by Pamela Clare
“Slow, deep breaths.” Jack kissed her cheek.
He’d been so strong for her, coming to all of her appointments, massaging her hip day and night to help ease the pain caused by the weight of the baby, making meals that were not only nutritious but which also catered to her food cravings—and Megan’s. He’d been so respectful of her wishes and responsive to her fears. He’d been her hero.
“Okay, we’re getting down to business here. I’m cutting into your uterus.”
“You’ll have your baby in your arms in just a minute,” a woman’s voice said.
“I just broke your amniotic sac, and we’re suctioning out the fluid,” Dr. Fleming said. “I think this baby wants out. Its head is right here.”
“Look at all that dark hair,” one of the nurses said.
Janet met Jack’s gaze. “Oh, my God. We’re having a baby.”
He smiled. “You’re having a baby. In a minute, you’re going to be a mother.”
“Let’s lower the drape so they can see,” Dr. Fleming said.
The blue surgical drape was lowered, and Janet found herself staring at the surreal sight of her bulging belly. There wasn’t as much blood as she’d expected, but there was some. And then Dr. Fleming’s hand disappeared into her abdomen.
There was more pressure, more tugging, and one of the assistants pushed down on her abdomen.
Then Dr. Fleming’s hand reappeared as he eased the baby’s head from inside her. “The head is out.”
Janet watched in stunned amazement as the head was followed by a shoulder and then a tiny arm and another shoulder. In a rush of fluid, the baby slipped from her womb and into Dr. Fleming’s hands.
“Hello, little one. Happy birthday!” Dr. Fleming said, holding the baby up and wiping its face. “She wants to hold the baby and have skin-to-skin contact.”
The baby made a little squeak, then began to cry.
“My baby!” Janet’s eyes filled with tears, a rush of emotion overwhelming her as Dr. Fleming laid the baby on her chest. “My baby!”
She held the wet, squalling baby, Jack and the anesthesiologist tugging her hospital gown down to expose her breasts.
“Aren’t you even going to look?” Dr. Fleming asked.
It took Janet a moment to understand what he meant. She lifted one of the baby’s chubby legs and laughed. “It’s a girl!”
Jack smiled at her, tears streaming down his face.
“Thank you, angel.” He bent down, kissed her on the cheek, then kissed their little girl on her damp hair. “Welcome to the world, princess.”
# # #
Jack sat close to the bed and watched as Janet tried to nurse Lily for the first time.
My God, he had a daughter.
He hadn’t seen that coming.
They’d named her Lily Kathleen after Janet’s mother and Jack’s grandmother, but hadn’t yet shared her name or sex with anyone.
Janet tickled the baby’s chubby cheek with her nipple, and Lily turned her hungry little mouth toward Janet’s breast, reminding Jack of a baby bird.
Janet gave a little gasp as the baby latched on and began to suck, then laughed, the happiness on her sweet face warming Jack to his soul.
“She’s latched on really well all by herself,” the nurse, a lactation specialist, said to Janet. “That’s what we like to see.”
Jack kissed Janet’s cheek. “The kid’s an expert already.”
Janet turned to him. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Like mother, like daughter.”
Janet didn’t seem to be in pain. They’d given her some kind of narcotic injection through the epidural to relieve her pain while still enabling her to be alert so she could have bonding time with the baby. He hoped the pain relief lasted. He hated to think of her hurting. She’d been through enough.
It had been a long, hard pregnancy. Once she’d gotten through the nausea, she’d begun to have pain in her hip and pelvis. Jack had done everything he could think of to make her more comfortable—ice bags, hot compresses, massages, extra pillows. He’d brought in an acupuncturist recommended by Doc Johnson, who sometimes used acupuncture on the mares. None of it had completely taken away her discomfort, but she had soldiered through it.
Jack hadn’t thought he could cherish her more than he had the day he’d married her, but watching her with Lily, he felt shaken by the depth of his love for her. He wanted to do right by her and Lily—and that meant he needed to talk to Nate.
Don’t think about it now, amigo.
He reached over, took one of Lily’s tiny hands between his fingers, almost unable to believe she was real. He laughed when the baby closed her entire hand around the tip of his pinky finger, he and Janet exchanging glances, both of them so lost in the baby that neither of them noticed when the nurse left the room.
There came a knock at the door.
Megan peeked her face inside. “Can we come in?”
“Please do,” Janet answered.
Megan entered, carrying flowers, followed by Emily, who was dressed in a bright green sundress, and Nate, who was carrying little Jackson.
“Come here, Miss Emily.” Jack got to his feet. “We have someone who really wants to meet you. This is Lily Kathleen.”
Megan gave a little shriek. “A girl!”
“Congratulations to both of you!” Nate said, grinning ear to ear.
Emily approached the bed, a finger in her mouth, a shy smile on her face. She looked over at Lily. “Oh, Grandpa Jack, she’s so pretty.”
“You think so?” Jack sat, scooped Emily onto his lap.
Emily nodded, finger still in her mouth.
The girl had been acting out lately, no doubt feeling displaced by the new members of the family who were taking up so much of her parents’ and Jack’s time. They were doing all they could to make the transition easier for her, but she wouldn’t adjust overnight. After all, she’d been the only child in the family for close to three years now and had gotten the lion’s share of Jack’s attention.
“Emily, this is Lily. Lily Kathleen, this is your niece, Emily.” Janet looked from Lily to Emily. “She doesn’t talk yet, but she’ll learn. When she’s done eating, you can hold her if you want.”
Emily stared down at the baby. “Does she like me?”
“Are you kidding? She loves you,” Jack answered. “So does Jackson. They’re going to look up to you and need your help. You can teach them how to count, how to tie their shoes and—”
“I can teach them about horsies,” Emily said, hopefully.
“That’s what I was going to say next.” Jack shared a smile with Megan and Nate. “They don’t know a darned thing about horsies.”
Megan put the flowers on the nightstand, sat down on the edge of the bed, and peered down at the baby. “Oh, she’s just beautiful. Look at all that dark hair. How much did she weigh?”
“Seven pounds, thirteen ounces—a whole pound less than Jackson.” Janet stroked Lily’s downy hair.
“She takes after you, Janet,” Megan said.
“Thank God for that,” Jack joked.
He looked over at Nate. “Can we talk out in the hall?”
“Sure.” Nate handed Jackson to Megan and followed him into the hallway, a look of concern on his face. “Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly.” Jack didn’t know how to say it except to come out and say it. “I’m sixty-four years older than that sweet little baby girl, and you and I both know it’s unlikely that I’ll be around to watch her turn thirty. I need to rewrite my will and make some provision for her. In the meantime, I want your promise that you’ll do right by her and Janet if something happens to me before I get this all sorted out.”
It wasn’t going to be easy. The ranch needed to go to a single heir. Dividing it up between heirs would inevitably result in its being sold off piece by piece until it was no longer a viable operation, ending the family’s legacy.
&nbs
p; Nate raised an eyebrow. “I’m almost offended, Dad, but having a new baby shakes a man up, so I forgive you. Of course, I’ll take care of Lily and Janet. Lily is my sister, and Janet is your wife, the woman you love. I would never throw either of them off the ranch, deprive them of monetary support, or leave them out of my will. I give you my word that they’ll both have a home at the Cimarron for as long as they live.”
Jack rested a hand on his son’s shoulder, anxiety he hadn’t realized he was carrying melting away. “Thank you, son. That means a lot to me.”
“Now let’s get back in there. I want to hold my baby sister.” Nate grinned. “A girl. I’m amazed. That’s the first West daughter in a century.”
They went back into the room, where Janet was telling Megan about her C-section while Emily sat on the bed between them.
Lily had quit nursing and now seemed to be sound asleep.
Janet took the baby from her breast, drew her gown back up over her shoulder. “Okay, Emily, do you want to sit up here next to me?”
“Be careful.” Jack helped Emily settle herself beside Janet. “Remember, they had to cut Janet’s tummy open to get Lily out.”
Janet laid Lily in Emily’s arms. “Good job! You’ve gotten lots of practice holding babies, haven’t you?”
There came a knock at the door, and the lactation nurse stepped in again. “It looks like the whole family is here. Hey, do you want me to get a picture?”
“That would be wonderful,” Janet answered.
Nate took out his cell phone, handed it to the nurse, and showed her how to work it. “Just push the red button on the screen.”
Nate went to stand beside Megan, who was holding Jackson, while Jack stood beside Emily, who still held Lily.
The nurse stepped back, took a few shots. “These look great.”
“Thanks.” Nate took the camera from her, scrolled through the images with a smile on his face, then handed his phone to Jack.
And there in color were the people Jack loved most in the world—and the second chance at happiness he’d never expected to have. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring or where life would take any of them. But right now, in this moment, everything was perfect.
They’re beautiful.
Theresa’s voice sounded inside his mind as if she were standing here beside him.
Yes, they are. I love them so much.
Could she hear him, too?
Be happy, my love.
And it seemed to Jack that Theresa was saying goodbye.
“Are you okay, hon?” Janet reached out, slid her fingers between his.
Jack swallowed the lump in his throat, gave his wife’s hand a squeeze, his heart aching with the bittersweet wonder of life. “Never been better.”
Keep reading for an excerpt from Seduction Game (I-Team 7), available in ebook format on October 20, 2015, and in print in March 2016 from Penguin Group (USA).
From Seduction Game (I-Team 7), coming Oct. 20, 2015, from Berkley!
CHAPTER ONE
Trust no one.
What the hell was Kramer trying to tell him?
Nick Andris rubbed his closed eyes with the heels of his hands, then looked up at the clock. Almost midnight.
Shit.
This was a waste of time.
For almost three weeks, he’d been keeping Holly Elise Bradshaw under round-the-clock surveillance. He’d turned her life inside out, but had found nothing. He’d tapped her cell phone and landline, sifted through her laptop, searched her condo, memorized the details of her childhood, learned about her friends, pored over her financial records, scrutinized her posts on social media for hints of tradecraft, and tracked every move she’d made via GPS. He’d found nothing remotely suspicious.
He’d even gone behind Bauer’s back and contacted Rich Lagerman, an old buddy from Delta Force who was now working for the FBI, and asked whether Bradshaw was one of theirs. Every federal agency in the country now had undercover officers, and it wouldn’t be the first time operatives from different agencies had tripped over one another while pursuing a suspect.
“Nope. Not one of ours,” Lagerman had said. “But if you need any help with her, maybe some late-night, under-the-covers work, let me know.”
“Right.”
Nick now knew more about this woman now than she knew about herself. If Holly Bradshaw were some kind of underworld operative, a foreign agent, a traitor who sold US secrets, then he was Elvis fucking Presley.
Someone at Langley had screwed up.
Bauer had recalled Nick from assignment in Tbilisi amid whispers that a handful of officers were missing or dead and that the Agency was conducting an internal investigation of its Special Activities Division, or SAD, the top-secret branch of the CIA that had recruited Nick out of Delta Force nine years ago. He’d never been assigned to operate within US borders, so he’d arrived in Langley expecting to find himself in the middle of an inquisition.
Instead, Bauer, his supervisor, had given him a file with the latest intel on Sasha Dudayev, aka Sachino Dudaev, the Georgian arms smuggler who’d killed the only woman Nick had ever loved.
“He killed an officer and stole a flash drive containing classified information vital to US operations outside the homeland,” Bauer had said. “Holly Elise Bradshaw is his contact for the deal. Keep Bradshaw under surveillance, recover the data, and neutralize them both using any force necessary.”
As a rule, the Agency left affairs within the homeland to the NSA and FBI, but they sometimes broke that rule when it came to high-value international targets and US citizens who’d crossed the line to work with those targets. It was unusual for Nick to run surveillance on a fellow American in her home, but apart from that element of his current mission, Bauer had given him exactly what he’d wanted for two long years now—a chance to make Dudaev pay.
Dudaev had played the Agency and brought the Batumi op down on their heads. Nick had been there that night. He’d watched, wounded and pinned down by AK fire, as the son of a bitch had emptied his Makarov into Dani’s chest, then made off with the cache of AKs the Agency had wrested away from Chechen terrorists. Nick had crawled over to Dani and held her body afterward, held her until he’d passed out from blood loss.
His sole task that night had been to protect her, and he’d failed.
But now things were about to come full circle.
There was only one problem.
The suits at Langley had clearly made a mistake when they’d fingered Ms. Bradshaw as Dudaev’s contact. Okay, so it was an understandable error. The bastard’s last lover had been an Italian journalist who’d acted as his mole and messenger—until he’d had her killed. Analysts must have assumed he’d recruited Ms. Bradshaw when she’d interviewed him about his new art gallery and then begun dating him.
As understandable as the error might be, nothing changed the fact that Nick had now wasted three weeks discovering that Holly Bradshaw was exactly what she seemed to be—an entertainment writer, a smart but shallow blonde, a woman who loved sex, expensive clothes, and good times with her friends. He’d explained all of this to Bauer, sharing every bit of intel he’d gathered on her. If Dudaev was about to sell the flash drive, the deal would go down without Bradshaw’s knowledge or participation.
Bauer had blown him off. “Stick with her. I swear she’s the one.”
Some people just hated to be wrong.
Nick’s time would be better spent trailing Dudaev and hunting down the real contact—or sorting truth from rumor on the internal investigation and the missing and dead officers.
Trust no one.
Kramer had contacted him this afternoon, insisting they speak face to face. He’d be passing through Denver tomorrow and had asked Nick to meet him for lunch. Nick hadn’t needed to ask what was on Kramer’s mind. It wasn’t unusual for an officer to be killed in the line of duty, but it was strange that Nick and Kramer had worked with all of them. Then Kramer had ended the call with those three words—and Nick’s imaginati
on had taken over.
“They’re ombré crystal pumps in royal blue with four-inch heels.”
Nick took another swig of cold coffee. In his earpiece, Bradshaw and her friend Kara McMillan were still talking.
“I love them,” Bradshaw said, “but my shoe budget is blown for the next ten years.”
Nick doubted that. Bradshaw’s daddy was a retired brigadier general who had served with US Army Intelligence—another reason analysts believed Dudaev had chosen her—and Daddy had created a nice little trust fund for his baby girl.
“How much do a pair of Christian Louboutins cost?” McMillan asked.
Nick ran through the key facts on McMillan, more to help himself stay awake than because he’d forgotten anything.
McMillan, Kara. 40. Journalist, author, journalism instructor at Metro State University. Wife of Sheridan, Reece, lieutenant governor of the state of Colorado. No arrests. No suspected criminal associations. Three children. Formerly employed by the Denver Independent on its Investigative Team, aka, the I-Team. Met Bradshaw through work. Close personal friend.
“Well, it depends on where you buy them, whether they’re on sale, which shoe you choose—that sort of thing.”
“Holly,” McMillan said in a stern voice. “How much?”
Bradshaw hesitated. “These were just over three thousand.”
Nick had just taken another swig of coffee and nearly choked.
Three thousand dollars? For a fucking pair of shoes?
“Wow!” McMillan laughed. “Reece would divorce me.”
Damn straight!
“Did you get them for your big date with Sasha tomorrow?”
“I needed something to go with my new dress.”
Nick rolled his eyes. The woman’s closet was full of shoes. The last thing she needed was one more pair—especially one that cost three fucking grand.
“I read in the paper that he’s a billionaire—gas and oil money,” McMillan said.
Nick’s jaw clenched.
Dudaev had built his fortune on human lives, including Dani’s. Killing her had been nothing more than a business transaction to him. He could change his name, wear designer suits, and open a dozen art galleries to make himself seem respectable, but nothing could wash the blood off his hands.
