by Vicki Hinze
Shortly, the summoned council members would arrive, and he would inform them that Two West now stood eighty-five percent rearmed. And then he would formally announce the coup that would solidify his position as chairman and keep his enemy at a distance. He had secured access to the world’s most advanced ballistic missile: the Rogue.
Anthony smiled. “Détente.”
Rocking back in his chair, he looked at the photo of his father in its place of honor on the corner of his desk. White suit, broad smile. He would save his coup de grâce—Project Home Base—for another time, one when he needed a victory. A wise strategy Anthony would adopt, considering several unavoidable variables in the plan could cause challenges. Besides, delayed gratification was good for the soul. When the time came, he would have not just détente with his enemy, but the thing he desired most: superiority.
Chapter Nine
“Lock the door, Seth.”
Julia dumped her purse on the bar stool, toed off her pumps, and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get the spaghetti sauce going.” She bent down to grab a pasta pot from the lower cabinet, filled it with water at the sink, then set it on the stove. “You make the salad.”
“I do great salad,” Seth said, his gaze nailed to his hand on the doorknob.
The key in the dead bolt mocked him, and a memory of him at six flashed through his mind. His frantic search for the key. Shouted curses. Hopeless screams. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his skin.
“Hey, I’m up to my elbows in ground meat,” Julia yelled out from the kitchen. “Would you come hand me the salt?”
Seth left the dead bolt untouched and went to the kitchen, loosening his tie. “Which cabinet?”
“Left of the stove. Bottom shelf.” She folded the meat onto itself.
Judging by the containers of spices on the counter, she’d already tossed in everything but salt. He shook the shaker over the meat.
“More.”
He dumped more salt.
“That’ll do it.” She shook a lock of hair from her cheek. It fell right back.
Seth tucked the strand behind her ear. Being in the kitchen with Julia was kind of nice. It helped push the bad memories away.
The pepper tickled his nose. He liked being with her, loved touching her, and he shouldn’t do either one. Frowning, he put the shaker back in the cabinet and closed the door. “When we get things going here, I need to call Jeff.”
“Great.” Julia scrubbed her hands with soap then turned to the sauce pot and tossed in some fresh mushrooms and sweet basil. “I really want to talk with him.”
“I know.” Already the sauce smelled good. “That’s why I told him I’d call from here tonight.”
“So you haven’t seen him today?” Julia stirred the sauce then turned to the counter and began shaping meatballs and placing them on a cookie sheet.
“You’re gonna bake the meatballs?”
“Gets the grease out,” she said. “So you haven’t seen Jeff today?”
“I’ve never seen anyone bake meatballs.”
“For pity’s sake, Seth. My Uncle Lou was a bona fide Italian—though I think spaghetti is Chinese—and he taught me to make sauce.”
She’d never before mentioned her family. Interested, Seth smiled. “Tell me about your Uncle Lou.”
“He was terrific. Loud. Loving. I could do no wrong in his eyes.”
“Unconditional acceptance is a pretty awesome thing.” And damned rare. At least, in Seth’s experience.
“Yes, it is. Especially Uncle Lou’s. He had a million traditions.” She added a meatball to the sheet, and her expression turned wistful. “Making spaghetti was his specialty. Before I was tall enough to stir from the floor, he’d pull a chair near the stove—so I could reach the pot. Then, off and on all day, he’d yell, ‘Stir the sauce, Julia.’”
She sent Seth a this-isn’t-negotiable look. “Uncle Lou always baked his meatballs before putting them in the sauce. Always.”
“Can’t mess with tradition.” Seth could see her as a kid, stirring so much her Uncle Lou would warn her not to stir the metal off the pot. “Does he live in New Orleans?”
“No, not anymore.” Sadness filled her eyes. “He died in a car accident right before I left there. His, um, brakes went out on the bridge.”
“I’m sorry.” A tremor in her voice and the withdrawn way she moved alerted Seth. “You don’t think it was an accident.”
“The police say it was.”
“What do you say?” Karl had been a cop there. Maybe a disagreement about her uncle’s accident had come between them.
“I say I miss my uncle very much.”
Unconditional acceptance. Unconditional love. Damn right, she missed it. Anyone with sense would. “I’m sorry, Julia.”
“Me, too.” Her smile turned bittersweet. “You would have loved Uncle Lou, Seth. You’re a lot alike.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Caring. Special. You laugh a lot.”
Not during her three-year absence, he hadn’t. “You loved him.”
“With all my heart, but not a bit more than he loved me.”
How did that feel? To know you were loved with someone’s whole heart? Seth didn’t have a clue, and probably never would. But her making her Uncle Lou’s spaghetti now was telling. For her, it was a reminder of her uncle’s love. Comfort food.
Julia was not calm or unaffected. She needed comforting, and knowing it eased Seth’s mind. Being the victim of an attack and losing her uncle made her an unlikely candidate for treason. She understood loss and pain.
“Are you going to make me ask about Jeff a third time?”
“Sorry.” Seth shrugged out of his jacket, draped it across the bar stool holding her purse, and then rolled up his shirt-sleeves. “I got sidetracked.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Jeff made me promise I wouldn’t leave you by yourself tonight.” Seth ducked into the fridge and pulled out the makings for salad. “Where’s the cutting board?”
“Lower left cabinet, next to the stove. Top shelf.” Julia set down another meatball, forming straight rows. “Did Jeff say why?”
“No, he didn’t. Camden stuck to him like glue so the boy couldn’t say a whole lot of anything.” Damn frustrating.
“Did he say if the mean man has been back to his house?”
“Yes, he has. Several times.” Seth grabbed the cutting board and began chopping celery and mushrooms. “But Jeff hasn’t seen him. He’s only heard him downstairs.”
Julia set the oven’s temperature dial and then popped the cookie sheet inside. The door clicked closed. “Has he, um, heard the man’s name?”
“Afraid not.” Something in her tone caught his ear. It hadn’t been an idle question. “Why?”
She shrugged without looking at him. “If he’s going to hurt me, I’d like to know who to curse.”
“He’s not going to hurt you.” Seth finished the salad, tossed and slid it into the fridge, then cleaned up the mess. They worked well together, professionally and domestically. Did she and Karl?
Seth clamped down on that thought. Suspicions aside, her marriage was none of his business. “Want some wine?”
“No, thanks. Alcohol conflicts with my meds. I have to avoid it. But I’ll have some juice.”
Seth filled her glass, figured what the hell, a glass of grape juice wouldn’t rot out his stomach, and filled his own. Then he grabbed the phone and called Jeff.
Camden put him right on the line.
“Hey, buddy.” Seth smiled so Jeff could hear it in his voice. He had studied a couple books on dealing with kids and remembered reading in one of them that if you smile when you talk on the phone, the kid senses it. It was worth a shot. Jeff needed all the smiles he could get.
“Dr. Seth.”
The smile turned genuine. Jeff always sounded surprised and so damn happy to hear Seth’s voice. He could get used to this kid. Seth let out a little grunt. Hell, who was he kidding? He already had
. “Did you have a good day?”
“It was okay,” Jeff said, then rambled on about playing football with Travis.
Jeff wasn’t a rambler. Something was up.
He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I was getting Dad bored so he’d leave. He hates football.”
Lulling him into complacency. Smart tactic. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Are you still at Dr. Julia’s?”
“Didn’t I tell you I would be?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well?”
“Okay. I guess you are, then.”
Jeff couldn’t trust. Remembering back and understanding completely, Seth softened his voice. “I am, Jeff.”
The boy’s sigh of relief swarmed Seth with guilt. He’d just wanted Jeff to understand that when he gave his word, Jeff could trust it. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Okay, but you gotta promise me you won’t leave her. Promise?”
“Why?”
“Travis said it was the best pass I ever throwed.”
Seth frowned. “Is your dad back?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are they going to try to hurt Dr. Julia tonight?”
“I think so.”
Julia wiped her hands on a dishcloth and motioned for the phone. Seth held up a finger, telling her to wait a second. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll be here.”
“Okay.”
“Dr. Julia’s trying to grab the phone. Geez, I think she misses you or something.” He smiled at her frown. “I’m going to give it to her before she takes it, okay?”
“Okay.” Jeff giggled, then turned serious. “I love you.”
Seth’s heartstrings tugged. “Me, too, buddy.” He passed Julia the receiver.
They talked about school, Travis, football, and Julia asked the boy a half-dozen times if he was really all right. In his mind, Seth could hear Jeff mumbling, “Worrywart.”
When Julia hung up the phone, her eyes were glossy and overly bright. “I miss him.”
“I know you do.” Seth looped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. He hoped she didn’t start crying. It killed him a little every time she cried, especially since hearing about her attack. “Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly.” The stove’s timer buzzed. She moved away, pulled on an oven mitt, grabbed tongs from the drawer, and then got busy flipping the meatballs.
The smell of them had his stomach growling. “You’ve had me scratching my head a little lately.”
She closed the oven door and then pulled off the mitt. It had green ivy leaves printed on it. “How’s that?”
“You seem calm and normal, but I know you can’t be.”
Julia looked away, rubbed at her left arm, shoulder to elbow. “I learned from the incident that you can do whatever you have to do, Seth.” She set the tongs down on the spoon rest. It too had been imprinted with green ivy. “I told you about the headaches and muscle spasms. If I get upset, then they get raunchy. They last for hours, sometimes days. The more upset I am, the worse they are.”
“So you’ve learned to bury your emotions.” That he could understand. Hell, he’d become a master at burying his before leaving grade school. He leaned against the counter. His abuse and her attack. Different catalysts, different circumstances, same reactions. “Can I ask one more question?”
Tension tugged at her expression, and her mouth flattened to a slash. “I suppose.”
He wanted to know how Karl fit into all this. Why he not only tolerated the threats but considered Julia paranoid when she recorded up to five calls a week from the jerk who had attacked her. Karl did fit; Seth sensed it. But her armor looked ready to crack, and she was already rubbing her arm. “Never mind,” Seth said. “It can wait.”
Clearly relieved, she melted butter, minced garlic, and prepared thick slices of French bread, then sprinkled them with parsley. “Why don’t you put the meatballs in the sauce?”
Half an hour later, they sat down to eat and talk turned to Benedetto and the Rogue, and then to Marcus and Dempsey Morse. If Benedetto had a mole, then odds ranked high he was one of the two of them. But which one?
Julia twirled spaghetti on her fork. “I know Marcus seems obvious because of his temperament, but you can’t accuse a man of treason for having a bad attitude.”
“Last I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”
“And I know Dempsey Morse seems like a good man, and he’s very bright, but something about him just doesn’t sit right with me.”
Seth took a bite, chewed and savored, and then swallowed. “Uncle Lou gets an A for the sauce. Damn good.”
Julia laughed. “He’d throw it in the trash.”
“Why?”
“Because good sauce must cook all day, Seth.” She affected a lousy rendition of an Italian accent. “The blending of the flavors cannot be rushed.”
“Tastes great to me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”
“But eating it today makes you feel better.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Yes.”
Her admission pleased him. So much that he suffered an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Instead, he cleared his throat, dabbed at his chin with his napkin, and turned the topic. “If you’ve got a gut feeling about Dempsey Morse, then let’s take a look at him as a suspect.”
Julia tipped her fork tines in Seth’s direction. “Four marriages and four divorces. He seems unable to sustain relationships.”
“Hard to do when you’re always at work. And he is,” Seth countered. “He’s a major stockholder in Slicer Industries. They’ve invested a bundle in Home Base. If it fails, Morse loses his financial ass and his job.”
“Morse isn’t a foolish man, Seth.” Julia took a sip of juice. “If he were, he would never have gotten this far.”
“So we agree. He isn’t going to jeopardize his money or his backside.”
“Maybe he has an alternate plan.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Julia thumbed the rim of her glass. “Is Morse patriotic?”
“I don’t know.” Seth shrugged. “He’s dedicated to his job, and considering his job is defending the U.S., I’d say he probably is.”
“But you don’t know.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’m trying to see if he’s self-sustained or if he depends on others. He doesn’t personally. His failed marriages prove that. But sometimes people depend on multitudes rather than just one person. Does he love only his job and his money, or does he love others, too? Does he do this job because he loves his country and wants to protect the people in it, or just because building missiles under government contracts pays well and, the sense of power pops his personal bubble?”
In Seth’s mind, a light bulb clicked on. Benedetto’s loyalists’ to-the-death. dedication. “I don’t think Morse is patriotic enough to die for his ideals, but I could be wrong.”
“I don’t think you are. It’s his eyes.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
Julia set down her glass. “They’re empty.”
“Huh?”
“You sound like Jeff.” She smiled. “I like that about you.”
Now Seth was really lost and sucking dust. “What?”
Their gazes locked across the tabletop. She started to cup her hand over his, pulled back, and then clearly forced herself to do it. Her warm fingers shook. “I like your honesty. I like it that you’re not stuffy, and you don’t always have to be right, or to have all the answers. I like how much you care about Jeff, and the way you reach out to others, like Linda and me. I like…you.”
His heart pounded against his chest wall. “Thank you.”
Too serious suddenly, she broke the tension with a barb. “And I especially like the way you wear your sauce.” Her lips twisting into a smirk, she got up to refill her glass at the fridge. “It looks good on you.”
He glanced down a
t his white shirtfront, saw the sauce splatters, and groaned. “Terrific.” It would stain. Big-time. He shoved back his chair and went to the kitchen.
Julia was reaching into the fridge. He stretched over her to grab a paper towel. As he stretched, she straightened, and his arm collided with the back of her neck.
She screamed, “Don’t hurt me!”
Seth jerked back, saw her drop to a crouch between the fridge and its open door and bury her head to her chest, protecting it with her uplifted arms.
“Julia?” He spoke softly.
She looked up at him, wild-eyed, her breathing heavy and labored. Only once before had Seth seen that much fear in a woman’s eyes. Once before, one woman, the night she had died. His throat went thick. “Julia?”
She didn’t look away, didn’t move, just stared through him. The attack. Memories of the attack had latched on to her.
Seth slid down to the floor, lifted his arms slowly toward her. “Julia, it’s okay. Come here,” he said. “Come here, honey. I’d never hurt you. Never. You’re safe.”
She blinked hard, then blinked again.
“You’re safe, Julia.” He reached a little closer. “Come here.”
“Seth.” She scrambled into his arms, clutched at his shirt, doing her damnedest to crawl inside him. “Seth.”
“It’s okay.” He curled his arms around her, smoothed her blouse over her back, and whispered soft, soothing words against her hair. “It’s okay. Shh, I’ve got you now.”
She let out a little whimper and then sat quietly for long minutes, just holding on.
When her heart stopped pounding so hard he could feel it against his chest and her breathing quieted, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“No.” She sighed. “When does it end, Seth? Does it ever end?”
He wasn’t sure exactly what had triggered her memory of the attack. Could have been a similar sound, a similar scent, or the bump of his arm against her neck. Almost anything could be a trigger. He had come at her from behind, but her attacker hadn’t. If the man had pulled her through the car window, then he’d come at her from the side. Still, she could have reacted to just the surprise of not knowing someone was that close and getting bumped. Regardless, in his gut, Seth knew the right response to her questions. He lived with triggers, too. “It ends, honey.” He brushed at her damp cheeks with his thumbs. “When you choose to make it end, and not a minute before. You have to decide how much power you give the fear. That’s the only way.”
