She shook her head. “No. But you were right about the cost of artificial insemination. It’s not cheap. And there’s no guarantee one try will be enough. Add on that I may have fertility issues of my own, and the cost could quickly be out of my reach.”
He had no words. He simply listened.
“That’s why when Ken Shepherd asked me out at the pool today, I thought maybe, who knows…?”
“Hard to let go of the dream?”
“No. Well, maybe.” Hands on the edge of the table, she shoved her chair back a few inches. “But I have to. How the heck am I supposed to raise a child with a man who bores me to death before we even arrive at the restaurant?”
“You don’t have to talk to a man to get pregnant.”
“No.” She looked down then back up. “But I would have to talk to him about other things, and honestly I’d rather risk the money on an anonymous donor.”
Anonymous donor. What happened to love, marriage, and children in that order? He searched her face for any signs of disappointment, sorrow, even fear, but her gaze remained steady and sure. All she wanted was to give birth to a new life.
A new life. The thought hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Muscles clamped tight, shoving the air in his lungs upward in a heavy huff. A life for a life? Could he?
“…thank you.”
Billy settled his gaze on the woman across from him. What had she said? “I’m sorry. My brain stopped. Say again?”
“You seem to be good for my decision-making process. Last time we talked, I decided to have a baby without getting married, and tonight I’m feeling better about doing this completely alone.”
“You won’t be alone. You have friends.”
“Yes.” Angela picked up her empty dish, pushed to her feet, and tossed him a sweet smile. “Good friends.”
Standing as well, he grabbed his plate. “I hope I’m one of those good friends.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Dirty plates in the trash and frying pan left to soak, Billy turned to Angela. “Ready to go home?”
Curling one shoulder, she ducked her chin like a bashful child. “Could I have a quick tour first?”
“Oh, Sure.” Following her down the hall, he watched as she walked through each room. “What do you think?”
“Every room has a walk-in closet?”
He nodded. “Part of its charm.”
Arms crossed, she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Okay, Ava squealed every time she opened a closet door, and her friend insisted she didn’t need a bedroom, she’d just move into the closet. I knew that was a good thing.”
“You bet.” She walked past him into the next room, nodded and smiled, and moved on.
The last room was the master. His room. He watched her face as she stepped inside. Her eyes quickly gave the room an overview, then item by item scanned and paused. He saw her shoulders stiffen the second her eyes landed on the walker.
“It’s easier in the middle of the night than falling on the floor.”
Her eyes widened momentarily, but she didn’t say a word, only continued on to the bathroom. “Wow.”
This time her eyes popped open like a cartoon owl.
“Originally that was another small bedroom.
After my injury, my dad and sisters designed this for me.”
Running her fingers along the granite counters, she moved from one sink to the other. “This is one hell of a bathroom. I know people who would kill for a shower like that.”
“My dad just wanted something I could get in and out of easily with a wheel chair. My sisters wanted it to look like a spa. They both got what they wanted.”
“Seriously.” Her eyes still a little wide, she turned to him. “I didn’t see a wheelchair.”
“I don’t use one anymore.”
“But you do use a walker?”
He nodded. “I don’t sleep with my prosthesis.
If I need to get up in the middle of the night, I have three choices. I could stop and put on my leg and walk to the toilet like everyone else. I could hop on one leg—”
“Or use the walker.”
He nodded. He didn’t mention fall on his ass. He’d done that plenty of times. Groggy and sleepy and needing to pee, too often he’d get up out of bed and forget he only had one leg. In the early days, slamming to the ground made him mad as a bull with a bee in his ear. He had a lot of mad stored up back then. Some days he still did.
Chapter Fifteen
Angela took in the plush bathroom and studied the handicap bars along the shower walls. Handicap. Until this minute she hadn’t considered how little she knew of Billy’s everyday life. While he, on the other hand, seemed to know every intimate detail of her health, more than enough about her social life, and all about her dreams. She had no idea about his dreams, or how they must have changed after the accident. She didn’t even know what happened.
“Tell me about it?” She swiveled around to face him. “All about it.”
He studied her for longer than she was comfortable with. His gaze shifted to the bars in the bathroom and back. The blank curtain she’d so often seen descend over him, hiding his thoughts and emotions, fell into place at the same moment his chin dipped in a brief nod of affirmation. “We’ll need a fresh pot of coffee.”
He led the way back to the kitchen, silently measured beans into the canister, poured water in to the other side and as the pot gurgled and hissed, he set two large US Navy mugs beside the steaming coffeemaker. She wasn’t so sure they needed coffee as much as he needed something to do while he decided what to say.
“How far back do you want me to go?” Sitting at the kitchen table, he folded his hands around the warm mug in front of him.
“As far as you want.”
“I was an EOD tech.”
EOD? Her forehead crinkled in thought. “Explosive Ordinance Disposal technician.” “Explosive?” The word worked its way from her vocal chords past the knot securely lodged in her throat. “I thought you were a diver.”
“I was. But explosives aren’t limited to land mines.”
She’d assumed his injury was due to an accident of some sort. A losing battle with a propeller. Something more ordinary. Horrible images of war-torn cities, concrete rubble, blood, and body parts played before her eyes. Slowly, her hand rose to her mouth.
“EOD is considered special forces. We do it all. Dive, parachute, helicopter insertions. Wherever we’re needed, we go. Nine weeks of dive training is one of the first phases. For me that was the cakewalk. The next forty-two weeks was the actual explosives training. Air ordinances, like bombs and missiles. Homemade bombs, nuclear bombs, underwater explosives like torpedoes and sea mines. EOD training is extremely tough. We’re faced with challenges and opportunities designed to develop and test mental understanding, physical stamina, and overall leadership…” He paused to chuckle.
He’s laughing? How could a man talk about things that go boom in the night and actually find something to laugh about?
“Jumping out of planes and helicopters. Now that was some challenging stuff for a surfer dude.”
Her hand still covering her mouth, she managed a curt nod. It was probably a more appropriate response than screaming.
“We worked in teams. Usually anywhere from five to twelve men. Where we were deployed, land or sea, depended on which detachment we were with.”
Her hand slid down to her chest, where she could feel the frenzied beat of her own heart. “Detachment?”
“Anything from Navy SEALs or Army Special Forces to the Secret Service or Homeland Security. While we’re the only ones trained in explosives, as special forces we can handle any situation. This last time we were assigned to a unit in Sicily conducting counterimprovised explosive device operations in Afghanistan. My team was tight. Most are. One guy in particular, Joe Rodriguez, he and I were like brothers. Always had each other’s six. I mean back. Six is pilot speak for six o’clock. Meaning your most vulnerable spot directly behind you.
It’s a big deal to pilots. I’ve got your six means I’ve got your back. I saved your six means I saved your ass. That sort of thing.”
“I remember. But I didn’t realize you’re a pilot, too.” Good lord, what couldn’t this man do?
“No.” He laughed again as though she’d told an especially funny joke. “But aircraft carriers are full of fighter jocks. Pilots. You pick up a lot of their jargon.”
“And you’ve been on aircraft carriers?” “Yeah.” He nodded.
“So what happened?”
“One of the things EOD does is clear the way for a landing team. Unexploded ordinances needed to be eliminated in order for a different team to get their job done.”
“Like SEALS after Bin Laden.”
“That was a helo insert, but you’ve got the idea. Let’s just say last time things didn’t go as planned, and this happened.” His hand moved to rest on his thigh. “My foot was crushed by debris. Two other guys got cut up enough to wind up in the hospital, too.”
“Were you the only one seriously hurt?”
The hand mindlessly rubbing his leg stilled. “Doug lost his vision in one eye. Like me he’s out of the navy now. Jim suffered some nasty burns, but he stayed in.”
A heavy quiet settled over the room. His eyes focused on the still-full coffee cup. She didn’t know what to do. What to say. She wanted to know more but didn’t want to push. When she couldn’t take the stillness anymore, she dared move her hand to cover his.
It took a few seconds for Billy to react to the gesture. When he finally did look up, their gazes met and held. She wanted so badly to understand the emotions and thoughts swimming behind those dark eyes.
Billy cleared his throat. “Joe was killed.”
* * *
Those words hadn’t come easily. Finishing the sentence was damn near impossible. Sliding his hand out from under Angela’s, Billy straightened his shoulders and took a sip of cold coffee.
“I’m sorry.” Angela’s voice came out soft and low. As though speaking any louder might make Joe’s death new again.
“It’s a risk we all take. Comes with the job.” He didn’t mention how the risk escalates for everyone on the team when one of the team is hooked on pills. “Police and firefighters face the same thing everyday.”
“None of you get paid enough.” Angela leaned back in her seat. “Every time I hear of a fireman dying in a burning building or an officer killed making a traffic stop, I think they don’t earn anywhere near enough money. None of you do.”
All set to go into the soliloquy of we do it for the love of the job, not the money, he held the words when his phone sounded. Brooklyn Security appeared on his screen. “Hey. What ’ya doing up at four in the morning?”
“You know how it is. Early to bed, early to rise and all that shit.”
Yeah, Billy knew. Everyone had their ghosts. “What ’ya got for me?”
“Our Mr. Deluca has an interesting past. Father unknown. Mom deceased. Raised by a grandmother. Now deceased. Went through a wild streak. His senior year of college he was convicted of vehicular manslaughter. Served three years—”
“Wow. I didn’t expect that.”
“He put it behind him. Came out a model citizen. Married Annette King. He’s built one hell of an empire, but none if it is going to matter any more to you.”
“If I’m being sued, it could matter a great deal.”
“He’s not suing you. He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Billy repeated.
Angela’s eyes rounded, and he set his phone on the table and hit speaker.
“I’ve got you on speaker now. Are you sure our Tom Deluca is dead?” His tone softer, weaker, his gaze shifted to a spot on the wall behind her.
“I’m sure,” Brooklyn said. “Had to run some pretty big obstacles. They are keeping this under wraps. Only the Deluca powerhouse could pull this off. When the media gets hold of the information, it’s going to be the lead story on the evening news up and down the coast.”
“What happened? He fall back into old ways?”
“No. Plane crash. He and the wife were taking a run to Catalina for a benefit luncheon a week ago yesterday. From what we’ve put together, he had engine trouble and broke apart on landing. He didn’t make it. His wife is in intensive care. It’s been touch and go. But word is she’ll be moved into critical by morning. Doctor’s seem pretty sure she’s going to make it.”
“How many other casualties?”
“None. Private plane. Deluca was doing the flying.”
“In over his head?”
“Doesn’t look like it. He has enough hours for a commercial pilot. More than enough. And he’s instrument certified. Shit happens.”
“So what is this lawyer and PI stuff all about?” “Haven’t a clue yet.”
“Okay, man. You’ve done enough for one day.
Get some sleep. And thanks.” Billy slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at Angela. “It’s late. I should take you home.”
Her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. “Wow. Ten o’clock already.”
Sounds of chairs scratching against the floor followed by soft footsteps filled the air. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Finally, buckled into the front seat of the SUV, Angela turned to Billy. “It’s awful about Mr. Deluca.”
“It’s not just any man who can go from being a wild kid in jail to having the world by its tail. Damn waste.”
Angela nodded and then her brows crawled up her forehead. “Did you say jail?”
“Vehicular manslaughter. Served three years and obviously turned his life completely around. Successful businessman, family man, and philanthropist.”
“The few times we spoke, he seemed like a really nice guy. Pretty down to earth for someone willing to drop a couple million on beachfront property.”
“That’s my take on it.”
“I don’t get it. What do the detectives, the lawyers, and Mr. Deluca dying have to do with you and the shop?”
Billy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
* * *
Dreams of Joe and Deluca very much alive on the Kona Queen, laughing and partying with Doug, Jim, and the rest of his injured buddies, followed by cartoon sperm swimming upstream like salmon to spawn, haunted Billy most of the night. The idea of a life for a life relentlessly circled the hazy scenes. He’d finally fallen into a sound dreamless sleep at five only to have the alarm screaming at six.
“About time you showed up.” Nick looked up from his work. “It’s almost eight o’clock.”
“Bite me.” Billy tossed his keys on the desk and took a seat. “If it weren’t for the meeting with your wife, I wouldn’t be here at all. When the call’s done, I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
“Say again.”
“You heard me.”
“Yes, but it’s a shock to the system. I can’t remember you taking a day off. Ever.”
“Well, I’m due. As soon as we’re done, I’m out of here.”
“Look, I understand you deserve a day off, but do you think putting off this Deluca business is wise?”
“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure that’s going to be as big a problem as we thought. Brooklyn called. Deluca’s dead.”
Nick whistled.
“Plane crash. Eight days ago.”
“Wow. I wonder how this all fits together.”
“My thoughts exactly. Especially since all this seems to have started after the guy died.”
Nick leaned back in his seat. “Doubtful he’s suing us.”
“That’s my take on it.” Billy picked papers with the two phone numbers printed in Lexie’s bold handwriting.
“Shame, too. They were a nice family.”
Billy nodded.
“Well.” Nick blew out a resigned sigh, grabbed a sheet of paper off his desk, and moved over by Billy. “While we’re waiting for Kara, and before you take off for points unknown…”
Though Nick’s hesitation was undoubtedly to bait Billy into revealing his plans, he wasn’t biting.
“I’ve got some business to discuss. Word of the junior dive program is spreading faster than we anticipated. All the Bubblemaker classes are filled, and the waiting list is getting longer. We’ve also had several parents calling and wanting to know when we’re going to open the teen programs.”
“Wow.” Billy quickly scanned the list Nick handed him. “That’s a lot of interested parents.”
“And most of those names, I don’t recognize. We’re getting a whole new crowd of people, and some of these are booking snorkeling and other tours with us. The last few days we’ve had to turn people away with no room on the boats. If this keeps up, and I see no reason why it won’t, we’re going to have to trade in the Island Girl for a bigger boat and hire on more help.”
Billy accepted the next page Nick handed him. Completely full boats and a waiting list of names if a spot opened up. “I suppose this is a good problem to have.”
“The economy seems to be turning around. With the increased tourist traffic and the growing interest from the locals, we don’t have many other options.”
“I’ll go over the numbers. Talk to the bank. But it looks like we’re going to have an Island Girl
II.”
“Which only solves one problem. We still have to deal with the waiting list for the junior classes.” Nick paused a moment. “We could take on another instructor, but I don’t want to trust just anyone with the kids.”
There was no need for Nick to say anything more. Billy knew what he was thinking. That Billy could take on a couple of extra classes until they could find the right person. Early in the planning stages, Nick had made the same suggestion about the classes and taken them on himself before Lexie showed any interest in filling in. Jonathan was a good instructor, but he and kids got along like fingernails and a chalkboard. Billy liked kids. But he wasn’t going into the water. He was not.
“Let’s start looking for someone. They can work with Lexie until she gives the okay. Then we’ll add on some more classes. You or I can supervise until we’re sure all will be good.”
Almost Paradise Page 12
