by Tawny Weber
Harper closed her eyes, trying as hard as she could to shove it all aside before she slid past nausea and right into hysteria. She couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t worry about how horrible Brandon was.
Not when he had her son. Focus on something else, she told herself. Focus on the task ahead. On facing her past. On confronting her own personal demon.
A demon who’d shaped the direction of her life, whose existence had influenced the woman she’d become more than anyone else in Harper’s world.
Traffic was a nasty snarl through Danville but neither of them spoke again. Not until they passed the Blackhawk Country Club gates when Harper reached down for her purse.
She pulled a small black bag out of her leather tote, choosing her makeup tools as carefully as she imagined Diego chose his weapons.
She blotted and dabbed, hiding the signs of tears and disguising the dark circles under her eyes.
“Primping in case we run into your ex?”
“Hardly.” She’d be damned if she’d confront that demon looking anything less than her best. Still, she paused in the act of repairing her eyeliner long enough to frown at Diego. Then Harper pressed her lips together and confessed. “If we see Brandon, I expect you to beat the hell out of him.”
Focused on smudging the dark gray pencil under her lashes, she didn’t see his reaction. But his snicker was loud and clear.
“What’s the paint for, then?”
“A preemptive attempt to salve my ego,” she admitted as she slicked on a rich berry-hued lipstick. Since checking her image in her hand mirror wasn’t enough, she pulled down the visor for a better view. All she saw was a scared girl. A girl too poor, too weak, too pathetic to stand a chance.
“Who’re you afraid of?” Diego asked.
Brandon. Alive or not, he’d still proved he could hurt her, that he could impact her life. He’d turned her world upside down and showed her that he could still hurt her.
The Ramseys. Like Brandon, they provided a threat that, despite everything she’d done, everything she’d built her life into, could still destroy her heart.
She was even afraid of Diego.
He’d made her feel. He’d made her hope. And now he’d broken her heart. And she was pretty sure he wasn’t finished yet.
“Harper?”
She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
“When I told him I was pregnant, Brandon warned me to get rid of the baby. He didn’t want it, and he said there was no way his parents would let me keep it. He promised me that if they knew there was another Ramsey on the way, they’d take it from me. And that they’d make sure I had no part of the child’s life. After all, I was in no way suitable to raise their grandchild.”
“The Ramseys never knew about Nathan?”
“I let Brandon think I was going to a clinic to have the pregnancy terminated,” she admitted, swallowing back bile inspired by the words. “I let him think there was no way I’d give up college, no way I’d let a baby stand in the way of the amazing future I had planned.”
“Seems to me you created a damned good future. One that’s totally on par with whatever the Ramseys could offer.” It was obvious that he didn’t know where she’d come from and just how far a trip it was to hit that part.
“I’m not their equal.” She never had been. How could she be?
“C’mon. You’ve got a fancy career working for the rich and famous. You live in an exclusive, upscale neighborhood with a guard at the gate. And you’ve raised a great kid, who, despite private schools and fancy camps, is down-to-earth and fun to be around.”
“Thank you.” Harper was surprised enough to open her eyes. She didn’t turn her head, but she did slide a glance toward Diego. “Be that as it may, thanks to Brandon, thanks to you, now in order to find my son I’m going to see the very people who could take him away from me.”
“Nope.”
She did turn her head now. She had to, to shake it in confusion. “What do you mean, nope?”
“Nope, that isn’t happening.” His words were so matter-of-fact, so absolutely sure, that Harper had to believe him. “There are two things you need to focus on right now. First, if the Ramseys have Nathan, they already know he exists. Second, it doesn’t mean a damned thing what they want. They aren’t getting it.”
“You said it yourself,” she said, reminding him of that ugly discussion about Brandon’s plans for Nathan’s future. “They can file for custody. They have the money, the connections, to get whatever they want. If Brandon is dead, they’ve lost their heir apparent. If he’s a criminal, you’ll put him in jail. Either way, they’ll know about Nathan. They’ll try to turn him into one of them.”
Diego snorted as he pulled up to the guardhouse at the gated community. He flashed something to the man on duty, waited while the guy made a call, then nodded his thanks when they were cleared through. It wasn’t until he was headed into the luxurious neighborhood that he spoke again. By then, Harper’s nerves were wound so tight, she could barely listen.
“It’d be awfully hard to turn a sweet, honest kid with a strong conscience into a spoiled, selfish, narcissistic asshole with delusions of grandeur,” he pointed out.
She wanted to believe him. But the Ramseys? They had skills.
“Wouldn’t matter if they wanted him or not, though. The Ramseys, they’re going to have to get through Poseidon to keep Nathan.” She assumed he meant his Special Ops team, and not the sea god. “More specifically, they’ll have to go through me. And nobody gets through me.”
He stopped the truck then, killing the engine and leaning one arm on the steering wheel as he turned to give her an assuring look.
Harper stared into his face. The hard planes, unforgiving lines and implacable expression. There was so much strength there. So much power.
For a moment, she looked past him to the mansion that she’d never been allowed inside, with its white pillars and wide front steps flanked by perfectly tended garden beds of bleeding pastels. Then her eyes met Diego’s again.
He’d lied to her. He’d used her.
But he was her anchor.
So she grabbed hold.
Unsnapping her seat belt with the flick of a finger, she leaned closer. Her eyes never left his as she wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down to meet her mouth.
She felt his smile against her lips but ignored the amusement. As their tongues danced, she breathed in his strength. She drew in his power. She held tight to his implacable obstinacy.
“Thanks,” she breathed as she pulled away. “I needed that.”
* * *
“IT’S GOING TO be fine.” He flicked a look over his shoulder at the mansion, frowning at the idea of a real man coming from a house that looked like an imitation palace. “This visit is strictly recon. The chances of Ramsey or your son being here are slim to none.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Then why are we here?”
“I told you. Reconnaissance. We’re scoping the mother, assessing the situation. Ramsey lied about a lot of things. His relationship with you. His involvement with Nathan. His father’s influence—although that’s debatable since his old man was pretty high on the totem pole before he was sent up the river for fraud.” He grinned when her jaw drop. “Yeah. MacGyver discovered that instead of Mr. High-Powered Investment Banker, the elder Ramsey is doing time for engineering some skeezy Ponzi scheme that bilked thousands of rich people out of millions of dollars.”
Harper shook her head in confusion. He waited for the questions to explode, possibly even a defense of her son’s genetic pool. He’d seen it plenty of times. People got weird about relatives in prison. Not in his world—being able to claim blood behind bars was a badge of honor in the gangs. But in her glorified world? Tha
t her little boy carried the blood of a con—if a sneaky white-collar criminal counted—had to grate deep.
“Who is MacGyver?” was all she asked, though, making Diego frown.
“Lieutenant Jared Lansky, call sign MacGyver.”
“Call signs. Those are like nicknames, right?” When he nodded, she asked, “What’s yours?”
“Mine?” He didn’t know why the question made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if she’d asked his designator or last deployment assignment. “El Gato.”
“The cat?” Despite the gravity in her eyes, her lips twitched and her gaze skimmed over his body as light as a tickle. “Is that because you cat around?”
“That, or I move with speed and grace, pouncing when others are unaware, never giving up until my curiosity has been satisfied.” As soon as the words were out, he felt like an ass. Call signs, they held as much ribbing as reality. It was one thing to joke about with the guys, but he didn’t want Harper thinking he was an egotistical jerk. “Let’s go.”
She laid her hand on his before he could pull the keys from the ignition.
“It’s a compliment, isn’t it? That your teammates believe you’re tenacious and talented.”
“It’s a fact. I won’t give up until I’ve done what I set out to do. I won’t stop until I put Nathan back in your arms.” The vow was quietly made, but that didn’t hide the steadfast resolution of his words.
“Two days ago I’d have believed anything you told me,” she said, her words just as quiet as his.
“And now?”
Harper simply stared, her blue eyes shadowed. After a long, gut-clenching second, she shrugged.
“Why am I here? You don’t need me for, what do you call it? Recon.”
“Impressions.” He grabbed and pocketed the keys, then stepped out of the truck, rounding it to open her door before she’d gathered her purse. “And it got you out of the house. If you’d stayed there, you’d have worried yourself sick.”
Her expression more closed than he’d thought her capable, Harper slid out of the truck but didn’t say a word. He watched with interest as she shook the wrinkles out her jacket before pulling it on. With a couple of quick moves she’d cuffed the sleeves to show the sassy gray-and-white-striped lining. She stepped out of her casual rubber flip-flops, sliding her feet into gunmetal spike-heeled pumps.
And that’s all it took, he realized, to turn her simple jeans and black tee into a classy outfit that fit right in with this upscale neighborhood.
The rich really were different.
“Armor ready?”
Her smile was like lightning, flashing fast, intense, then gone.
He hated the pain in her eyes. He hated his part in putting it there. But he knew it wasn’t going to simply go away. Not until Nathan was home. Maybe not even then.
Leaving the truck parked at the base of the curved driveway and sticking out like a sore thumb, Diego let Harper lead the way up the flagstone path.
“Nice place,” he murmured under his breath. Feeling her tension ratchet higher beneath the fingers he’d pressed against her back, he added, “If you like penis palaces.”
“What?” She snorted with surprise and laughter but shook her head as if she didn’t understand the reference.
“You know, some guys compensate for a tiny dick with a fancy car with a big-ass engine and loud exhaust. Like people are going to see the flash and figure the rest of the package is just as impressive.” He rolled his eyes, gesturing toward the fancy house. “People will look at this place and think, hey, the guy might have a crap personality and is a total ass-hat of a human. But this house, it proves he’s got some redeeming quality.”
“And a man with an already impressive penis?” she asked, giving him a look from under her lashes that said she had a very good memory. “Isn’t he always trying to prove that he’s worthy of his size?”
“Nah.” Diego grinned. “That guy is just looking to find the right fit. A woman who can handle him? Finding her ain’t easy.”
Harder still was keeping her once he’d found her. But he didn’t tell Harper that. Instead, Diego held out his hand when they reached the wide marble steps skirting the ornate double doors.
Harper stared at his hand for a long moment, then into his eyes as if she was making a huge decision. He didn’t realize how much tension he was holding until it eased away as she tucked her fingers into his.
Then, as she often did, she shocked him with her teasing smile. Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “And if he finds that perfect fit?”
He was sure she wasn’t asking for a commitment—not from him. Still, he couldn’t help his response.
He pressed his thumb on the coat of arms doorbell, then took a deep breath and met her gaze.
“He hopes she can handle a guy who wears a uniform for a living.”
Before either of them could process that response, the door swung open.
“May I help you?”
Eyeing the dour-faced mortician, Diego decided he had to be a servant. The Ramseys wouldn’t allow someone that ugly to be a relative.
“We’re here to see Mrs. Ramsey.”
“Mrs. Ramsey is not available at this time. Perhaps you’d care to leave a message?”
“You the butler? Or the answering machine?”
“Neither, sir. I am the house manager.”
“Right. Maybe you could manage to make Mrs. Ramsey available, then.” Diego didn’t wait for another one of the guy’s polite brush-offs. “It’s in regard to her son.”
The prune face puckered even more for a second, which apparently was good because he pulled the door open wide and swept them inside with one skinny arm.
“Please, wait in the downstairs parlor.”
He led them to a room directly across from the door, waving them inside before disappearing. Whether it was a power play, a bid to buy time or because she was stashing her grandson in a closet, it took Christine Ramsey a good ten minutes to join them.
Which was plenty of time for Diego and Harper to get over their shock at the downstairs parlor.
“It’s like a monument. Or maybe an altar,” Harper whispered after she’d walked the room once. Every surface was covered with some semblance of Brandon Ramsey’s greatness. Photos of him in uniform, in digies, in combat gear. Framed newspaper articles, matted commendations, a display of medals. The room was spotless, as if dust were too intimidated to try to settle there. But Diego could tell that the memorabilia had stood for a long time. Long enough to cast protective shadows on the sun-bleached wood.
This wasn’t for show. Harper was right. It was a monument, and it’d been here long before the Ramseys got word that their only son was dead.
“It’s a little much,” she said, looking at Diego after she’d gone around a second time. “Isn’t it?”
“Way too much,” he agreed. Like, nauseatingly too much. Bordering on obsessive, leaning toward fanatical. Even for a parent, this room was serious overkill. Was this why Ramsey had been such an egomaniac? Did this sort of worship breed narcissism? Or had the man’s ego simply demanded worship?
They both heard the sound of high heels snapping across marble and turned toward the door. A woman paused there as if allowing them the privilege of enjoying the view. Posing, one hand resting on the door frame and the other on her hip, she was the epitome of her son. Not a blond hair out of place, her eyes were ice blue and her features perfect. Thanks to great genetics or a talented sculptor, she didn’t look old enough to be Ramsey’s mom.
“You have word on my son?” Looking down her nose at them, the woman’s gaze shifted briefly to Harper before she focused on Diego as if he were the only other person in the room. “Are you here to tell me there’s been a mistake? Brandon is alive, yes?”
“What sort of mistake
are you expecting, ma’am?”
“The mistake in which some idiot claimed that Brandon could be dead. You’re with the Navy, correct?” Without waiting for an answer, she moved into the room, staring up at the portrait hanging over the fireplace. Almost life-size, Ramsey smirked down at them. “He couldn’t be captured. He’s too good. But there must be an explanation. I’ll admit, I expected someone to contact me sooner, but I realize the government has its own timetable.”
“That it does,” Diego agreed, giving her the space to keep talking.
“My son is a decorated officer, a highly skilled SEAL who leads men in top secret missions. He’s honored by admirals, admired by all who serve with him.” She made a ladylike look of scorn. “The very idea of him dying on a routine mission is ridiculous.”
“To my knowledge, the circumstances surrounding Lieutenant Ramsey’s supposed death are still under investigation,” he said, going for honesty. Not out of virtue, but because he figured it’d piss her off.
He was right.
Her face convulsed, mouth working in bitter lines but no words coming out. Finally, the woman harrumphed and fast marched her way toward the door.
“Mrs. Ramsey...” Whatever Harper had planned to ask, she let it go when the woman speared her with an icy look.
“My son is not dead. I would know if I’d lost my only child, if the last Ramsey were gone.” Despite the poignancy of her words, there was nothing soft in her frigid demeanor.
He could feel Harper’s tension, saw her body jerk as if recovering from a blow. Diego shifted toward the center of the room to keep the woman’s attention on him and give Harper time to compose herself.
“Ma’am, if your son were alive, where might he be? Does he have someone he’d stay with or a place he’d go?” Diego asked politely. “We’d like to settle this matter as much as you would. Telling us anything that could help track him down would help.”
“If he wanted you to know where he is, then you would.” And with that, Mrs. Ramsey gestured toward the door. “We’re done here. I want my son home. Don’t contact me again unless you’re here to tell me where I can reunite with Brandon.”
