“That’s none of your business,” she replied tartly. “My personal affairs are no one’s—”
“Oh, come on, Mom,” Jameson interrupted as his left hand circled her wrist. “We’re all family here, TEAM family. Surely—”
“Stop calling me Mom!” She jerked out from under his touch. “You’re not my family, Junior Agent Tenney. None of you are!”
“Excuse me?” Mark’s head canted nearly to his shoulder at that vehemently stated demand. “You found Libby for me after those Russian’s kidnapped her and buried her alive, didn’t you? You tracked her to the roadside construction site where they’d left her trapped inside a stack of concrete planters. Those were nothing but coffins, Mom. It was fall in Wisconsin. It was cold. She would’ve died of hypothermia if you hadn’t helped me find her. I wouldn’t have found her by myself. You saved my Libby’s life.”
Alex kept his mouth sealed.
“And who picked up a weapon the day Interpol Director Peters came to kill me, David, Harley, and Mark during that Black Dragon Syndicate op?” Zack asked, his big hands splayed on the tabletop in front of him, across from her. “If you’re not our overprotective Mom, who is?”
“But I—”
“But you helped me get to Izza and my unborn baby girl in time, Mom,” Connor interrupted quietly. As usual, Izza was sitting beside him, her brown eyes big and shining with tears. His hand fell automatically over his diminutive wife’s shoulder. “Without your help, those bastards would’ve beaten Izza to death, and you know it.” Swallowing so hard Alex heard it, he pulled Izza under his arm. “We would’ve lost our sweet little Jamie that day, and I’d be a fuckin’ mess.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Yeah, but you and Ember spotted our SOS out in the Utah desert where the cartel dumped us,” Izza added. “You stared at satellite feeds for days looking for us, Mom. I know you did.”
Before Mother could growl again, Jameson told her, “You helped Eric, Hunter, and Adam locate Maddie and me after that shoot-out with Pops Delaney. He would’ve killed us, Mom.”
She shot him a glare. The cords in her neck turned stiff and hard, but at last, she was fighting tears.
“And you helped Jameson, Harley, and Eric follow me to Boston when I went there to kill Delaney’s daughter,” Maddie piped up from across the table where she sat beside Mark. “I made a mistake that day, but you made sure I didn’t get myself killed. Thank you, Mom.”
“You helped me get China out of Wyoming,” Maverick murmured darkly from the other side of Harley. “I thought she was dead when I finally extracted her and Kiri from that hellhole her sister had them in. I thought I’d lost her, but you sent Gabe and Taylor, that medical helo, and…” His voice ground to a full stop as he swiped a hand over his face. “Did you know she stopped breathing on that Wyoming hillside that night, Mom? Without you, I’d be dead now. Because it was you who helped save the woman who saved my gawddamned, worthless life!”
Alex opened his mouth to tell Maverick he was anything but worthless, but Adam spoke first. “You waltzed into Paul Reagan’s mansion to find Shannon for me, to make sure she was doing okay, remember? He had her and Squeaks. He was blackmailing her, using her baby boy against her to keep her in line.” Adam’s eyes glittered with unshed emotion. “Squeaks was premature. He needed his mother. But Paul Reagan was killing her, Mom. Her own son of a bitchin’ father kept that sweet little guy from his mother, wouldn’t let Shannon see him, wouldn’t even let her hold him unless she did what she was told. He wanted her to run his freakin’ empire, when all she wanted was her son back. I’m with Maverick. Without you, I’d already be dead, because…” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “I can’t live without my wife and son, Mom. Just. Can’t.”
Before Mother could reply, Taylor added quietly, “You helped Harley and Gabe find me after I’d been shot, before I knew who I really was. Before I met my people and the woman I married, the ones who truly love me.”
Alex swallowed hard. That had been an excruciatingly difficult time in Taylor’s life. It wasn’t until he’d found his lost American Indian heritage that he’d finally become part of The TEAM.
“You helped Zack and Mark find me before that homeless nut job, Miriam, stabbed me again,” Harley said quietly. “Remember? She’d already stabbed me once. I was bleeding out. Her knife was still stuck in my ribs. I was out of my head and dying.” Unabashedly, he ran a hand over his watery eyes. “You saved my life that night, Mom. Miriam stabbed Mark, too. You saved his life, too.”
“You did,” Mark said quietly.
“You found my finger,” Beau added, his voice no more than a whisper. The little finger on his left hand was once again attached and functional. Psycho killer, Catalina Montego, had drugged Beau, then hacked his finger off with a gardener’s branch clippers, in her effort to terrorize Alex and The TEAM.
“And I know you tracked down everything you could find about that failed mission overseas. You hacked the government’s geo-satellites, I know you did. You broke the law to prove I didn’t kill my men. You put yourself at risk to prove I was telling the truth, to keep me out of Leavenworth. Then you dug into the shitshow that was my childhood, and you found my real parents, damn it.” Beau was wiping his face plenty by then. “You gave me my life back, Mom. There’s a picture of my pretty baby sister hanging in my living room because of you.” He pointed his finger at her. “You didn’t have to do that, but you can’t deny that you love me and McKenna. You’ve rescued all of us in one way or another. Why shouldn’t we call you Mom, gawddamnit?”
“Because…” She sniffed back her tears, struggling not to cry. This was what she needed, her TEAM, the men and women she’d protected for years, standing up for her. Getting in her face and reminding her where she belonged. That she was part of them. That they needed her as much as she needed them. Alex couldn’t have asked for more if he’d scripted this display of loyalty himself.
Jameson turned his dark glasses to Mother and gingerly cupped his left hand over her wrist again. “Beau’s right. We call you Mom because we love you, Mom,” he whispered, “and we know you love us. You’re just having a hard time right now. We understand. All of us have lost people we love. It takes a long time to get straight.”
“But you’re… But I…” She was having a hard time swallowing. “I’m not your mom, damn it. I was Dempsey’s, but now she’s gone, and so’s Justice, and… and…”
“So are Gorgeous and Crystal Love,” Maverick breathed. Gorgeous and Crystal Love were the pure white Percheron horses, the mother and foal, that perished the night an arsonist torched China’s barn in Wyoming. “So’s my baby brother, Darrin, Mom,” he said softly. “Think I don’t miss them? I’ll never get any of them back, but I’ve still got China and Kiri. I hope I’ve still got you.”
Alex was the one swallowing hard then. He’d never known until much later how close Maverick had been to committing suicide after his baby brother was killed in Afghanistan. That was when Maverick quit The TEAM and walked from Alexandria, Virginia, to the center of Wyoming. There he’d finally found the peace he’d been looking for, at China Wolf’s Wild Wolf Ranch.
It was Beau who’d finally cracked Maverick’s hard shell during The TEAM’s failed operation to stop Catalina Montego. Beau had been just as lost, just as broken and angry at the world, as Maverick then. They were brothers by different mothers, bound together by the twin demons of loss and heartache. In a convoluted way, during that op, Maverick became the big brother Beau never had during his miserable childhood. And Beau, the agent Alex had come damned close to firing, filled in for the younger brother Maverick desperately still needed in his life.
“Doesn’t matter how or when it comes,” Tripp muttered darkly. “Death is the greatest equalizer of mankind. It ruins us all.”
Alex nodded his head at Tripp, thankful he now knew about Abdul Ikram. Tripp would always carry that guilt, but he’d found Ashley Cox now, and Alex knew damned well how qui
ckly the right woman could change a hard man’s heart.
“It’s a cheating, lying bitch with no heart,” Jameson murmured. He was still facing Sasha, his voice soft and low, his arm resting on the back of her chair now. “It doesn’t ask permission, Mom, and it doesn’t care who it takes from us, how or when. It just takes and takes until…” A tremendous sigh shuddered out of him. “…it feels like it sucks the life out of you. I know you miss Dempsey. We know you’re hurting. We’ve all lost someone we’ll never get back. But it sounds like you’ve been holding us together for a long, long time. That’s why I’ve always called you Mom. How about you let us hold onto you for a while?”
Her lashes fell. She clenched her jaw, pursed her lips, and blinked down at the table. Those fingernails of hers were oddly quiet.
“You’ve been with me since I lost Sara and Abby,” Alex reminded her gently.
Her chest heaved with another deep intake of air. Mother was suffering. How well Alex knew precisely what she was going through. After he’d lost his first wife and child, he’d been a royal pain in everyone’s ass, pissed at anyone who got in his way, suicidal, too. But oftentimes, it was the biggest assholes who were hurting the most; who needed the most understanding and patience. The most love. Kelsey had given him all that, and more.
“It’s different,” Mother whispered to the table. “Helping you people is what I do. It’s my job, not yours. Just like it was my job to take care of Dempsey, only I failed at that, didn’t I?”
“No more than I failed Sara and Abby,” Alex replied.
“But you were deployed. You weren’t here when it happened, when they died. I was right there with her, and I… I…” Mother gulped so hard, Alex heard it across the table. “Me, of all people, I should’ve been able to save her… I’m a—”
“You’re a millionaire,” Beau said. “So what if you own a high-rise, a pharmaceutical research company, a hotel, and…?” He cocked his head at her. “What else?”
“ICan,” Jameson replied, then added, “Her flagship gaming business. Clever name, Mom.”
“And DoDCore,” Mark said. “Her Department of Defense website, available only to government entities in need of a technological assist.”
“It’s called a bump,” she said civilly, still studying the tabletop. Still drowning. Still so damned lost. But still one hundred percent the genius she’d always been.
Alex skirted the far end of the table, jerked one of the extra chairs away from the wall, planted his rear, pointed his elbows into his thighs, and leaned into the woman who’d once been a trusted friend. He held his hand out to her. Mother turned in her seat, looked at it, and finally took hold. Her fingers were ice. Alex cupped that cold hand in both of his and held on.
Interestingly, the nickname Mother began as a behind-her-back joke about her nosy, gossiping, interfering ways. Alex hadn’t fully appreciated his genius techie back then. But the spinoff moniker, Mom, was kinder and gentler. It fit the woman she’d become. Alex could thank Jameson for that.
“Kelsey told me something a few years back,” he told her quietly. “Like you and Justice, we had a helluva lot of crap to deal with when we first married. She’d just lost her two sons. I’d lost Sara and Abby a few years earlier. The pain was fresh. We were both ragged and raw, drowning in our own piles of grief. Not a day went by that one of us didn’t feel like we were bleeding.
“But one morning at breakfast, she climbed onto my lap, took my big, fat head in her hands, and told me I could cry and curse God forever, but she wasn’t leaving me.” Alex swallowed hard at the tender woman he lived for now. “My sweet wife told me the only reason I was being such an A-hole—her word, not mine—was because grief lasts as long as true love. It has to; it’s a measure of how deeply we love the ones we lost. And when the day comes that I lose her…”
He looked at the floor between his feet, his heart pounding like a son of a bitch. “I’ll be just as big an A-hole as I was then.” Alex lifted his chin and met Mother’s teary gaze. “Like it or not, death leaves a son of a bitchin’ crater inside of us, Sasha. We’ll never stop missing the ones we lost, but only because we gave them our whole hearts.”
The room was stone-cold silent when he finished. Alex had never shared so much emotion or personal information with his TEAM before. He might never again. But then again, he did trust everyone in this room with his life…
He’d learned a lot since Catalina Montego had crashed onto the scene two years ago. Exorcising her evil spirit from the District and Virginia had taught Alex how fast he could lose the very thing he’d always wanted, yet had ignored, whenever TEAM troubles came calling. Namely, his family. A guy didn’t get many second chances. That was what Kelsey was, his second chance. He’d never deserved her, but God knew he needed her. And she’d blessed him with his third and fourth chances: his daughter Lexie Rose and his newborn son Bradley Patrick. And now, living with his elderly father’s Alzheimer’s, Alex was learning how to forgive, something he was still working on.
Everyone was listening, but he focused on the trembling woman at his knees. “I’d like you to manage all things technology related, Sasha. From concept to invention to patent, hell, to worldwide distribution, if DoD allows. You’ll hire the people who’ll do the best job for you. It’s a big world out there and a new terrorist every day. Are you still part of my TEAM or not?”
“Thank you.” She whispered so low he had to lean in to be sure he’d heard right. “I needed this.” A tiny sad smile quirked one side of her lipstick-painted mouth. She squeezed his hand. “And I’m okay being called Mom. I’m staying. I’m in.”
Jameson rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “You heard her. Mom’s staying! Let’s celebrate, people!”
As a thunderous “Ooh-rah!” filled the room, Alex allowed a long, deep breath. His TEAM was back. All of them.
Chapter Forty-Five
Day forty-three and counting. Trish had been moved from the hospital in Alexandria to a nearby rehabilitation center. There Tripp met the indomitable Gracie Fox-Armstrong. She was one of the many physical therapists on staff, also Junior Agent Taylor Armstrong’s wife. When Trish woke up—if she did—Gracie would be her personal trainer. She’d already assisted in treating Trish for her venereal diseases. Eventually, she’d teach Trish to stand again, how to walk, feed herself, and everything else active people did. Then she’d accompany Trish home to help her transition back into the real world.
But for now, Trish remained bedridden and unresponsive. One good side effect of her coma was that the drugs, booze, and smokes she’d used, were now out of her system. She’d detoxed under strict medical care, something she never would’ve done before her attack. Her cervical cancer hadn’t required a complete hysterectomy, as Doctor Pitt had initially diagnosed. Instead, an oncology specialist removed it via what he’d called a simple trachelectomy. Didn’t sound simple to Tripp, but the doctor assured Andy and Tripp that option gave Trish the best chance of being able to carry a pregnancy to term. Which was important to Andy. She’d started believing in miracles again. Tripp took the wait-and-see approach. This was Trish after all.
As unlikely as it seemed, she’d gained weight. The anemic, skeletal woman she’d been the night she’d nearly lost her life, was gone. Regular nourishment via a feeding tube did that. Her skin tone was more pink than gray these days. Chalk that up to Gracie, who tended to Trish’s personal needs, daily cleanliness, and hair care.
If only Trish would open her eyes and tell him to fuck off. That was what Tripp lived for.
“Okay, steep hill up ahead, Pooh Bear. Time to dig in and give it your all,” he told her as he manipulated her right leg into a smooth bend, followed by a gentle lift and a full extension. Gracie had taught him how to work his sister’s limbs to prevent stiffness. “Pretend with me, you’re the best downhill racer in the world. Uphill, downhill, doesn’t matter. You can beat everyone else on this track. Here we go again.”
Tripp talked t
hroughout Trish’s workout. It was his day with his sister. Ashley was working out at TEAM HQ with, of all people, Zack Lennox. He was teaching her self-defense; Jameson would eventually teach her parkour. Tripp and Ashley were meeting his mom at noon for lunch, before Andy took over sitting with Trish until 6pm. Ashley had the night shift, which meant Tripp would be back to sit with her and Trish until 10pm, when the facility closed its doors to visitors. They were the Three Musketeers, each keeping the others cheered up and filled with Doctor Smith’s positive vibes.
But after hoping for a month and a half that Trish would finally wake up today—
Nope. Not going there. Tripp banished the very real, in-his-face fact that she might never recover. She was into the second month of her coma. She had no lingering complications from her surgeries. She wasn’t on a ventilator and her incisions were healing. She just wouldn’t open her eyes.
“Okay, Pooh Bear, you won that race easy,” Tripp said after manipulating her leg for the twentieth rotation. “The crowd’s on their feet. They love you, kiddo. And look at that cheater, Mitt. He thought he could slow you down by sidestepping into you, but you showed him. You go, girl!” Tripp whistled softly and made clucking, hissing noises, hoping it sounded like the clapping din of his imaginary crowd. “You’re a star!”
After exercising her other leg through another imaginary twenty-lap race, he fastened the fluffy-lined booties Gracie had bought Trish around her calves and her always icy-cold feet. The slipper soles were covered with non-skid dots that had yet to meet the floor. But someday…
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