by Marlow Kelly
He’d watched her disable her phone back in Finn’s office. He had complete recall; he would remember. That was one of the more infuriating things about him. With most men, if they didn’t send you a birthday card or notice your new haircut, you could believe they’d simply forgotten all about it and cut them some slack, but with Michael, if he didn’t react to something, it was because he’d decided it wasn’t important. Of course, an argument could be made that if a man didn’t notice your haircut, it was because you weren’t important to him, which meant all men were jerks. She had to smile at that bit of absurd logic.
She concentrated on her recipe, which she knew by heart, hoping for the Zen-like moment. There weren’t any measuring cups in the cupboards. None that she could find, anyway. She guesstimated the ingredients. Her muffins would work out fine as long as she got the consistency right.
She froze when Michael stood next to her and stared out the window. An image of him standing behind her and slipping his arms around her waist, so her back aligned with his front, appeared in her mind, unbidden. The memory of him nestled between her legs when he’d rolled her away from the gunfire was fresh in her mind. Her pulse raced.
God, it had been years since she’d lain with a man. She liked men well enough, but she didn’t like to get involved. Her work got in the way of relationships. She never knew if she would be called away. Come to think of it, she didn’t know from one day to the next which country she would be in. But the memory of lying in Michael’s arms after a mind-blowing organism was a siren’s song that called to her. She shook the idea away, forcing her mind back to her baking. Michael was a friend, and using him for sex would be wrong, and she didn’t want anything more than that.
“What do you think, is it safe to go out there while he’s swinging an ax?” Michael raised his eyebrows.
“You have to get his phone, whether you want to or not.” It was standard for her to dismantle her phone when she didn’t want to be tracked. “We should’ve taken care of this before at your parent’s house.”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“You, Michael the Brain, wasn’t thinking,” she teased, calling him by the childhood nickname she knew he hated.
“It may surprise you to know that I get distracted just like anyone else.”
“How can that be when you remember everything?”
“I can only recall what I see. Sounds and smells, not so much.” He smiled. “Although, I do remember every detail of a wild weekend we had when we were eighteen.”
Her heart hit a steady beat as her nerve endings sprang to life. He was flirting with her. She had no idea how to flirt. It usually wasn’t necessary. Men were easy. Whenever she wanted sex, she made sure her target male was single and straight, and then she invited him to her place. It had been over two years since her last erotic stress release, and she knew Michael would be good. She glanced at Nadie and Ava cuddled up on the couch. No, this wasn’t the time or place.
She schooled her features, giving him her best I’m-bored expression. “It’s ancient history. Stop procrastinating and get on with your job. You need to dismantle those phones. Face the man with the ax and hope he doesn’t take your head off by accident.”
“Milo was a helicopter pilot for the US Air Force. He’ll get it.”
“I thought you didn’t get along with him.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “When I was fifteen maybe, but I’ve grown up a lot since then. Milo always uses work as therapy. He’s not the problem.” He nodded his head in Ava’s direction. “She is.”
His sister turned the volume up on the TV. It was now high enough to cause hearing damage.
Michael marched to the living area. “Ava, turn that down. We need to talk.”
She straightened away from her mom’s embrace, flicked a strand of long black hair over her shoulder, and then focused her dark eyes on her brother.
Sinclair turned her back and concentrated on adding her wet ingredients into the flour mixture. She substituted water for milk, seeing as they’d forgotten to bring some. Hopefully, no one would notice, and if they did, she didn’t care.
“Why do you want my phone?” Ava shrieked. The alarm in the teen’s voice caught Sinclair’s attention. Michael was right. This would be unpleasant.
“They can track us. I should’ve taken this off you before we left.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re out of range. They can’t track us when there’s no signal.” Ava’s confidence rang out, loud and clear.
Michael sighed. “You know as well as I do there are times when we catch a stray signal.”
“I’ll give it to you after I call Caleb.”
“Who the hell is Caleb?” Michael shouted.
Sinclair kept mixing, wishing she wasn’t here, listening to this family moment. She argued with her brother, David, but not like this.
“He’s my boyfriend.” Ava’s voice grew louder, and Sinclair wondered if the teen was now standing.
“Are you serious?” Michael yelled. “You want to endanger everyone just so you can call your boyfriend?”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand. He might think I’ve dumped him. He might—”
“Do you want the men with guns to find you? Do you want to watch Mom and Dad get shot?” He was playing hard ball now.
Sinclair couldn’t blame him. Ava’s plan would put everyone in danger, but she also understood the need to contact friends and assure them everything was okay.
She spun around, coughed loudly, and then waited until he acknowledged her. “Actually, I have to call the office. If I don’t make contact, they’ll try and track my phone. Once they discover there’s no signal, they might think I’ve been killed or taken. I don’t want them to waste resources looking for me.” The administrator for the Granite City branch of Child Seekers International was Amy Tupperman. Her sweet grandmotherly demeanor disguised a woman who was a pit bull when it came to protecting the operatives in her charge.
“That’s not a good idea.”
Sinclair’s anger flared. “I said it before, I’ll say it again, and this time you will listen.” She cast her arm wide to include everyone present. “We were not prepared for this. We had plans. We have other people who care about us. People who will look for us. Not all of us have been in hiding for months.”
He rolled his eyes.
It must be a family trait. A sea of red burning anger flooded her mind. She pounded the table with her fist “You shit. Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”
He stared at her for a moment. Finally, he said, “I apologize.”
“For what? Not warning us or for being a giant asshat?”
He gave her a weak smile. “Both.”
She wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. “You must have a ghost chip in that burner phone of yours so we can all make a call.”
He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and stared at it. “A ghost chip isn’t a guarantee. There’s new software on the market that makes it traceable.”
“Then we won’t call from here. There must be a pay phone we can drive to.” She switched her gaze to Ava who sat with her mouth open, staring at Sinclair. She pointed to the teen. “Hand over your phone, now.”
The young woman slipped her device out of the pocket of her hoodie and gave it to Michael.
“Thank you.” Michael flipped off the back, dismantling it.
Sinclair turned back to her baking. Her hands shook after her outburst. Losing her temper was out of character for her, but he had managed to push her to her limit. A clinking noise echoed in the now silent room. She assumed it was the sound of the disassembled phone hitting the china bowl.
Michael marched out of the house without a word and slammed the door behind him. So much for her using him for sex relief.
Chapter Six
Sinclair stood in the kitchen and picked at a blueberry muffin. Her baking therapy hadn’t been as relaxing as usual, which wasn’t surprising considering she was in a strange place wit
h people she didn’t know.
Plus, she had lost her temper with Michael. It had been foolish of her to think she could banish everything that had happened on this awful evening. It was just too overwhelming.
She was used to leaving home at a moment’s notice and having her life in disarray. Her work abroad, which had slowed in the last year, required flexibility. But this was different. There were things waiting on her desk that she needed to get to. An informant had called her just as she was boarding her flight from Ukraine. The woman, a street worker in Kyiv, had called and told her Child Seekers had a leak and she would no longer be sharing information with them. Sinclair had tried to convince her to talk, but she’d hung up without saying more.
She took another bite. Normally, the taste of the sugar-covered muffin top comforted her. But it just turned to sawdust in her mouth. She blamed Michael. Their argument over the phones had only served to drive her stress level higher. In fairness, it wasn’t all his fault. Just being in close proximity to him put her on edge. When it came to him, her emotional state shifted from physical attraction to anger. There seemed to be no balance, no middle ground.
As far as she knew, Michael hadn’t seen his family in at least four months, and yet they seemed to be at ease with each other. She hadn’t experienced that kind of affinity with anyone since Carla, her best friend and partner at Child Seekers, had died on assignment.
It made her feel inadequate, as though she was merely existing. She should be sharing her life with at least one other person. There was David, her brother, but he was starting a new life with Marie, and she didn’t want to intrude. Besides, talking to him wasn’t the same as gossiping with a girlfriend. She’d had close friends when she was in the army, but once she was out, they’d drifted apart.
She’d lost Carla a year ago. God. She would give anything to be able to chat with her again. Sinclair was currently coupled with Jake, a fine co-worker, but there was a distance between them that she couldn’t span. He was in his fifties, divorced with two grownup children, but he never talked about them. As far as she could tell, his downtime consisted of watching sports while he drank beer.
The front door slammed open, and Michael marched past her and headed for a storage closet next to the bathroom. He grabbed an armful of blankets and sheets. “I’ll put these in your cabin,” he said as he headed out again.
“I’ll help,” Ava offered.
He smiled at his sister. “That’s great, munchkin.”
Ava grabbed some pillows and followed him out.
Sinclair peered at them through the kitchen window. The pair laughed as they entered the small outbuilding. Ava now seemed like a different person. Gone was the insolent teen. Now she seemed like a smiling, easy-going, happy girl. Sinclair took another bite of her muffin. The way they had put their argument aside was impressive. They hadn’t talked about their differences and hadn’t made a big deal about it. They’d simply moved on.
Her stomach cramped. Food wasn’t what she wanted right now. She needed some space, a place to be alone. She put the plated muffins and scones on the kitchen table and headed for the door.
The moment she stepped into the cool night air, she felt better. She could sense the change of seasons, from summer to fall. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the cool night air or the scent of the leaves changing. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance as if it were laughing at her. Insects chirped in the forest. She inhaled, breathing in the calming sounds of the wilderness.
She stepped down from the porch. When she looked up, she gasped. She’d seen the Milky Way before, but now that they were away from the light pollution of the city, she could see a thousand points of light sparkling in the sky. It always filled her with a sense of wonder.
Michael and Ava walked out of the little cottage. They’re voices were low as they talked in hushed tones. Once again, she felt like an interloper, someone who had been thrust upon them.
Ava broke away from her brother, smiled at Sinclair, and said, “Good night.” Then headed into the main house.
Sinclair smiled back but couldn’t form any words. She was suddenly beyond exhausted, every muscle in her body hurt, and her bruised face was aching.
Michael met her in the middle of the yard. “When I want to be alone, I climb on the roof.”
Was it that obvious she needed time to herself? She swung around to stare at it but couldn’t make out any details. The only light came from the kitchen window. “Is it corrugated? How do you get up there?”
“There’s a trellis at the far end of the porch. It probably won’t support my weight now and, yes, it’s corrugated and uncomfortable as hell, but on a night like this, when the breeze is keeping the mosquitos at bay, there’s no better view.”
“I’m not going up there.”
He stood close, invading her space, but she didn’t back away. She enjoyed his nearness and his warmth that seemed to caress her without touching. His scent, a combination of soap and musk, surrounded her. He must’ve taken a shower in her room because she would’ve known if he’d used the bathroom in the main house.
He nudged her shoulder with his. “Are you scared of heights?”
If she’d had the energy, she would’ve laughed. “You know I’m not. I did rope climbing in boot camp. I’m just too tired.”
His gaze roamed her body. What he saw she couldn’t say, and with her exhaustion, she was beyond caring.
“If you don’t want to go up on the roof, you can sit on the deck. You’ll be out of the breeze so there’ll be more mosquitos, and you won’t be able to see the stars—”
“Of course, I can see the stars.”
He frowned. “You’ll be under the porch roof.”
“I can turn my head; the porch isn’t completely closed in.”
One corner of his mouth curled in a lopsided smile. “Good point.”
“How are you a genius?”
“I never said I was a genius.”
She snorted. It wasn’t very ladylike, but sometimes a well-placed grunt got her message across better than words.
He toed a loose stone in the driveway and then stopped and stared at the house. Finally, his gaze settled on her. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of your safety. I should have thought—”
“You were injured…hurt. You probably weren’t thinking about much else.” Maybe she was letting him off easy, but four months ago, he’d been in so much pain it had been torturous to watch him try to move.
He acknowledged her words with a curt nod. “I’m also sorry I brought Marshall Portman and the Syndicate into our lives.”
“We met Marshall when we were Sixteen. You’d already gone home. You never even knew him. How does he have anything to do with you?
“Didn’t David tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He rubbed his jaw. His dark eyes focused on her for a moment and then he looked away. “You were sick when I left. You’d given up. I was scared you were going to die. I came home so I could look for a place for you. I found Marshall House, a charity that took in street kids and helped them get an education. I emailed Portman and told him about you and where to find you. I’m sorry, I should’ve—”
“Should’ve what? Not saved us?” She stepped back and stared at him and then opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. All these years, she thought he’d abandoned her…them. She’d forgiven him because, if she’d had a safe home, she would’ve gone in an instant. But there’d been nothing to forgive. He hadn’t deserted them at all.
He shrugged, staring at the ground. “I wouldn’t have said anything, but I thought David told you.”
She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. She pressed her lips together. This was the end of a long, stressful day, but she’d be damned if she would cry. She wasn’t the weepy type. “Thank you for not leaving me on the street to die.” She placed her hand on his elbow. “You saved us. Marshall House gave us food, a secure place to sleep, an education, and a future. Yo
u should be proud of that.”
“But all the trouble—
She kissed him on the lips lightly, a peck, and then withdrew, shocked by her own actions.
He stared at her with the same sense of amazement.
She retreated, walking backward toward the small cabin. “Sorry, I never meant…you looked so…like you’d done something wrong. You didn’t.”
She turned and ran. What the hell was she thinking? That was the problem; she hadn’t been thinking. She’d allowed her emotions to override her commonsense. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to come here. Michael was too good to resist.
Chapter Seven
Sinclair could’ve soaked in the shower for hours. Unfortunately, she ran out of hot water after fifteen minutes. Her teeth were chattering by the time she was clean. The bathroom was small with just a shower stall, a sink, and toilet.
She dried her hair, as best she could, feeling almost fit. That is, as well as she could expect when she had a fat lip, ached all over, and her right eye was almost swollen shut. The bruise on her hip wasn’t a concern. It might hurt for a day or two, but it was nothing an icepack couldn’t cure.
She hung the towel on the rack and opened the door to find Michael making up the sofa bed.
He stopped tucking in the sheet and stared at her, open mouthed.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He grinned. “I see you weren’t expecting me.”
She looked down. “Shit.” She was naked. She slammed shut the bathroom door. “What the hell, Michael? I can figure out the bed. I don’t need you to do it for me.”
“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for us.”
“Us?” she squeaked. Unfortunately, the towel wasn’t big enough to cover her completely.
