by Dinah McCall
It wasn’t until he reached the doorway that he realized there was a woman standing in his path. He paused, expecting her to step aside. Instead she spoke his name, then came toward him.
Mercedes Blaine was scared—as scared as she’d ever been in her life. The last time she’d seen Jonah Slade, she’d been thirteen years old and running down the front steps of her father’s home, begging him not to go. Her thick red hair had been an uncontrollable mop, and her teeth had been adorned with braces. She’d been awkward and leggy and madly in love with him, despite the fact that he’d had eyes for no one but her older sister, Felicity.
And she couldn’t blame him. At twenty-three, Felicity had been stunning—a willowy blonde with perfect hair and perfect teeth, attributes to which thirteen-year-old Macie could only aspire.
But something had gone wrong that day. Something that was driving Jonah away. It had taken another couple of months before she’d learned the depths of her father and sister’s deception, but by then it was too late. Too late to tell Jonah that the baby Felicity had been carrying—his baby—hadn’t been aborted after all. Declyn Blaine had wanted Jonah Slade out of their lives, and he’d gotten his wish. Felicity was beautiful. That was a fact. But she was also weak, and the threat of being cut off without a cent had been enough to make her go along with the lie that Declyn had persuaded her to tell.
Now she feared that time and that lie had caught up with them all, and it was up to her to try to make things right.
“Jonah.”
Jonah frowned. The woman seemed familiar, but he was certain that if he’d been with her, he wouldn’t have forgotten. She was stunning—tall and slender, and she walked with an easy sway that said she was used to getting her way. Sunlight caught and burned in the flame color of her long, wavy hair, and even from where he was standing, he could tell her eyes were ice-green.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” he said shortly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Mercedes sighed. “Granted I’m fifteen years older and minus a lot of wire in my mouth, but have I really changed that much?”
Jonah’s heart skipped a beat. Fifteen years ago? Where had he…? Oh hell.
“Macie?”
Hearing her old nickname made her smile. She nodded. “It’s been a while since anyone’s called me that, but right now it feels right.”
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Can we talk?”
Instantly Jonah’s defenses went on alert. Fifteen years ago she’d been nothing but a kid, but she was obviously a very grown-up woman now, and that meant, based on his experience, no more to be trusted than Felicity had been.
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about,” he said shortly, and walked past her into the building.
Macie frowned. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but there was too much at stake for her to quit. She hurried after him, entering the elevator just before the doors shut.
Jonah sighed. His conscience was digging at him, reminding him that Macie wasn’t responsible for her sister’s actions.
“Look, kid…”
“I’m not a kid any longer.”
Jonah looked at her then, letting his gaze linger rudely on her womanly shape before challenging her with a look.
“Yes, I can see that.”
Macie flinched. She hadn’t expected this, but she should have. What Declyn and Felicity had done to him had been unforgivable.
“Please, Jonah, you have to listen to me.”
“No, I don’t.”
The elevator opened, and he got out, shifting the grocery sacks to a more comfortable position as he headed for his apartment. Macie was right behind him. When he set the sacks down to reach for his keys, she grabbed him by the arm and physically yanked him around.
“Yes, damn it, you do! Felicity is dead…murdered. Declyn is in L.A. in intensive care, and Evan has been kidnapped.”
The floor swayed beneath Jonah’s feet—or at least he thought it did. He heard what she said, but he couldn’t get his mind around the truth. Felicity—dead? He hadn’t thought all that beauty and privilege would ever fade, let alone die. Finally he managed to mutter a response.
“I’m sorry, but none of that has anything to do with me.”
Macie took a deep breath. There was no easy way to say what had to be said.
“Yes, it does,” she said. “There’s still Evan.”
“Evan? Who the hell is Evan?” Jonah asked.
“Your son.”
2
Blindsided by the pain, Jonah grabbed Macie by the shoulders and pinned her against the wall.
“I don’t have a son, remember? Felicity took care of that fifteen years ago.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “They lied. Declyn told Felicity he would cut her out of his will if she married you.” Then she held her breath, watching as shock spread across Jonah’s face.
“She what?”
“She didn’t abort the baby. I swear to God it’s the truth! Think about it, Jonah. Declyn is too vain for that. He wouldn’t dispose of anyone who carried his blood. But he wanted you gone. That was the deal. Lie to you. Keep the boy for his own.”
Jonah’s belly lurched. A son. He had a son. And he’d missed the first fifteen years of his life—and all of the firsts.
Oh God, the firsts.
First smiles.
First steps.
Every damned first that a child has—and he’d missed them all.
“Son of a bitch,” Jonah said, then turned away, unwilling for her to see how the news had affected him.
He jammed his key into the lock, picked up his groceries and kicked at the door, intending to shut Macie out, but she was ready for him. She pushed her way inside, still talking, desperate to make her case.
“The men who took Evan left a note by Felicity’s body. It said something about an eye for an eye—a son for a son.”
The hair rose on the back of Jonah’s neck. He turned slowly, staring at the red light on his answering machine and remembering the odd message. His hands were shaking as he pushed the Play button again and heard the words again.
“Oh, my God,” Macie gasped.
Jonah’s face was expressionless.
“This makes no sense,” he muttered. “I didn’t know I had a son. How could anyone else?”
“Evan knows your name. Two years ago, when Declyn enrolled him at Exeter Academy, Evan put down your name as one of his parents. Declyn was livid, but by that time, Evan didn’t care. He and his grandfather do not see eye to eye on much of anything.” Macie smiled slightly, more to herself than to Jonah. “I don’t think Declyn counted on genetics playing such a strong role in Evan’s personality.”
“What do you mean?”
Macie put her hand on Jonah’s arm, tugging gently at the fabric of his jacket as she continued to plead her case.
“He’s you, Jonah. A younger version, but you just the same, right down to the dark hair and brown eyes…even the stubborn streak. He doesn’t like paté, but he loves barbecued ribs. He hates soccer and continues to root for the Dallas Cowboys despite every snobby, upper-crust behavior Declyn has tried to instill in him. He’s only fifteen, and he’s already over six feet tall.”
Jonah kept picturing a boy verging on manhood who refused to give up on the father who seemed to have given up on him. The images hurt—more than he could have imagined. Suddenly he turned around, popped the tape out of the machine and dropped it in his pocket as he headed for his bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Macie asked.
“To find my son.”
Macie went weak with relief. She so needed Jonah Slade on her side, but she had been terrified he would turn her away. She followed him into the bedroom.
“Thank you, Jonah. Thank you more than words can say.”
“I’m not doing it for you.”
Macie flinched, but remained silent. Even though it hurt, she understood his distrust, but she didn’t want to be lumped into her family�
��s web of deceit.
“I was only thirteen. Don’t blame me for what they did.”
Jonah dropped a handful of socks into his suitcase and then looked up, remembering the skinny little redhead with a mouth full of braces who’d tagged his every step. She was right. He knew she was right, but it was difficult to remember the kid when the woman standing before him was anything but a child.
“I’m the one who told Evan about you,” she said.
Jonah glared at her in disbelief.
Macie sighed. Making him believe her felt like a losing battle.
“You? Why?” Jonah asked.
“Because he asked me. When he was six, he asked me where his daddy was. I told him his daddy was a soldier, fighting in a war. It satisfied him for a while. Then, when he was twelve, he asked me why you never came to see him. I told him the truth. He wasn’t too surprised at his mother’s ability to be manipulated, but he was furious with Declyn. Felicity never forgave me, and Declyn forbade me to set foot in the house again.” Macie’s voice was shaking now, as she relived the emotional years that she’d spent with her nephew, remembering what a lonely little boy he’d been, despite the monetary wealth. “I haven’t been back to Los Angeles since that day…until yesterday, of course, although I kept in touch with Evan through phone calls and e-mail.”
Jonah was surprised by her admission. He knew all too well what it meant to defy Declyn Blaine. He was still watching her face when her composure broke.
“I had to identify Felicity’s body at the morgue and sign consent forms to keep my father on life-support.” Then her lips twisted bitterly. “That was the hardest thing of all, because my instincts were to let the bastard die.”
Jonah flinched. As overwhelmed as he was by what he’d just learned, her own loss was greater, and her emotions were obviously in shreds.
“I’m sorry, kid…. I know you and Felicity were close.” Then he took a deep breath, trying to untangle his good sense from the pain. “You told Evan about me, but…why didn’t you tell me about him?”
“I couldn’t find you. I tried three times, but it was as if you’d dropped off the face of the earth. All I knew was that you worked for the U.S. government. Once I heard Felicity talking about spies, but I thought she was making it up. Obviously she wasn’t. Yesterday it took every favor owed to my father to find out where you were, and then I chartered a plane to get here. I’ve been waiting on your doorstep for over two hours, and I don’t know if Evan is still alive. He’s a good boy, Jonah. You would be so proud of him. He’s not like Declyn at all.” Then her voice broke. “Evan is all the family I have left, and I don’t want to lose him, too.”
It was remorse that made Jonah take Macie in his arms. He pulled her tight against him, her heart-broken sobs wrenching through him like knives slicing his flesh. He told himself that he’d hugged her plenty of times before, and that this meant nothing other than two people consoling each other in a time of crisis. But fifteen years was a long time, and Macie Blaine had turned into one hell of a woman. Finally he pushed her away, needing to see her face when he said the words.
“I’ll come with you…and I’ll find my son. But be warned, I won’t lose any more time with him. I’ll be in his life, whether the Blaines like it or not.”
Macie nodded, unashamed of her tears. “That’s fair enough, although there aren’t any Blaines left except me…and Declyn, of course, but he’s in no shape to argue with anyone. Thank you, Jonah. Thank you more than words can say.”
Then she cupped his face and kissed him. Jonah didn’t respond, nor had she expected him to. She didn’t know that it was shock that kept him motionless, or that by the time his libido kicked in, she had turned him loose. What she’d done had been an impulse borne of relief, but she’d liked the taste of him far too much to ignore.
Jonah kept his thoughts to himself as he continued to pack. Just as he was closing the lid of his suitcase, his phone rang. He answered abruptly.
“Yeah?”
There was a brief hesitation, then a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Well now. That just answered my first question before I could ask.”
Jonah relaxed. It was his friend and partner, Carl French.
“Sorry, Carl. I’m a little preoccupied.”
“Hope I didn’t wake you. I know you had a rough trip home. Have you already been debriefed?”
“No, you didn’t wake me, I’ve been up a while, and yes, I’ve been debriefed.”
“Great. Want to go get something to eat later?”
The impulse to tell Carl what was happening was strong, but he’d learned years ago that the fewer people who knew, the safer the secret.
“Not today. I’m sort of tied up at the moment. I’ll check in with you later, okay?”
“Sure. Take care,” Carl said, and hung up.
“Who was that?” Macie asked.
Jonah picked up his suitcase. “A friend.” Then he looked at Macie. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re out of here.”
Nausea rose at the back of Evan Blaine’s throat as the van in which he’d been riding began to roll to a stop. He thought he’d been transferred into different vehicles twice, but since he was both blindfolded and gagged, he couldn’t be sure. He had no memory of being put in the first vehicle or leaving his grandfather’s estate. The last thing he did remember before his world came to an end were the sound of Rosa’s screams and the gunshots and his grandfather crumpled on the floor.
Once, when he’d come to, he’d tried to cry, but his emotions seemed to be on hold. He knew he’d been kidnapped, but the reality had yet to sink in. He also knew that his mother was dead. He’d seen the bright red spill of her life force seeping out from underneath her ruined face. He’d tried to look away, but the shock of her platinum-blond hair turning a dark, strawberry-red had been both horrifying and mesmerizing.
Then he’d been running, running past his grandfather’s body, running for his life—only to realize he wasn’t going to get away. After that he remembered nothing except vague impressions of being dragged from one vehicle into another, then riding for hours before repeating the process all over again. This time, when they stopped, he tensed, bracing himself for another transfer.
It didn’t happen. Instead he was pulled from the vehicle. When his feet hit a hard surface, he stumbled. Someone cursed at him in Spanish and yanked him up before he could fall. From the heat and the wind on his face, he knew it must still be daylight. He listened for the sounds of a city and heard nothing but waves crashing against cliffs and the sounds of seagulls overhead. He smelled the sea and dust, and his footsteps began to echo on some sort of wooden floor, and he knew they had entered a building. He hesitated, and as he did, one of his captors roughly yanked at his arm.
“You walk.”
The man’s voice echoed within the walls and Evan knew that wherever they’d taken him, it was big—and empty. Even as they were pulling him along, he was trying to focus on new clues that would help him figure out where he was. Because his thoughts were elsewhere, he was unprepared for the weight of a hand in the middle of his back. Before he could brace himself, he went flying. He fell forward, hard and fast, and with his hands still tied behind his back, he went down head and shoulder first, biting his tongue and scraping his forehead on impact. Immediately the copper taste of blood filled his mouth, as did a sharp pain. Still gagged, he had no option but to swallow, which only added to his nausea.
As he groaned, a kick to his ribs, accompanied by a rude burst of laughter, sent him rolling across the floor. Still reeling from the pain, he was only vaguely aware of receding footsteps and then a slamming door. It took a few moments for him to realize his wrists were no longer bound and then a bit longer before he could pull himself to a sitting position. Feeling was slow to return to his arms and hands, but as soon as he could, he ripped off the blindfold and the gag, then rolled onto his hands and knees. His head was throbbing, his ribs achin
g from the kick, but for the first time since he’d been snatched from his home, he was unfettered and alone. And with that knowledge came despair. As weak and flighty as she’d been, Felicity had still been his mother. As overbearing and dictatorial as Declyn had been, he’d still been his grandfather. And he’d watched them die. There was no one left of his family except for his aunt Macie. He wouldn’t let himself think of, let alone depend upon, the man who’d fathered him. Struggling with pain and nausea, he managed to stand, and, for the first time, he got a good look at his surroundings.
The room was small and looked to have been partitioned off from a larger area. The ceiling was rounded, like the roof of a cave, but the construction was of some corrugated metal with a small, smelly bathroom off to one side. After relieving himself, he tried to wash his hands in the sink, only nothing came out of the taps but a beetle. Startled, he jumped backward in shock and disgust, then staggered out of the cubicle to a boarded-up window. Hoping to get a glimpse of something that would tell him where he was, he tried to peer through the slit between the boards, but all he could see was a faint glimmer of light. He thrust his fingers into the tiny crack, then clenched down with his fingernails, gritted his teeth, then pulled. Nothing budged. He tried again, thrusting his nails even farther into the minuscule space and pulling even harder. His fingers were still tingling from lack of circulation, and the muscles in his arms were stiff and aching, but if there was even a chance that he could get away from this hell, he had to try.
Muscles corded while sweat beaded across his forehead and rolled into his eyes. The salty sting was almost welcome—reminding him that he was still alive, and while there was life there was hope. His fingertips started to sting; then the pain moved from the flesh to the nails. He was straining so hard that the nails had begun to separate from the skin beneath. The pain was unexpected and excruciating. At that moment his fingers slipped and he staggered backward, his finger tips shredded and burning from small wooden splinters now embedded in his flesh.
“God,” he moaned, then went to his knees.
He looked down at his hands, saw the bits of wood barely visible beneath the skin and the tiny droplets of blood seeping out from under the nails and started to shake. With that came long overdue tears—constant, burning, choking tears borne of hopelessness and fear.
