Fourth of July (2 page)

“Let me guess, you were up late working on some important case.”

Chris yawned. He set his laptop on the papers covering the other half of the bed. The old mattress creaked. “Yeah, a big case.”

“What was it about?”

“Nothing too exciting.” Chris shook his head, sometimes he wondered if she was more interested in his work than in him. It was always a guessing game with beautiful women. Why they wanted to date an overworked, underpaid FBI agent. Some thought it was romantic, but that wore off quickly. Pushing off his soft bed, he arched to stretch the kink stuck in the small of his back.

“I wish you’d been with me last night,” she said. “You and your partner can’t be the only agents in D.C. fighting terrorism.”

He plucked a handful of shirts off the floor, tossing them at the laundry basket on his way to the window. Sunlight streamed into his small apartment as he twisted the blinds open and stared at the unappealing view of the grimy building next door. “No, we’re not, but sometimes it feels like it.”

“You work too much, and I’m not going to let you get away with it today.”

“Today?” Chris echoed.

“Good heavens, it’s the Fourth of July.”

“Oh, I knew that.” Chris winced. He really was tired. Maybe if he took a nap or tried those sleeping pills the beautiful psychiatrist, Alexis, had prescribed. He winced, remembering how uncomfortable it had been when the redheaded doctor had cornered him about not getting enough rest.

“Great. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for us.”

“Planned?” When had he made plans with Danielle? Running his fingertips through his matted hair, he tried to dredge up some sort of memory. Sleep deprivation couldn’t have made him that forgetful.

“Come on.” She let out a low, throaty laugh. “There’s got to be something fun and exciting you’re just
dying
to do with me.”

“Well…I’m sure Dylan will want to take the day off. What would you like to do?”

“Anything as long as it’s with you.”

Chris moved from the window. He glanced around at his messy room. Retrieving a garbage can from next to his bed, he started picking up food wrappers and wadded up notes with travel information and resort brochures. “Give me half an hour and I’ll pick you up. We’ll go to the parade on Constitution Avenue. I bet Dylan will be there with his wife and kids. You’ve met him. You’ll love Rachel and their kids.”

“Parades really aren’t my thing. I’ll come pick you up about noon. I’ll treat you to lunch, maybe Founding Farmers, and we’ll relax by the pool at my gym. Tonight I’ll let you take me to L’Auberge Provençale. I just love the atmosphere there. Don’t you?”

Chris shuddered at the thought of dining at L’Auberge Provençale. He could barely pronounce the name, let alone enjoy the upscale restaurant. Any place requiring a dress code and lacking prices on the menu made him uncomfortable. It always amazed him how particular Danielle was about where they went to eat when she picked at her food and watched him chew and swallow as if she were starving. He’d tried to encourage her to eat but it hadn’t helped.

“See you in a bit.” Chris hung up and lumbered into his bathroom. His reflection in the vanity mirror startled him. No wonder Alexis had insisted on the Ambien. He planted his hands on each side of the pedestal sink, staring at himself. His naturally olive skin looked sallow while his dark hair showed the lack of connection with a stylist’s scissors. The deep lines forming under his eyes were going to set up permanent residence if he didn’t find a way to relax.

He sighed, opening the glass shower door. Danielle was right. He worked too much and let the stress from his work invade his thoughts at night. He twisted the nozzle. Yet, what reason did he have not to spend his life at work? He didn’t have a sweet wife and two cute kids waiting for him at home like Dylan. Hot water poured over him, but didn’t ease the ache of being alone. The way his life was going, nothing ever would.

Inhaling gulps of fresh air, Alexis Osborne jogged along the wood-chipped path. She pushed a red curl away from her sweat-drenched face. She felt strong and vibrant, listening to the steady cadence of her footfalls as she gazed over the Potomac River.

She turned off the path and continued toward the Capitol and the picturesque Mall running loop. The historic monuments were an inspiring sight, especially on this bright Fourth of July morning. Quickly approaching the Lincoln Memorial, she forced herself to sprint the last hundred yards along the glistening Reflecting Pool.

Her legs felt like pudding when she slowed her pace and stopped on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial to catch her breath. The stunning scenery of the Reflecting Pool and Washington Monument in front of her, she pulled up on her ankle to stretch her aching quads. She resisted the urge to scratch at the scars on her midsection. For some reason sweat always agitated the marks.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and swiped. “Perfect timing, Brit.”

Her sister laughed. “As usual.”

Tourists streamed around her, but Alexis didn’t pay much attention to the crowd. “What’s up?”

“We’re just heading to the big parade in historic downtown Dayton, Idaho.”

Alexis switched legs. “Oooh. Are there four floats this year?”

“Five.”

“How’s my cute niece?”

“An angel.”

She deepened the stretch. “And jerk-bait?”

“The same.”

Alexis sighed. Steven Sherman was the perfect man—to everyone but his wife. Brittany hid the truth as well as her husband did. Alexis wished there was a way to make Brittany stand up for herself. Alexis set aside money from each paycheck just on the prayer that her sister would take it and run. “He makes my single life look better and better.”

“Don’t say that, Lex.” Brittany sounded morose. “Please tell me you aren’t turning down marriage proposals just because my marriage reeks.”

Alexis started retracing her path, walking so she could talk to her sister. The phone was slippery with sweat. “What marriage proposals?”

“You can’t even count that high anymore, huh?”

Alexis laughed.

“Aren’t you going out with Robert today?”

“Sailing.”

“On his yacht?” Brittany whistled. “Good girl. I saw him standing next to Senator Walred on CNN. Is your aspiring politician as good-looking in person as he is on screen?”

Alexis shrugged. ‘Not really. I think they cake him with makeup. In real life he has a hairy mole right next to his lip. Makes kissing a bit unappealing.”

Brittany giggled. “Stop.”

Alexis picked up the pace. She almost dropped the phone as she dodged several walkers. “Hey, Brit. I’ll have to call you tonight. I’m on a run and I can’t be late for Robert.”

“That would never do. He probably has to schedule you into his iPhone for every date. You couldn’t possibly make him wait.”

Alexis winced. That was exactly what he did. “I’m hanging up now. Kiss Savannah for me.”

“Kiss Robert for me.”

“Dream on.” Alexis dropped the phone back into her pocket and raced down the path.

RACHEL MCBRIDE PERCHED ON A BARSTOOL next to her headstrong daughter. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. Ten-thirty. The parade would start in an hour and the drive downtown would take at least a half-hour. Why was she always rushed? She sighed. All she wanted was one perfect day for her children but she couldn’t even manage a leisurely brunch.

The distinctive aroma of cooked oatmeal wafted up to her nose. Rachel turned away, unwilling to risk her meager breakfast of saltine crackers. She prayed the few bites she’d consumed would stay in her digestive tract where they belonged.

Madison tested her patience once again and hurrying her stubborn daughter only compounded the tension. Rachel counted to ten, inhaling several deep breaths. A resentful question kept surfacing from the far reaches of her mind.

Why couldn’t Dylan come home on time for once?

“Maddie,” she said through clenched teeth. “If you don’t finish your cereal, we
won’t
go to the parade today.”

Praying her threat would be effective, she extended a minuscule spoonful toward the reluctant six-year old.

“Don’t like parades.” Madison clamped her mouth shut and twisted her head away from her mother’s outstretched hand.

Rachel sighed, letting the spoon clink into the bowl. She studied the swaying branches of a large maple tree, willing the tranquil view to bring her the peace she desired.

Do I have to fight with her every single morning? Please help me, Lord. Give me patience
.

“I don’t know if you remember last year’s parade, but it was a lot of fun.” Rachel pasted a smile on her face as she attempted an alternative tactic. “There were so many neat things to see—fire trucks, marching bands, dancers, beautiful floats, and lots of candy.”

“Dancers?” Madison perked up.

Finally, she’d captured the young girl’s attention. Madison began ballet last year and the child thought herself the most graceful ballerina in the history of the art.

“Yes, dancers wearing beautiful costumes,” Rachel said, “I bet you could learn some great new moves.”

Madison smiled; her soft green eyes stared into space. Abruptly her smile fled and she eyed her mother with suspicion.

“How much candy can I eat?”

“A big handful if you eat something good for you first. Tyler’s all ready to go.”

“Go, Momma, go.” Two-year old Tyler ran up to his mother with a small truck in one hand and a toy bulldozer in the other. His grin lit up his blue eyes, crinkling his chubby cheeks. “See trucks, Momma, vroom, vroom.”

Rachel patted his wispy blond hair. “Yes, pumpkin, we’ll see trucks at the parade as soon as your sister eats her breakfast.” She turned pleading eyes toward Madison.

Madison eyed the oatmeal skeptically, tossing his dark hair.

“I don’t know if candy and dancers are worth eating mush.” She wrinkled her nose.

Rachel stayed quiet, not trusting herself to respond. What else could she do? When bribery failed, where did a mother turn?

“Can I have some cinnamon and sugar on it?” Madison asked. “Then it won’t taste so yucky.”

“Sure.” Rachel raced for the cupboard, returning with the container of cinnamon and sugar.

Madison lifted a bite toward her mouth. Rachel held her breath. The spoon screeched to a halt in midair.

What now?

“Mom! You forgot prayer,” Madison said.

“Oh, you’re right. I’ll offer it.” Rachel bowed her head.

“No way, yours are
too
short.”

Exactly why I wanted to say it
.

“I’ll say the prayer.” Without giving her mother a chance to reply, Madison began blessing family and friends and then said thank you for every item of dance paraphernalia known to mankind. Rachel tried not to utter a premature amen.

“And bless the bad people so they will want to be good and the good people so they will never want to be bad. Bless Tyler so he will remember to bow his head and shut his eyes. And...and...Amen!”

Rachel gestured toward the untouched oatmeal. Madison took one cautious bite and then another. Rachel sighed and hurried to gather her purse, sunscreen, and a couple water bottles. Her search for healthy snacks to counteract the sugar halted when she heard him.

“Hey, hey, hey!” His deep masculine voice rumbled from the garage entry.

“Dylan?”

“Daddy,” Madison squealed, abandoning her breakfast.

“Dadda!” Tyler attacked his father with Madison trailing two steps behind.

“How are my favorite kids?” Her tall, blond husband quickly took off the gun strapped to his back and put it in the safe in the laundry room before scooping up both children, happily receiving their wet kisses.

Rachel approached the trio.

“Hello, Gorgeous.” Dylan kissed Rachel’s forehead.

“I didn’t know if you’d make it.” Rachel hoped her voice wouldn’t relay her frustration over this morning’s tug-of-war with their daughter.

“Ah, come on, what kind of a dad would I be if I missed the Fourth of July parade?”

He tucked a child under each arm and spun a few circles, Madison and Tyler screamed with delight.

“More, more, puhleeze,” Tyler begged when they stopped.