Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) (13 page)

The CIA agent surprised her. “Deal. What did you say to the man who tried to shoot you yesterday in the restaurant kitchen?”

“Pardon?” She frowned in confusion.

“You said something to him in a foreign language just before I, er…turned up,” said Brennan.

“Oh.
That
.” A vision of blood droplets spinning off a blade flashed through her mind. She swallowed the lump of residual terror the memory resurrected. “I asked him in Arabic why he was doing it—shooting people.”

“Did he understand you?” Killion asked.

She nodded. “He didn’t say anything but I could tell from the way his eyes widened that he understood what I was saying to him and he was surprised I spoke the language.”

“Did he say anything back to you?” Killion’s pale, blue eyes bored into hers.

“All he did was pull the trigger of his very big gun, and try to wipe me and two little children off the face of the earth.”

“Does Michael understand Arabic?” Killion prodded.

Every cell inside her body froze.
When he was a baby she’d often played language CDs. It helped with her fluency and, yes, she’d hoped it might rub off on Michael, but she didn’t know for sure if any of it had stuck. “No, he does not.”

Killion stared at her for a long moment and then gave her a curt nod. “You’re lucky to have made it through yesterday alive. I’m going to walk the perimeter of the property if it’s all right with you guys?” The dramatic change in subject stunned her. Classic approach when you wanted people to be constantly off balance. She blew out a breath wondering if he’d believed her or not. “I’ll check the security and layout while you speak to Agent Brennan? See if he can persuade you I’m not going to eat the kid alive.”

“I’ll show you ’round,” said Rogers. “Snow’s at least a foot deep so you might want to borrow some boots.”

The intelligence officer turned his back on her and Brennan. She didn’t get the guy. Did he really not understand Michael was a troubled little boy? Or did he think it was all some kind of trick? One thing she knew about those guys was they trusted no one. Ever. So maybe they had more in common than she thought.

CHAPTER EIGHT

J
ed picked up the plastic bag he’d placed on the island and held it out to her. “The stuff you wanted for Michael.”

There was something so honest and earnest about this guy that he was burrowing beneath all her defenses. Her brain screamed danger because as cynical and jaded as she was, she trusted this guy and she should know better. She cleared her throat. “I appreciate that. Thanks.”

“Can I go say ‘hi’ to Michael?” he asked.

“Only if you don’t mention Killion.” She still hadn’t fed her son breakfast and grabbed the milk and cereal and toast that the marshal had started to prepare, then searched the cupboards for a tray. “He was asleep when I came down. We can go take a peek and see if he’s awake yet.”

He stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “How long has it been like this?”

Her brain scrambled at the simple question. There had been a time when she’d been considered sophisticated and composed. She didn’t know if it was motherhood, divorce, or Michael’s uncertain diagnosis that had stripped her of those attributes. “I don’t understand the question…?”

“Michael. How come he stopped talking?”

Ah.
She put down the tray and rested her hands on the counter top. Closed her eyes. This would be a good time to spell out exactly what her life was like rather than fuel some stupid fantasy that only existed in her mind. Hysterical, divorced, single moms were not attractive to hot
I-can-have-any-woman-I-want
FBI special agents. She needed to lay her craziness on the table and back away from the nice man. “It’s tied to the breakup between me and Michael’s father four years ago.”

He stared at her intently, so she carried on. “Which was all my fault apparently.”

“Naturally.”

“David said I was cold and distant. Controlling.”

Brennan’s eyes suggested he disagreed, but he didn’t know her very well.

“He was right.” She didn’t need platitudes. She didn’t need lies. “Michael was a normal baby. Cute and vocal.” How his father had hated his colicky cries. She pushed the man out of her thoughts. He’d infected her with cynicism and bitterness and she was sick of it. “He was a normal baby. He exhibited a minor degree of autism as a toddler, right on the edge of the spectrum, he liked his things to go in the exact right place and was absorbed by patterns and symmetry. He still likes routine—I mean
really
likes routine. He goes to bed at the same time every night, and he doesn’t even need a clock to do it, another reason yesterday was hard on him. As a baby he had no obvious disabilities and was considered ‘normal’ right up until the day he was pushed off a play structure at daycare and hit his head. He suffered a severe concussion. Needless to say I freaked out.”

She looked at Brennan then. Let him see that beneath her exterior she was a raving lunatic when it came to her son—although he’d already seen her at her worst, handcuffed by the cops and screaming at him from a concrete floor. She probably still owed him an apology for that. “I couldn’t get hold of Michael’s father after the accident. He had a history of ignoring my calls,”—some things never changed—“Michael and I got home from the hospital and I still hadn’t heard from him. At nine PM he comes home complaining that I called the office too much and was constantly bothering him and his staff. I told him about Michael’s accident, and he told me that kids got hurt in the playground all the time. It was
good
for them. Then I told him Michael had a concussion and hadn’t spoken since the accident. Rather than acting like a concerned parent, David went all hard-core military on him. He yelled and screamed, but Michael still didn’t speak and frankly seemed pretty pleased about it—it was as if he’d suddenly found something his father couldn’t control.”

“You think he deliberately stopped talking?”

She raised both hands, palm out. “I don’t know. Did shock turn to anger and then into a defense mechanism against a man who abused him?” Brennan stiffened but didn’t say anything. “Or did the bump on the head somehow damage the part of his brain that controls speech? I don’t know.” Agitation swirled inside her. “All I do know is that when Michael didn’t speak, David hit him, twice.” She clamped her jaw shut. She’d never forgive him for that. Or herself for letting it happen. “I told him to leave and never come back. Turned out
that
wasn’t a problem because he’d already found a beautiful woman called ‘Julie’ who was neither cold, distant, nor controlling.” Her eyes turned diamond hard. “So maybe it wasn’t
all
my fault, after all. Just most of it.”

He took her hand, gripping her fingers tight, as if he had no intention of letting her go, but that was a foolish thought. It made her realize that underneath all the hurt and heartbreak she was still a romantic. Kind of pathetic really.

“You should have kicked his ass.”

“Honestly, if I’d had a gun, I’d have shot the bastard.” At the time she’d wanted to hurt David even a fraction of how much he’d hurt her and Michael, but then she’d just wanted rid of him. Some of the remnant anger dissolved on a ragged exhale. “We’re better off without him, trust me.” She rubbed her forehead with her free hand. Raking up the past always made her feel slightly ill. Seeing all the mistakes she’d made in glorious Technicolor hindsight was humbling. “The point I’m trying to make is no one can tell me which of those events stole Michael’s voice, or if it’s a result of the autism that the experts aren’t even positive Michael suffers from.” Uncertainty was one of the things that constantly ate at her. Hard to fix a problem when you didn’t know the cause.

“And I suppose your ex is also the same guy who taught you that men lie?” Brennan watched her carefully.

“He’s one of them.” She gave him a direct stare.

Brennan nodded as if acknowledging the lies he’d told her. But they were different. And to balance the lies, he’d kept every promise he’d made. She knew the difference.

She heard footsteps and then watched Inspector Patton walk to the front door whistling. She’d bet a thousand dollars he’d eavesdropped on every word. Not that it really mattered.

She picked up the tray and Brennan followed her up the stairs. For a big man he moved like a ghost. She got tingles from him being so close, but ignored it. It was just a long time since she’d spent time in the company of a man she found to be the slightest bit attractive; it whispered to the echo of the woman she’d once been.

Brennan moved ahead of her to get the bedroom door. He waved her through and then held up the bag of supplies he’d bought. “Hey, bud! Rise and shine!”

So much for seeing if Michael was awake…

She rolled her eyes as Brennan strode into the room and she tried not to wince as she saw her case open, lingerie on full display. She set down the tray on the bedside table. Stroked her son’s hair off his forehead and used her foot to shut the lid of the case. Michael’s gaze glanced off her and away. That single action made all thoughts of clothes and Special Agent Brennan fade into insignificance. The idea of her son just drifting away terrified her.

The fed sat on the bed, making the mattress dip. “Whatcha doing, sport? Caught any bad guys today?”

There was a flicker of a smile and then an infinitesimal shake of Michael’s head. She blinked. For whatever reason her son connected with this man. She was right to include him in the meeting with the cold, calculating CIA agent.

“I’ve got some good stuff for you in here, but first you’ve got to eat breakfast. Come on.” Brennan plumped pillows and then hoisted Michael upright in bed. He handed him the milk first and Vivi held her breath as she watched her son take a sip. Finally. “Now eat this.” Brennan bit into a slice of toast. “And I’ll show you what I brought you.”

Brennan started pulling things out of the bag while Michael took a bite of toast. The man’s easy manner and lack of fussing really worked. Vivi didn’t even care about crumbs in the bed as long as her son was eating.

He presented Michael with one of his favorite types of books. An encyclopedia. And an almanac. Michael loved non-fiction but Brennan had also included some Pokémon sticker annuals and cards. He held out an advanced Sudoku book to her. She shook her head quickly and nodded toward Michael. He didn’t miss a beat. “Any good with these things, Mikey? They drive me ’round the bend.”

Her eyes widened at the nickname. His buddies called him that at school. Michael took the book and smoothed his hand over the cover. There was more than a spark in his eyes now. He loved math puzzles. He grinned up at her for the first time in twenty-four hours and she smiled back. Emotions clutched at her heart until it threatened to tear itself apart. Brennan’s dark gaze found hers and then he grinned too. It transformed his face from good-looking to ridiculously handsome.

The effect was so overwhelming. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach started to Kamikaze dive parts of her body that had been dormant for years. She already felt such a wealth of gratitude toward this guy but now it was morphing into something stronger, something deeper that manifested itself in an intense attraction she wasn’t prepared for.

His eyes searched hers as if he felt it too.

She looked away.

She couldn’t afford to fall for this guy. Michael could not afford to fall for this guy. Because if he did and Jed left…she didn’t want to think about how that would make her son feel. She didn’t want to think about how it would make her feel either. She’d been there and wasn’t keen to repeat the experience.

Noises from downstairs alerted them that both the marshal and intelligence officer had returned.

“Brennan?” Killion yelled up the stairs.

“On my way.” Brennan stood. “Bye, Mikey. See you later, OK?” He ruffled his carrot-colored hair and got another tiny smile in response. More than she’d got in the last eight hours. She could kiss the guy for that alone.

Outside the bedroom door, he turned and almost bumped into her. “I promise I won’t let Killion hound Michael or push him beyond the mildest coaxing—that’s assuming the doc gives permission.” He picked at a stray down feather on his shirt. “But having him ask the hard questions might be easier than you doing it.”

Reality washed over her and she crossed her arms over her chest. He was right about that. “But he doesn’t speak, Jed.” His given name slipped easily on her tongue. Too easily. She wanted to keep him at a distance and think of him as a federal agent—just a federal agent. “How can he answer that man’s questions if he doesn’t speak?”

“Can he write or type?” Brennan was being patient with her, not
handling
her—which had always driven her insane—but trying to help her figure this out.

Agitation swirled inside her. She shook her head. “Last time he used a tablet at school he dropped it and it broke. After that he wouldn’t touch them.” Scared of getting into trouble because he’d spent the first four years of his life being yelled at whenever he made a mistake.

Why had she stayed with David for so long?
Because you believed in the sanctity of marriage and, dammit, he’d been gone most of the time.
She squeezed her eyes closed. Old memories weren’t helping today’s situation. “I hope I can get him to start drawing again soon, but he doesn’t always draw what I ask him to. Sometimes he draws whatever is in his head in no particular order.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Brennan shrugged like it was no big deal, but Michael’s life might depend on this.

She started to shake.

“Hey.” He gently gripped her upper arms and some of his strength seeped into her own tired muscles. “If we can’t keep two people safe from a known threat then we shouldn’t bother turning up for work every morning. We will catch these people, with or without Michael’s assistance. You’re both safe here. I swear on my life you’re safe.”

“O-k-kay,” she stuttered. “I’m just not very good at relying on others or…”