megan hung her head. “I’m sorry. That sounded cold-hearted and I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Faith told me about the situation with your mom.”
“What about the situation?” Megan asked suspiciously. Faith had promised not to tell a soul about her search for Megan’s mother. That included telling her sexy husband.
“She told me that your mom isn’t dead. Why? Is there more?”
Megan quickly shook her head. “That’s enough.”
“I know you’re angry with your dad now, but as someone whose dad is no longer with us, I just want to say that you shouldn’t dwell on your anger. Trust me, I know how anger can eat you up inside.”
“I know you do.”
“And I know about family complications.”
“I’m sure you do.” Megan knew the story of Caine’s dad being falsely accused of a crime he hadn’t commited and Caine blaming Faith’s dad for botching the investigation and causing his dad’s apparent suicide. “Things weren’t the way they seemed in that case.”
“No, they weren’t. My dad was murdered by the real criminal. Faith’s dad apologized for his part in missing critical evidence and clues. I could have held a grudge, but I didn’t. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was damn hard. But I knew it was the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do would be for my dad to tell me the truth about his reasons for lying all these years. But he’s not willing to do that yet.”
“Be patient,” Caine said.
“How did that work for you?”
“I usually suck at being patient.”
“Yeah, me too,” she admitted.
“But in my case it paid off. I think it will in yours as well.”
What had paid off was Faith’s diligence in tracking down Megan’s mom.
No, Megan wasn’t good at being patient. Which is why twenty-four hours later she was in Washington, D.C., standing outside an apartment. Her mother’s apartment. Her hand shook as she pressed the buzzer. She was afraid she’d have to talk her way past a doorman but the security at the building was lax.
The door opened. And her mother stood there. Despite the number of years since the last photograph Megan had seen, she recognized her. Her hair had turned gray and was blunt cut at her shoulders. She wore a crabby expression and no makeup. Her icy-blue eyes were paler than Megan’s and made her seem cold. The flannel shirt she had on was faded and well washed, as were the khaki pants. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“I’m not selling anything. My name is Megan West. I’m your daughter.”
Chapter Sixteen
Megan wasn’t sure what she expected but in none of the many scenarios she imagined had she come up with one where her mother just stared at her with no sign of emotion. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my mother.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing. I just ...” Megan’s mouth was so dry she could barely speak. “Can I please come in so we can talk?”
Her mother grudgingly opened the door farther to let her in.
Megan noticed that the combination living/dining room was done in minimalist furnishings. No paintings on the wall. No photos anywhere. No tchotchkes. The table was filled with two laptops and papers.
“I’m sorry if I interrupted your work.”
Her mother didn’t say “that’s okay” or any of the polite comments that most people would make. Instead she just stood there, arms crossed, her expression devoid of anything—surprise, happiness, sadness.
Megan tried not to panic. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her jacket to hide the fact that they were trembling. She’d dressed carefully in black pants, a white top and a knit berry-colored jacket. She’d added one of her favorite necklaces, a delicate hand-carved cameo that Faith had bought her in Italy. She’d needed the self-confidence that looking good was supposed to provide. She wanted her mother to be proud of her.
Now she just wanted her to say something to break this excruciating silence.
Megan cleared her throat. “I, uh, probably should have called first.”
Again no response.
“I, um, I just found out that you’re not dead. I didn’t know. I’ve been trying to find you for a few weeks now. I even tracked down someone you knew in high school. Do you remember Fiona? You went to Woodstock with her. She gave me copies of some photos of you there. I brought them with me.” Megan reached into her bag and pulled them out to show them to her.
She held them out for her mother to take, who merely gave them a cursory look.
“Maybe you want to see some identification for me,” Megan said. “Prove that I am who I say I am. I mean, the last time you saw me I was two years old. I’ve changed since then. Here.” Again she dug into her purse. It distracted her from staring at her mother’s impassive face. She opened her wallet. “Here’s my driver’s license. I still live in Chicago. I’m a librarian there. So is my cousin, Faith. I don’t know if you remember her.” Hell, Megan didn’t know at this point if her mother even remembered Megan. “Do you want to see it?” She held out her license.
Her mother gave it an even briefer look than she had the Woodstock photos. She didn’t actually touch it or touch Megan.
Still no expression. No comment. Nothing.
“If this is a bad time, maybe I should come back later?” Megan said.
“No.”
Okay, finally a verbal response. That meant her mother wanted her to stay, right? That was a good sign.
“Okay, so now you know that I really am Megan West, your daughter.” She put her wallet away. “Like I said, I’ve been trying to find you for a few weeks now. Ever since I found out at Faith’s wedding that you were still alive. Well, it was the reception actually. Not that you care about that.”
At this point her mother didn’t seem to care about anything. Maybe she was in shock? “I know my dad gave you a large sum of money to stay away from me.”
“I wouldn�
��t call it a large amount.”
“Are you afraid of him? Did he or my uncle threaten you if you tried to contact me or if I found you?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m relieved.”
Her mother didn’t seem relieved.
“Are you okay?” Megan asked.
“No.”
“You’re surprised to see me. I get that.” Maybe a blank face was her mother’s way of expressing surprise. It could happen. Megan, ever the optimist, was frantically trying to find a silver lining. “And I’ve been babbling since I got here. Usually Faith is the one who babbles when she’s nervous. She was going to come with me to D.C. but she’s sick and I couldn’t wait to meet you. She’s the one who tracked you down. She’s a librarian, like I said, but she has a PI license too. Because her dad and mine own West Investigations. But you know that already. I’m still babbling. Sorry.” Megan looked down at the Woodstock photos she still held in her hand. “Do you still have the jeans?”
“What?”
She pointed to the group photo. “The jeans you wore to Woodstock.”
“No.”
“But you and Fiona promised you’d keep them.”
Her mother shrugged. “It was a stupid promise.”
“You’ve probably moved around a lot since then and that made keeping the jeans difficult. Or have you been in D.C. since you left Chicago?”
“No.”
“Fiona said she thought you might have been in Europe several years ago.”
“She talks too much.”
“She wasn’t gossiping or anything,” Megan defended her. “She knew I’m your daughter and she was trying to be helpful.”
“That was a stupid thing to do.”
“What was? Her talking to me or me talking to her? Why all the secrecy? Are you involved in something with national security at the think tank?”
“As if I’d tell you if I was.”
“Right. Good point.” Again Megan stared at the photo before looking back at her mother, searching for some sign of the young woman she’d once been, the one who’d flashed the peace sign at Woodstock. She found none. She only saw a blank detachment. “Fiona will be disappointed that you didn’t keep the jeans. She did.”
“Like I said, it was a stupid promise.”
Her indifference was getting to Megan, which was why she said, “Were your wedding vows a stupid promise?”
She gave Megan a haughty look. “That’s a personal question.”
“You’re my mother. This is all personal.”
“For you, maybe. Not for me.”
Her mother’s words hurt. But she wasn’t done yet.
“I have no interest in being a mother,” Astrid continued. “Then or now. I had your father tell you that I was dead because I didn’t want you trying to track me down someday.”
The words hit Megan like weapons and left gaping wounds. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t . . . know. He didn’t tell me. I shouldn’t . . . I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“I won’t bother you again.” Megan blindly headed for the door. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Astrid stood aside to let her pass, placing the final nail in the coffin of Megan’s wish for a mom of her own.
Megan was too numb to cry. She felt icy cold. As cold as her mother . . . she corrected herself. As cold as Astrid.
Even Faith’s worst-case scenario couldn’t have anticipated this situation. Megan had been so full of hope at locating her mother. The holidays were a time for family and reunions. Possibilities. Redemption. Instead, she felt a despair unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.
Megan was so lost in a blurred world of shocked pain that she had no idea how she made her way back to her hotel. How could she have been so stupid? What made her think her mother would welcome her with open arms? She’d already tried via her BlackBerry to get a flight back to Chicago tonight but nothing was available.
As the hotel room door closed behind her, Megan saw the vintage purple suitcase Pepper had given her in Las Resort sitting beside the bed. Megan had thought her mother might be able to spend the holiday weekend with her, so she’d packed enough to stay until Sunday if necessary. That certainly wasn’t the case.
Today was the day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. The name suited Megan’s experience as never before. It had turned out to be a black, utterly dismal Friday.
Megan was so cold she didn’t know if she’d ever warm up again. When someone knocked at her hotel room door a few moments later, she automatically went to open it before pausing at the last minute to look through the peephole to see who it was.
Logan stood there.
Megan opened the door. Logan took one look at her and stepped into the room to take her in his arms. “Are you okay?” he said gruffly.
Megan shook her head. She didn’t know if she’d ever be okay again.
Her teeth were chattering, making speech difficult but she managed to say, “What are you doing here?”
“Faith sent me. She was worried about you. When she couldn’t reach you on your cell, she was sure you’d come looking for your mother on your own despite something called a pinkie swear not to do anything foolish.”
“I didn’t think it was foolish. But I was wrong. Very, very wrong.” Being held in his arms warmed her, reassured her, comforted her. But it didn’t erase the pain.
“What happened?”
“She said she’d wanted my dad to tell me she was dead so I’d never try to find her.” Repeating the words brought tears to Megan’s eyes.
Logan swore under his breath.
“What’s wrong with me that my own mother doesn’t want me?” Megan half sobbed.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s definitely something wrong with her.”
“I’m going to cry,” she warned him. “A lot.”
“Go ahead. I can handle it.”
And he did, patting her back and making soothing noises that she would never have expected from a tough guy like him. She’d thought that crying might send him running for the hills but no, he stood there and took it. He let her cry on his shoulder. And not just cry, but downright sob.
When she finally stopped, he leaned back slightly and smoothed her hair away from her tear-streaked face. “Feel a little better now?”
She nodded but felt embarrassed by her outburst. Stepping away from him, she reached for the tissue box on the nearby desk. She winced as she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t usually fall apart like that. I know you might not believe me because this is the second time I’ve lost it with you.”
“I don’t mind if you lose it with me,” he said.
“My nose is all red,” she muttered, blowing into the tissue. “I look like Rudolph.”
“I could say that you have a nice rack, but I’m a better man than that.”
She couldn’t help it, she had to smile at his stoic expression. “I can’t believe you came all this way to see me. Wait a second, how did you know where to find me?”
“Faith checked your credit card records. She saw the flight you booked and the hotel. I had to make sure . . . you know . . . see for myself that you were okay. I had the weekend off anyway, which is rare. But I’ve been putting in a lot of overtime. All those calls that interrupted us before,” he reminded her.
“Right.”
“I can’t get called into work from D.C.”
“Really?” she teased him. “Are you sure the president won’t need you for some emergency?”
“He’s got the Secret Service, the FBI and CIA. I’m sure he can manage without me.”
Megan wasn’t sure she could manage without him. “Your shirt is all wet. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I brought another shirt.” He pointed to the duffle bag he’d dropped by the door before unbuttoning the denim shirt he wore.
“Let me.” She moved closer and took over th
e unbuttoning duties.
Tilting up her chin, he looked deep into her eyes. She was a goner. Somehow she started kissing him. Or he started kissing her. She wasn’t sure who made the first move. She only knew that having his lips on hers was as close to heaven as she could be.
Passion flared between them. She practically ripped his shirt off while he slid her jacket off her shoulders and let it fall onto the floor. She backstepped toward the bed, tugging him with her.
When the mattress hit the back of her knees, she yanked the bedding out of the way before tumbling backward onto the ritzy sheets. He came with her, kissing her deeply, sliding his hand beneath her top to undo the front fastening of her lacy bra. He cupped her bare breast in the palm of his hand as he brushed his thumb over her taut nipple. The need to join with him pulsed through her entire body.
She gently pushed him away in order to remove her top. He watched her and huskily said, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re upset.”
“Because you’re not kissing me.”
She couldn’t cope with another rejection, but the hot desire blazing in his eyes told her how much he wanted her. So did his kiss as he quickly lowered his head to consume her mouth. Eventually he moved on, lowering his lips to her breast, where he teased her with his talented tongue until she arched her back and shivered with delight.
Threading her hands through his hair, she shifted his attention to her other breast, which pouted at being ignored. With every pull of his mouth she experienced a mirroring tug deep within her womb. She’d never felt this way before. Never been so consumed with pleasure and desire.
Things moved rapidly after that as they disposed of items of clothing—her black pants, his jeans. Their embrace and caresses became more intimate. Megan moaned with pleasure as he slid his fingers beneath her lacy underwear to seduce her with his erotic touch. She was spinning out of control by the time he removed her underwear and his.
“Condom?” she whispered.
He leaned away to remove one from his wallet. “I was a Boy Scout. We’re trained to be prepared.”
“You thought you’d get lucky?”
He stared at her. “I didn’t come to D.C. to have sex with you,” he said bluntly. “We can stop this ...”
