Desire Unmatched: 4 (Coded for Love) (19 page)

Now back on the plane heading stateside, he dared to think
about Emma. Against his better judgment, she was heading to his parents’
tonight for a getting-to-know-you dinner. He’d advised her against it. He knew
his parents. They weren’t worth getting to know. She’d insisted, though.
Something about repairing relationships and opening lines of communication. He’d
let her psychobabble wash over his ears and drank back the sound of her voice
instead. He could listen to her talk all day. Another four hours and he
wouldn’t have to settle for international cell phone connections. He’d see her
in the flesh and, best of all, get to touch her.

* * * * *

Emma looked around curiously as she stepped over the
threshold into Xander’s childhood home. Mr. Bristack stepped back to usher her
in. He gallantly helped her off with her coat and gestured her toward the
kitchen, off to the right from the small living room.

“My wife’s back there finishing dinner.”

Her gaze followed his pointing finger, and she wondered for
the millionth time why she’d accepted an invitation to dinner from Xander’s
parents. She’d refused the invitation the first time. It had been easy to
refuse the invitation couched as a command when cornered in the cafeteria by
Mr. Bristack. It had been much more difficult to say to the melodic female
voice who’d called yesterday, practically begging her to come for dinner.

She told herself she’d agreed to the visit because she
missed Xander, and seeing his parents would be a way to be close to him.
Curiosity was the main reason. She was dying to meet Xander’s mother and see
the house in which he’d been raised.

For Xander, she could brave a night with his father in order
to meet the mother and see if there was any saving the relationship.

“Has Michael been in communication with you?” Mr. Bristack
asked as they stepped through a pleasant if dull-looking living room. It was all
earth tones with some floral print accents. She tried to get a better look at
the framed photos on the bookshelf lining the wall, but Mr. Bristack’s pace
kept her moving on through to the kitchen.

A tall, thin woman bent over the oven, pulling a hot pan
out. She straightened as soon as Emma crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

“Emma?” She plunked the hot pan onto a waiting trivet,
yanked off her oven mitts and stepped over to hold out her hand.

Emma grasped Xander’s mother’s hand and studied her, knowing
she was being studied also. Xander’s mom had dark hair and pale skin. She wore
a floral apron over a rather plain blouse and navy trousers. Not exactly June
Cleaver, but no Desperate Housewife either.

“You’re young,” Mrs. Bristack observed.

“I’m twenty-four, Mrs. Bristack.”

“Please, call me Judy. After all, I’m going to be your
mother-in-law.”

Unbidden surprise tears threatened to escape her eyes as she
assessed Judy’s offer. Her own mother had died of lung cancer when Emma was
fifteen, and she’d never found another mother-type figure in her life. The idea
that Xander’s mother could be hers was overwhelming. If her mother had lived
and she’d remained close to her father, how different this meeting would be. It
would be a gathering of families, not a single woman flying solo. Didn’t that
stink? At least Xander was coming home tonight. He’d texted that he’d meet her
at his parents’, along with at least nine additional texts asking if she truly
wanted to have dinner with his parents.

“Emma, would you like something to drink?”

“White wine, please.” She needed a little liquid courage to
make it through the night.

Xander’s father released a noise between a grunt and a
snort.

Judy pursed her lips but didn’t say anything as she went to
the refrigerator and pulled out a tall glass bottle half-full of pale-gold
liquid. Emma accepted a glass gratefully.

“I’m surprised you’re drinking, dear. Are you and Xander not
trying for a baby?” Judy asked. Ah, that’s what Mr. Bristack’s grunt and Judy’s
frown had been about. She’d best lay her cards on the table from moment one.

Mr. Bristack stalked to the fridge and pulled out a longneck
bottle of beer, popping the top with a clink.

“Not yet. As you said, I’m still young, and I’d like to
finish my university degree first.” She kept her attention on Judy and did her
best to ignore Mr. Bristack, who was pulling back gulps of beer and glowering
at her. “May I help with dinner?” she asked, and moved to the white-tile
counter mounted over golden-wood cabinets. Judy still hadn’t responded to her
answer about babies and was glancing nervously between Emma and her husband.

“No, Emma. Everything’s all ready. Got your wine? All right,
follow my husband that way to the dining room.” Xander’s mother seemed nervous,
but maybe that was her innate personality. Xander had said his father was
controlling and his mother had never countered his demands.

She followed Mr. Bristack—funny how she hadn’t been given
permission to use his first name—through the kitchen to the door opposite the
one they’d entered. A cozy dining room with a dark-wood oval table and gracious
blue wallpaper. Emma seated herself at the setting in the middle, leaving the
two opposite ends for the Bristacks.

When she and Mr. Bristack were seated, Judy walked in
holding a heavy platter between oven mitts. She noted Mr. B didn’t lift a
finger to help. As Judy spun to return to the kitchen for more food, she rose
to go help, ignoring the protests. She grabbed the wooden salad bowl and the
plastic bottle of dressing. Not homemade. Judy grabbed the rest of the meal.

The food was all out on the table now and there was nothing
left to do but sit down and try to make conversation. Neither of Xander’s
parents made it easy. Her man was quiet, but silences between them weren’t
awkward like the one that filled the dining room.

“Emma, you’re from England?” Judy asked, finally breaking
the uncomfortable silence.

She swallowed her bite of salad. “Yes, Telford to be exact,
a small town about two hours outside London proper.”

Mr. Bristack
harrumphed
again and took a large drink
from his beer.

“Do you have a problem with England?”

His eyes narrowed in her direction. “Surprised my son
couldn’t find a match out of all the women in the States.”

She remembered what Samara had told her about the matching
process. “It’s likely he does have a good match here in the colonies.” Emphasis
on
colonies
. “But he found me first.” She waited for Judy to jump in and
say anything. How glad they were he’d found her. Anything. But no, she sat,
head bent over her salad, chewing in a steady rhythm.

Mr. Bristack’s gaze on her remained steady. “Maybe that
woman’ll show up one of these days. Lot of women signing on to match, now we’re
public.”

She blinked, not sure she’d heard him correctly. “Are you
suggesting Xander would match with more than one woman?”

“No reason he couldn’t. More babies means more soldiers.
With the damn terrorists, we need more enhanced soldiers on our side.”

“There’s one problem with your scenario, Mr. Bristack.” She
met his gaze without blinking. “Xander loves
me
.” The tension in the
room ratcheted and it became a contest to see who would break their stare
first.

“Would you like a piece of chicken, Emma?” So Judy felt the
need to speak. The consummate peacemaker.

She could be gracious. Even if Xander’s father made her want
to hurl her knife in his direction. “Of course, Judy. Thank you.” She held the
porcelain plate in Judy’s direction and accepted the meal. The only reason
she’d come was to learn more about Xander as a child. Might as well turn it
into supper conversation. “What was Xander, I mean Michael, like as a boy?” she
asked, turning her head toward both parents.

“Obedient,” said Mr. Bristack.

“Quiet,” Judy said at the same time.

Her stomach shifted uncomfortably. Neither word was the kind
you wanted to hear in association with a child, especially an energetic boy.
“What did he like to do? Did he like sports or any favorite programs on the
telly?” She already knew the answer to that one but wanted to see how they’d
handle the subject.

“He preferred reading over television,” Judy said.

Because he hadn’t had a choice, but she kept her opinion
quiet and took a bite of her chicken.

“I know what you’re doing,” Mr. Bristack said in a low,
rough voice.

She stopped chewing.

“You think we abused our son. That’s what the twenty
questions is about.” He gripped his fork with white knuckles.

“Mike.” Judy’s unhappy voice flew across the table.

“No, Judith. She’s trying to make a point about something
she doesn’t understand.”

Emma couldn’t eat. The chicken tasted as if she’d chewed off
a bit of the wooden table, and the salad was being tossed in her stomach.

“We raised our son to be a soldier. It was our duty, and we
honored it. We didn’t have the luxury of raising a spoiled brat.”

She swallowed under his angry stare.

“Let other American children join little leagues and get
trips to Disney. Program sons have a mission. I raised my son to honor that
mission. And survive.”

“Mike,” Judy said again. “Emma was only asking about Xander
because I’m sure she was being friendly. Weren’t you, dear? They’re newly
matched and in love.”

She could only nod silently and rather frantically.

“Stop calling him that. His name is Michael.” Mr. B slammed
down his fork. “You want to know what Michael was like as a child? Follow me.”
He pushed away from the table, the chair rocking on its legs threatening to
crash backward.

Emma’s gaze tracked him as he stormed out of the dining
room.

“You coming?” His words flew into the room, compelling her
to rise and follow. Judy remained seated, chewing as if her life depended on
it. No help from that corner. She walked through the house at Mr. Bristack’s
heels down a hallway and through a doorway that led to a narrow staircase. She
blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light her host flicked on.

Curious, she glanced around the shadowy room filled with
storage boxes and a gun rack. She’d hazard a guess every gun was loaded and
cleaned nightly. There was nothing of the promised information on Xander as far
as she saw. “Wh—” She turned to question Mr. Bristack, but the words stuck on
her tongue as Xander’s dad came toward her with a wickedly sharp knife. She
intensely disliked the man, but she’d never taken him for a murderer.

“Hold your arm out, Emma.” He barked the order at her as if
she’d meekly obey.

Hell no.

“I’m not going to kill you.” Impatience threaded his words.

“Then put the knife down.” She was stunned her voice sounded
steady and clear, not the shaking bowl of soup her insides felt like.

“Give me your damn arm.” He didn’t wait for her compliance
and grabbed her arm, twisting it. Hard.

She cried out, then clamped her lips closed, refusing to
give him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her. “What are you doing?”
she asked in a shout as Mr. Bristack held her tightly with one hand. Her feet
skittered on the dusty concrete floor as she tried to break out of his grip.
His free hand groped around the fleshy inside of her upper arm until he
stopped.

“Found it,” he muttered.

At once she understood with a sickening realization. He’d
found her birth control insert. The little medical intervention she’d insisted
Samara give her. It would keep her pregnancy-free for two years unless it was
removed. It was the thing that allowed her to sleep at night. Knowing she had
control of that aspect of her life was a comfort, especially after her months
as Paulson’s captive. No one other than Samara and Xander knew she had it.

“Let me go,” she screamed, wriggling and kicking, trying to
break free with all her strength. It was no use. Mr. Bristack might have been
older, but he was a genetically enhanced soldier, and trained to boot. The tip
of his knife broke the soft white flesh of her arm, and a drop of blood beaded.
“Judy!” she shrieked. “Help.”

“Stay still or I’ll cut the whole arm off,” Xander’s dad
said. “In my day, birth control was banned. You think it’s cute fooling my son
like this? Tricking him into sex knowing there’s no chance of breeding?”

“Xander knows,” she gasped, doing her best to escape his
ever-tightening grip. “He refused to sleep with me until I told him I was on
birth control.”

“Liar.” His hand tightened and the knife made another cut.

She opened her mouth to scream, to tell the insane man
exactly why Xander refused to have children, but suddenly the hands holding her
body dropped off. Mr. Bristack collapsed on her feet.

She whirled to see Xander’s mother standing there, a large,
heavy frying pan in her shaking hands. The pan still held the oily drippings of
the night’s dinner. “Judy!” They stared at each other.

“Is he dead?” Judy asked in a low, thin voice.

Emma nudged the crumpled body with the toe of her black
ballet flat. “No, he’s still breathing.” She looked at Judy. “You saved me.”

“I did?” Their gazes met. “I did.”

“Emma?” A new voice entered the house. Elation filled her at
the sound.

“Xander. We’re here,” she screamed up the stairs. Judy
remained silent. She looked shell-shocked, and Emma stood ready to catch her if
she fainted.

Xander burst into the room, his boots hitting the concrete
floor with a louder thwack than a racket hitting a ball at Wimbledon. “Emma?
Mom? What are you doing down here?”

He took in the scene. His father in a heap on the floor. His
mother holding a pan. Emma white-faced with blood running down her arm. Emma.
Blood. Holy shit. “What the hell happened here?” he roared.

Emma reached out to him, which didn’t help the situation
because it gave him a better look at the inside of her arm smeared in crimson.
“Why are you bleeding, Emma?” He thought he’d done an admirable job of keeping
his voice calm until she told him to stop shouting.