His Secret Child (Slade Security Team Series Book 2) (3 page)

Slade watched Bethany closely. She glanced down at her fingers, laced them together, unlaced them, and put her palms flat on her thighs. He knew she was trying to decide whether to tell a lie or the truth. She looked up at him, her blue eyes clear and bright, and he knew she’d decided on the truth.

“I don’t know. She told me…when she left Brock, she gave me all this crap about how she couldn’t live with the fear that he wouldn’t return from wherever he was, putting his life on the line. She’d married a SEAL—she knew what his life was like. I asked her about that. She said she’d thought she could handle it. I thought all of it was bull. Tayra…Tayra was the original grass is greener on the other side type of person. Then…well, she started showing, had to stop drinking, and it was obvious she was going to have a baby, and I asked her about that. She swore she’d call Brock. Then she said she had called him and he’d told her to have an abortion.”

“Brock would never…”

“I know, I know…you guys are all about honor, duty, country…protecting those you love. I only met Brock a few times—at their wedding and a few family events, but it was obvious he was crazy for her. But I figured that was Tayra’s way of telling me to butt out. Tayra…she…she always knew how to get her way.”

The corner of Slade’s mouth curved. “Yeah, Tayra was good at that.”

“Don’t I know it? I grew up in her shadow. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her, but there were times…”

“You’re guilty. You’re alive, she’s dead, and there were times that you hated her.”

Bethany glanced down at her hands. She didn’t wear a ring, but she rubbed her thumb as if she had one on. Standing, she headed for the kitchen, calling back, “Want something else to drink? There’s still lemonade left.”

Slade followed her. “Did Tayra think Brock would take Jason from her? That doesn’t make sense. All she’d have to do would be to produce a few tears for him.”

Bethany leaned her palms on the counter. She stood in front of the sink window, her head bent, her shoulders slumped. She looked tired. Slade suddenly wished he could make this easier for her, but he still wasn’t sure if this was a scam or not. There were too many unanswered questions.

Tayra keeping quiet about Jason made sense if Brock wasn’t the father, if Tayra had slept around; and knowing what he knew about her, Slade couldn’t rule that out. There was also another possibility, but Slade shied away from that one. He’d push that down to the bottom of his list, for after he’d ruled out everything else.

Keeping his voice quiet—it seemed to him that the walls in this place were probably paper thin—he asked, “Would you object to a DNA test? Or a blood typing at least?”

She turned to face him, her eyes fierce and bright. “Oh, yeah, that’s what Jason needs right now, even more hospital visits. That’ll cheer him right up; since he just saw his mom go into a hospital and never come out.”

Slade held up a hand. “You said he needs surgery. The DNA testing can be worked in with that.”

She shook her head. “You don’t get it. I don’t want him to be proven to be Brock’s son.” Pushing past him, she pulled out a folder from a pile of paperwork on the counter. She held it out to Slade. “I just want Brock to sign this—I want him to give up any rights to Jason.”

“And the money?” Slade asked.

She crossed her arms. “If you or Brock wants to help Jason out, that would be the right thing to do.”

“So you’re counting on our good will?”

She shrugged. “I’m trying to follow Tayra’s dying wishes. She wanted you guys called—so I called. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some sleep, and you should be heading for your motel, if you want to make it tonight. ”

A cold chill crept down Slade’s back. He had the feeling that his too quick research on this area had been a little too cursory. “Hotel? Isn’t there a bed and breakfast in town?”

***

Bethany’s jaw slackened, but she kept her mouth from falling open. She wanted to let out a laugh, but she held that back, too. “Mrs. Sutter’s B&B is not a place you’d want to stay. She’s eighty-five, and won’t hire anyone to do her cleaning—even the raccoons won’t go into her place anymore. The nearest motel is fifty miles away, and if you didn’t make reservations, good luck. We’re in prime fishing season, and the motel’s next to a lake.”

His face tightened—annoyance, Bethany thought—but he lifted a shoulder as if it didn’t matter. Or, as if he could handle anything. “Won’t be the first time I’ve slept in my car. I’ll wish you a good night.” He turned and headed for the front door.

Let him go
, she told herself. But she knew how cold it could get at night, even in the summer, and with the streetlights glaring overhead, and…and what would Jason say tomorrow when Slade appeared rumpled and looking like five miles of bad road?

“Slade?” she called out. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and half turned. She waved at the short hallway. “This place has a guest room. I’ve been sleeping in Tayra’s old room—it shares a bath with Jason’s room, so it’s easy enough to keep an eye on him at night.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts?” he asked, his mouth curving in that irritatingly attractive smile.

She ignored the question. “You can stay the night, but I’d like you gone tomorrow.” Turning, she headed for the bedroom that had been Tayra’s.

Was she nuts to let him stay? She knew next to nothing about him, but Slade Security did have a reputation as the go-to people for dealing with threats or potential threats. Jason had said he was a good guy. She smiled at herself, shook her head, and changed into a baggy Blazers T-shirt that she used for sleeping. She also checked the Colt she kept in the nightstand. Slade might be a good guy, but she still believed in back up plans.

She was also hoping he’d read the dang agreement and take it with him to get Brock to sign it.

***

Slade glanced into the guest room. It held a single bed, a dresser, and impersonal décor with feminine pastel colors and floral touches. He decided he’d try the couch. It wasn’t long enough for him, but not much was—he’d had his bed custom made. He also pulled up the Internet on his smart phone and made a few purchases. Bethany Simmons might want him here and gone again, but he wasn’t leaving until he unraveled a few mysteries.

Why had Tayra wanted him and Brock here as a dying wish? Why had she lied to her own sister about the boy? Was Bethany on the level about what she wanted? He really wanted to believe in her—but he’d known Tayra, and she hadn’t been someone to trust.

Restless, he toed off his shoes and took a quick tour of the house. A half bath stood off of the guest room. The room Bethany had gone into had a closed door, but Jason’s door stood ajar. He glanced in.

The moon had risen and the boy lay sleeping with one hand wrapped around a stuffed teddy bear. He frowned. He’d seen that bear before. Brock had brought it home from China for Tayra, carried it tucked inside his go-to bag on the extraction from a covert mission. He shook his head. She’d cared for Brock—had loved him maybe, in her own way. But she’d bailed on him. Why hadn’t she been able to stick it out?

He backed out of the room, headed back to the couch. He took off his shirt—no sense wrinkling it and he had on a wife-beater underneath. Shutting off the lights, he spent an hour handling email, catching up on reports, and making sure the business could deal with him being away for a few days. He started to yawn, so he shut down his phone and stretched out.

A soft sobbing woke him. He came awake in an instant and lay still—assess, then act. Those were the habits drilled into him. He wondered if it was Jason, but the sound was coming from the kitchen. He sat up and rose, keeping the movements slow enough to be silent. He crossed the floor, keeping his weight light and balanced on the balls of his feet.

Bethany stood in the kitchen, leaning on the kitchen sink as she had earlier, except now she had her hands over her face. Soft sobs leaked from her fingers. Dawn brightened the sky, spilling a soft light over her curls and giving her skin a pale glow. He could see a flash of bare thigh, a shoulder half revealed by the baggy, rust-colored T-shirt she wore.

He couldn’t stand the misery in her sobs.

He reached out and touched her shoulder.

She pulled back with a jerk. He ignored that and gathered her into his arms. She stiffened, but he held on and whispered, “It’s okay. Let it go. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

What a stupid thing to say, but Slade’s arm closed around her, and she couldn’t imagine anything better. She’d always suffered from nightmares—terrors really. Vivid dreams that left her sweaty and shivering with her heart pounding. Stress made them worse. It was one reason she’d chosen freelance work over the corporate world—she hadn’t been able to handle the stress of a high tech job.

But Slade felt like a rock—no, way better. He was solid and big and warm. He held her close, not so tightly that she couldn’t breathe, but supporting her, as if she’d never be able to fall. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held her.

He smelled of something musky that reminded her of hot summer nights. She could hear his breathing—steady and even, and her cheek was pressed against his chest, where his heart thudded in a regular rhythm.

She knew the instant the hug changed from comfort to something else.

His pulse quickened. He pulled back slightly, his breath catching. He’d pulled off his shirt, and moonlight glinted off of the bunched muscles in his forearms and biceps. She didn’t know where to put her hands, so she put them on him.

He leaned down, taking her lips in a kiss that didn’t ask permission, but took it.

She wrapped her arms around him, lifted one leg, and caught it behind his, feeling the texture of his trousers against her skin. Tongues tangled, he pushed his hand through her hair—she hung onto him until she was gasping for breath.

He pulled back a fraction, and she let him, dizzy and giddy. His voice sounded low and rough. “That should never have happened.”

Bethany traced a finger down one lean cheek. “You can tell a lot about a man by the way he kisses.” She ran her finger over his bottom lip. “You’ve got some mad skills there.”

Dropping his hands, Slade stepped back. “Maybe I should rethink that hotel.”

She shook her head. “I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions.”

“You also just lost a sister and you’re dealing with a lot. Don’t get me wrong, that was great. But…”

“You’d rather not be a consolation prize?” She swallowed the disappointment. Mindless sex was probably not the answer to her problems, but she could use the distraction. And, yeah, he was giving her an eyeful now.

The kitchen had brightened. With his shirt off and a white wife-beater showing off tan skin, muscles, and a hint of dark chest hair, he looked good enough to have for breakfast.

She moved away and started to make coffee, grinding the beans, dumping the grounds into a metal basket. She moved to fill the pot with water, but her hands shook. Leftovers from that dream—she’d been the one in the coffin, the one being buried, and she’d still been alive.

Slade must have seen the tremor in her fingers. He took the coffee pot from her—an old fashioned percolator—and turned on the water to fill it. The pipe banged and water spat out in a cold stream. “Somehow I don’t think coffee’s the best thing for you right now.”

She offered a smile and pushed a hand into her tangled curls. “Probably not, but it’s hot and I’ll take it.”

He glanced at her, his lips curving. “How about a truce? For a few days. Seems to me you could use some help—some support at the least.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“Information. I think we both need that. About Tayra, what she wanted—and what Jason wants. That’s got to factor into this.”

She stiffened, turned away, and lit the fire under the coffee pot. “He’s just a boy.”

“He’s old enough to have an opinion, and it should matter. It looks to me like he’s had you and Tayra coddling him a little too much.”

She rolled her eyes. “Here it comes—a little boy needs a man.”

“Yeah, he does. He needs role models. He also needs to start getting some respect.”

She pressed her lips tight. The coffee began to percolate, making a soft bubbling sound, and the scent of it filled the kitchen. She tipped her head to one side. “Are you really here to help?”

“I’m here because you called.”

“For Brock Wells—and I got you instead. Unless I missed my guess, you’ve got an agenda here. There’s a reason you came instead of sending Brock, or bringing him with you.”

She saw him stiffen. The muscles in his jaw tightened ever so slightly and she knew she’d hit pay dirt with that last comment. But he only said, “I’m here to make sure Brock doesn’t get scammed.” He fixed a steady stare on her. “But I’d also like to make sure that boy doesn’t become a playing piece in anyone’s game.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like you have a personal stake in this.”

***

Slade let out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He hated to talk about the past, hated to even think about it. It was done, gone, and buried. But Bethany was staring at him, eyes bright and her chin jutting forward slightly, and he knew she wouldn’t leave it alone. He had to tell her something.

“My dad was military. Folks divorced when I was nine. My younger brother and I got to be the territory my folks fought over. I did my best to look out for my brother, but the back and forth was harder on him than it was on me. I went into the service at seventeen and didn’t look back. He didn’t do so well. Took him five years to drag himself out of drugs and booze, but he did it. He’s got his own family now. He’s stable, doing well.”

“And you were left thinking all marriages go that way?”

“No, more like thinking most folks don’t fight hard enough to hang on to what they have. Tayra could have fought harder, but she didn’t. I still don’t really know why she bailed on Brock, but I do know she couldn’t be talked out of it.” That was all he wanted to say about it.

Bethany turned and pulled two mugs down from the cupboard. She set them down with a sharp clink on the tile counter. “My own folks should have divorced and didn’t. They hung on all right—till the bitter end. We had the police over about once a month when the arguments got loud enough. Our folks never had time for us—they were too busy fighting. For Tayra, it left her hungry for attention, and not always in a good way. I buried myself in computer code. Sometimes I wonder if all of that left Tayra hating any kind of confrontation. She’d always rather bail on a boyfriend instead of standing her ground and having a fight about anything.”

“But not you?” Slade asked. He heard what she wasn’t saying—how she came out of it just as much a fighter as her folks.

She turned away, pulled open the fridge door, and took out half and half. “How do you take your coffee?”

Slade was starting to think she was better than he was at ducking personal questions that cut too close to the truth. He picked up a cup, held it smooth and cool in his hand. “Black’s fine.” She poured it and used both hands to hold the pot steady. The steam and aroma reached him, and his mouth watered. There were few things better than that first cup of coffee in the morning. Bethany bit her lower lip as she poured, and Slade’s thoughts went back to that kiss. Okay, so that was better.

He wanted to kiss her again—kiss her senseless, leave her eyes darkening with passion, and empty her mind. He wanted to drag off that shapeless T-shirt and see what she looked like naked, and fit his palms over her breasts. He wanted to smell her and taste her.

But none of that would be smart.

The tears could be an act—the timing was about right to hook him in with the poor female who needed a strong shoulder to cry on. She could play him now for a fool who could be won over with sex, and she’d probably be able to pull that off. He’d always been a sucker for damsels in distress. Besides, get any guy cranked up and his mind ended up down in his pants. Slade was still half hard from that kiss. He still wanted more from her. He had to be careful. She was beautiful dynamite.

She poured her own coffee, added a large dollop of cream, stirred in two sugars. He smiled. “Take a little coffee with your cream?”

She leaned a hip against the counter. “Let’s say I take you up on your offer. I…I have to tell you, my love life’s been dismal over the last few years, and completely non-existent over the last few months. I’m attracted to you. I’m not going to be coy about that. All of that means I’m not sure how smart it is to let you stay around.”

“I’m too much temptation?” Slade asked. He couldn’t keep the humor out of his voice.

Bethany nodded. “Something like that. But…Jason likes you. And you’re not wrong about him needing a role model of some kind. However, if this is part of some plan to get him away from me—”

“You’ll rip off my head and let Jason use it for batting practice?”

She smiled. “Something like that.”

“Great.” He lifted his coffee to her. “Sounds like we’ve got everything all worked out.”