“I do. This manuscript has given me hope for a new generation. Maybe a series.” Shannon breathed a full breath, gulping the hope of it into her soul. The weight of the world slipped a bit off her shoulders.
Ember smiled. “We knew if we could meet you face to face, you’d like it.”
“You have no idea,” Shannon said.
“So, what should we do next?” Sasha leaned her elbows to her knees. “I mean, what’s the next step? Do I need to hire an editor, or will you do that for me? What about cover art?”
Shannon smiled, happy that Sasha stayed in character. Whoever she was, she was good at this undercover business. “I’ll take care of the editor, the cover art, and the copyright. You just start writing your next book. We’ll need to build your fan base, and that’s the best way to start. It would be a good marketing strategy to release the second as soon as possible after the first.”
“I can do that.” Sasha grinned like a Cheshire cat.
“Well, that was easy,” Ember said slyly. “What with all the bars you’ve got all over the windows, it seems to me you’re locked up tighter than the gold in Fort Knox. We didn’t think we’d get to meet you.”
“We are very secure,” Shannon, directed her gaze to Ember. “I’m sure you understand the need for state-of-the-art security in this day and age.” She tried not to over-emphasize ‘state of the art,’ but hoped she conveyed her precarious circumstances.
Ember nodded to confirm she got the message. “Important people need to be extra careful. There are a lot of crazies out there, huh?”
“Yes.” Shannon glanced upwards, indicating the upper level. “Some of us must be extra careful.”
Ember smiled, winked again, and extended her hand as she rose from the couch. “Come on, Sasha. You got what you came for. You’re going to be an author. How cool is that?”
“Wait.” Shannon hurried to the desk. “My card.” She scribbled a quick note on the back. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll speak with one of my editors later today. She’ll call to let you know when she can fit your book into her schedule.”
Sasha took the business card and promptly stashed it inside her bra. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Reagan.”
“You too.” Shannon escorted her new best friends to the front door. “I look forward to working with you.”
“I get the feeling that maybe you and me should go shopping for shoes or something.” Ember’s eyes twinkled before she grabbed Shannon in a big hug. Once she had hold, Ember whispered in her ear. “He’s outside in our car. He’s listening to every word. Come with me.”
Shannon pulled back. Her heart stopped. Temptation called, but motherhood had already made her choice. Every feminine instinct screamed ‘Run to him!’ but she couldn’t. Not without Jimmy.
“I can’t,” she whispered back. “Not today.”
Ember released her slowly, a glimmer of hurt in her eyes. “I understand,” she said quietly. “Find a way. Maybe next time.”
“No,” Shannon shook her head, speaking low. “There can’t be a next time. It’s too risky. He needs to forget me.”
That must have been the last straw for the man listening to the discreet conversation. The front door burst open, and there he was, all six-feet-three of a fierce, angry male.
“Shannon,” Adam barked, still scanning the entrance for her. The hard angles of his face softened as soon as he made eye contact. All that fierceness faded away. “Shannon,” he breathed her name with so much reverence and love, his hand extended. “I’m here.”
“Adam,” she cried, her heart thrown wide open and her caution to the wind.
One moment she stood there, dumbfounded and paralyzed. The next, she was in his arms, trying to melt into him so they’d never be parted again. He’d come for her, just as she knew he would. Every neutron, cell, and particle in her body tuned to him, her heart beating in time to the thunder in his chest.
“I love you,” he growled, his words branding her heart with red-hot tendrils of forever.
“And I you,” she murmured, needing to feel his lips on hers again. Clutching his face in her hands, she felt his tears. Somewhere out there, Ember and Sasha stood watching, but Shannon only saw Adam, only felt the heat of his love coursing through her body, only wanted more. As soft as the island breeze, he pressed his lips to hers, asking for a chaste kiss.
“You’re coming with me,” he said hotly into her mouth. “Get Squeaks. You’re—”
“No!” Perish the thought. Reality slapped her down. She jerked out of his arms at the truth he must never know. “I can’t. You have to go. Leave. Leave now.”
“No, Shannon. Not this time.” He reached for her again, but she shifted farther away.
“No!” Danger signs exploded in her head. All her father’s sinister oaths came back in triplicate. She’d just given herself away and betrayed her son by this impossible foolishness. Her father now had evidence of her treason on video. “Get out! All of you! Get out!”
“But Shannon...” Adam froze. His face blanched white. Her words were killing him, but she couldn’t stop. Everything came down to this point in time. Her future. Her happiness. Adam or Jimmy. There was no choice. Jimmy won.
“Leave. Do it now, or I’ll call the police,” she barked, pointing sternly to the open door.
“Miss Reagan.” Hubbard had arrived, his voice calculating and very nearly concerned. “I have called security and the police. They’ll be here shortly.”
“Thank you, Hubbard. Please make these people leave.”
Ember and Sasha stood with Adam at the door, the same bewildered expressions on their faces. Shannon turned away from the hurt in his eyes, her own squeezed tight against the pain clawing up her throat. Desolation stabbed at her. There was no way out of this. He couldn’t save her. Not any more.
His last words cut the deepest. “I’ll always love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Three long months. Two days. No breaks. No sign of Shannon. Squeaks either.
Adam watched with the rest of the world as the vivacious, charming billionaire’s daughter turned into a recluse. Her father publicly proclaimed her nerves were shot after her near fatal accident at sea, and that she suffered more than she would tell.
The TEAM discovered that Shannon closed her small publishing company, and sent her editors packing. Book signings were cancelled. Promotions ceased. Sightings of her baby boy were even more rare than before, and mention of Jimmy Malone only appeared in tabloids where rumor and conspiracy theories prevailed. Some postulated that there never was a baby. That Jimmy Malone was nothing more than the wild imagination of a distraught woman well on her way to coming undone. Or a cleverly crafted publicity stunt to soften public opinion of the eccentric man behind Reagan Industries.
The Tattle Tales that mother had secreted inside the manor never transmitted one iota of intel. No doubt the Reagan security system squelched any and all bugs. Paul Reagan was smart like that.
Alex expended thousands of dollars and hundreds of his team’s man-hours attempting to break Paul Reagan’s hold on his daughter, but to no avail. Agent after agent had watched the manor for days on end. Still no sign.
Adam waited. And waited. But the hope of ever seeing Shannon again grew dim.
Finally, she made her business debut on the cover of a prestigious New York business magazine, where her father publicly proclaimed her to be his successor to the throne. He planned to relinquish the reins of his vast industrial kingdom within the year. It was odd that the reporter who relayed the story used only older photos of Shannon, instead of taking a current shot of her with her son. That would’ve been newsworthy.
Instead, the article was factual and short, devoid of the human-interest side of the future megalomaniac of the century. It was about Paul Reagan and his business. His plans. The interview was devoid of any mention of her future, only as it pertained to the company. There wasn’t a single quote from her lips. No charming
anecdote about her son, Paul Reagan’s heir, either.
The debacle at the Reagan Manor hadn’t gone unnoticed by the CIA, but they didn’t press charges as Agent Atchison threatened. Instead of retribution, there was stony silence, which was just as well. Adam was ready to fight the world. Arrogant Atchison’s smug face would make a good target. Anyone would. So Alex sent Adam out of the country on one remote op after another. Too busy to fight, but never too busy to forget, Adam waited for some news to break. Just one word.
He kept his nose to the grindstone only to return home to his overgrown Irish Setter pup and an empty house that, although she’d never been in, spoke of Shannon and her son at every turn. It whispered to Adam in the dead of night of soft blue eyes and warm caresses, the light on her face when she’d given birth to a soul so tiny that Jimmy Malone shouldn’t have lived. But Jimmy did. He was tough. Like her.
The emptiness reminded Adam of the day when his arms were full of a beautiful mother and child, the day he’d poured his love into them both with his silly songs. He’d never sung to anyone like that before, not even after he’d had a few too many. He waited for the day he’d have them both. The day she’d want him back. The day he could sing again.
It was the night after he’d come home from South America that he saw her.
Ember called, waking him from much-needed sleep at the ungodly hour of three a.m. “Adam. Turn on CNN. Hurry!”
Was she out of her mind? Why was she awake in the middle of the night? Ember sounded buzzed, but Adam did as he was told. He fumbled for the remote, his mind numb from lack of sleep, the stress of a successful but exhausting covert mission, and the eternal jetlag of too many back-to-back ops. The flight home had been long and bumpy. Air Force cargo planes didn’t offer first class. Only grunt class.
The debrief with Alex that immediately followed touchdown proved nearly as excruciating as the flight home. The man’s attention to detail knew no bounds, but he’d also brought good news. It seemed the South American dictator whom Adam had just visited was overturned shortly after Adam left the country. The illicit, drug-funded government he’d hidden behind was reduced to shambles by the good work of one undercover agent who knew how to drop in unannounced, turn trusted compadres against each other, and bug out before the going got tough and bullets started flying.
Alex was proud. The State Department was pleased. They all wanted to chat Adam up with their praise, but he was running on empty. He’d been that way since Hawaii. After retrieving his best bud, Seamus, from the Mortimers on his way home, he snagged a couple cheeseburgers for the two of them at a local burger joint, and collapsed on top of his bed to get some shut-eye, grubby clothes and all. Until Ember called, he had planned to catch a few ZZZs.
The flat-screen sizzled to life, blinding his weary eyes with brilliant LED technology. He squinted to see what all the fuss was about, then bolted upright, startling Seamus. The dog groaned a tired yawn, pawed at Adam, and closed his eyes again.
There she was, Miss Shannon Reagan, only—there she wasn’t. This woman on TV couldn’t be her. There had to be some kind of mistake. The resemblance was nearly unmistakable, but... Shannon? Really?
“It’s a replay of her interview this afternoon. She looks bad, huh?” Ember asked quietly in his ear.
“Damn,” he mumbled, his hand to his mouth in shock at what he was seeing. “What’d she do to her hair?”
Shannon stood at a waist-high podium, her shorter-than-short hair slicked back in the fashion of anorexic European models who looked more like teenage boys than mature women. Dressed in a black dress-suit that did nothing for her figure, she gripped the edges of the flimsy stand. The curves he’d noticed that first day in the Sit Room were gone. Gaunt from her once lovely face to her feet, the skeletal person now addressing the world was someone else entirely. He peered closer to make sure it really was her.
“Yes,” she snapped, her once melodious voice now harsh, cold, and commanding. Her soft lips were thin, her brows arched with power. She held her chin too high. God, she almost resembled Paul Reagan. “As we all know, the Hummingbird Hawk technology was lost at sea three months ago. It won’t be duplicated. Instead, Reagan Industries has decided to pursue legal action against Mr. Alexander Stewart, the owner and Chief Executive Officer of the covert surveillance company, The TEAM, for malfeasance in the performance of his contract.”
She drew in a breath, but before she could continue, a reporter piped up. It seemed the press wasn’t interested in Reagan Industries’ legal issues. “How’s your son, Miss Reagan? We haven’t seen him since you arrived home. Is he well?”
Adam leaned into the screen. He very much wanted to know how Jimmy Malone was. Seamus yawned beside him, stretched, and went back to sleep.
“Will there be anything else?” Shannon dodged the question, but Adam saw the shadow that crossed her face. She’d hesitated before she’d declined to answer, scoping out that reporter as if deciding whom to trust.
“How’s Squeaks?” Adam whispered to the woman he loved. “Have you changed so much you don’t care about him, either?”
It seemed so.
“Hey. Are you still there?” Ember shouted into the phone, which by now had dropped to the bed.
He lifted the receiver back to his ear. “Yeah. Still here.”
“Wow, huh?” Ember was too full of excitement for this hour. “I wondered when we’d see her again. It’s been a long time.”
“Three months,” he muttered, his eyes still glued to the screen. “This is my fault. I blew it. I forced her to shut me out. I never should’ve trapped her the way I did that day.”
With his remote control, he backed the interview up to replay and record. Once again he watched the glint of pain cross Shannon’s face at the mention of her son, and once again, the sight of her hurting stabbed his heart. This wasn’t the Shannon he knew. This wasn’t her at all.
“Any sightings of Squeaks lately?” he asked Ember. “Anywhere?”
“No, but we haven’t missed a day of surveillance. They must have a doctor come to the house for his well-baby check-ups, because that little boy doesn’t leave the...”
Adam lost track of Ember as the on-screen interview continued.
“What about your publishing company, Miss Reagan? Will you ever write another book or publish again?” another reporter piped up. “You’ve had several best-sellers. How could you let such an enterprising business fall to the wayside? What about what you want? Where does your dream figure into your father’s plans for you?”
Shannon blinked, and for a split second, Adam saw her again. Whoever that reporter was, he’d sucker-punched her where it hurt.
With a groan and a bounce forward on the bed, Adam’s feet were to the floor and his hands on her face, tracing the harsh angles that had once glowed with passion instead of television wonder. Seamus groaned at the disturbance, but Adam’s attention was on the flat-screen.
My poor Shannon.
His arms ached to hold her. There she was again, trying to be someone she wasn’t, trying to please her father while all her shattered dreams were laid bare for dissection by the nosey media. She wasn’t tough enough to stand up to the barrage of questions from this shark tank. Anyone could see that. Her grip on the edge of the wooden podium betrayed her. She held it too tightly. She was scared to death. He read it in her eyes. Hell, anyone who loved her could see that.
“What’s he done to you, Shannon baby? Where have you gone?”
“I’ve put all that foolishness behind me.” She faced the camera head-on, answering the reporter and Adam at the same time. “In two months, I’ll be taking over Reagan Industries. Life goes on. It’s time to get back to work. Thank you for coming. That will be all.”
“Hey! Adam!” Ember yelled again.
Adam moved the phone back to his ear, his heart still on that pretty lady he used to know. He smoothed his fingertip over her stern mouth. He’d kissed those lips, only they weren’t so thin and taut then. They�
�d been lush and honey-sweet. Warm, not cold. And she used to smile.
His finger travelled down the screen to her neck, then down to the barely noticeable swell of her breast. The plump pillows were wasted away. The cords in her neck tight. He could almost feel her trembling beneath him. Were the rumors correct? Had she suffered a nervous breakdown?
His instincts told him not Shannon. No way would she fall apart, not the way she’d manned up every step of the way out there in the Pacific. If anything, she’d proven herself to be as tough as the black operators cast away on that desert island with her. The real Shannon was still in there. She had to be.
“Whatcha gonna do?” Ember’s bubbling enthusiasm drained what energy the sight of Shannon hadn’t already taken from Adam.
“There’s nothing I can do,” he whispered. “You heard her. She doesn’t want me in her life. You were there. You saw her.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Shush, Ember. I want to hear this.”
One reporter had gotten progressively insistent. His television station’s microphone boom nearly bumped Shannon’s head when she attempted to leave. “What about the others who were stuck in the Pacific Ocean with you when your plane went down, Miss Reagan? We have information that a three-man crew and three more passengers were on the same flight. Surely some of those six people survived. Do you ever wonder where they are and how they’re doing? Do you keep in touch with any of them? Do you even care?”
Damn. That reporter knew how to hurt a gal.
Shannon turned and faced her viewing audience. Adam’s heart stopped. Again, it seemed she looked straight at him. So many emotions poured out of those sad eyes. Flashing anger mixed with—pain? Grief? Determination? His breath hitched. It seemed the whole world waited along with him to hear her answer.
She tossed her head in insolence at the question, her upper lip curled in disgust. “I don’t think of them at all.”
She turned and walked away, not knowing the solid kick to his heart she’d delivered. It literally knocked Adam flat to his back. He groaned, the message loud and clear and finally received after all these months of wondering. Shannon Reagan had moved on.
Adam Page 27
