Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) (17 page)

The two women had been friends and neighbors for as long as Maisey could remember. That lifelong bond was comforting—to a point. As much as Maisey enjoyed having her two moms with her, she was now as scared for them as she was for herself, her son, and Nash.

The six-bedroom home was located in an affluent Jacksonville suburb, and Nash had left all of them in the capable hands of four stone-faced men who weren’t especially chatty, but seemed intent on doing their job. Nash explained that the place belonged to a businessman they’d helped out of a dicey situation. He was currently working in China and welcomed them to stay indefinitely. All of which was convenient, but hardly put Maisey at ease. The thought that somewhere out there, Vicente was stalking her to get his hands on their son made bile rise in her throat.

“Why so glum?” Gloria asked after placing her latest tile.

“I’m restless. Nash should have called by now.”

“Relax,” Maxine took her turn. “You and the baby are safe and well protected. You’ll hear from him soon.”

“You know what I want to hear about . . .” Gloria shared a laugh with Maxine, then they toasted with their lemonades. “During all that time you and Nash were on the run, were there sparks?”

I wish
. “You mean other than the ones coming from gun barrels?”

Maxine cringed.

Gloria shuddered. “I’ll never get used to my son being in danger. He was upset about leaving the Navy, but I was secretly relieved. Then he joined this security firm and he’s right back in perpetual trouble. I’d hoped he’d settle down to a nice job in sales.”

“You know that sort of thing isn’t in his nature,” Maxine pointed out. “Even as a little boy, he was chasing around the neighborhood, saving little kids from bullies and Maisey from that blasted treehouse the two of them built. I lost count of how many times you got yourself trapped up there by knocking down the ladder.”

“To be fair,” Maisey found a faint smile, “it happened plenty of times to Nash, too . . .”

“True,” Gloria said with a wistful expression. “Life was simpler when getting stuck in a tree was the extent of my worries about him. When he was deployed, I was lucky to get a couple hours of sleep each night. And then when his sweet wife was the one who ended up dying in that fire . . .” She shook her head. “It was beyond tragic. They’d tried years to get pregnant. Nash was beyond inconsolable. I’d thought I’d lost him to a place darker than death. But then you went and got yourself in trouble again, and in saving you, he seems to have a found a new lease on life.”

“
Gee
, glad I could help,” Maisey said with a wry smile.

“You never seriously answered my question.” Gloria took a sugar cookie from a plate in the center of the table. “Do you think there’s a chance for you and my son to once again be an item?”

“No,” Maisey said with a firm shake of her head. Not because she didn’t want that, but because Nash had admitted he wasn’t ready. Might never be. The fact broke her heart all over again, but considering she’d been the one who’d initially rejected him, then gotten herself messed up with a drug dealing psychopath, she couldn’t exactly blame Nash for shying away.

Incapable of answering more questions and desperately needing space, she wandered through the sprawling home to her bedroom, where her son slept peacefully in the portable crib one of Nash’s coworkers had delivered. There was also a stroller and changing table and mounds of clothes, diapers, bottles and formula. Her son still didn’t have a name, which greatly bothered her, but the stress of escaping Vicente, and then that detective’s ugly accusations at the hospital had her all messed up. Naming her son implied a future she was terrified they might not share. But if that were the case, then she should name him—now—to banish the dark fear clawing her mind.

Craving fresh air, she went to her room’s balcony, and stood at the wrought iron rail, staring at the golf course and the swampy marsh beyond. She dragged in the moist, briny air praying for clarity and safety and peace. Most of all, she prayed for Nash’s safe return. And for him to tell her Vicente was gone, that there’d been no more violence, and he’d conveniently vanished, guaranteed never to return again. But that was a fairy tale.

A golfer hit his ball into the house’s backyard.

He drove his cart to retrieve it, caught sight of her and waved.

She waved back, glad to feel somewhat normal for at least a few seconds.

But then one of the security goons stepped around from the side of the house, and asked the man to move along. The golfer retreated, reminding Maisey that far from what her mother chose to believe, this place was no vacation home, but instead another gilded cage she’d been forced into to save herself and her son from the man she’d once loved.

Back in her room, she perched on the edge of her bed, staring at her sleeping child. “Why can’t I name you?” she whispered. “How can I love you with every breath of my being, but be terrified you’re only a dream?”

A knock sounded on her bedroom door, startling her and making her feel silly for asking such deep questions of an only days-old infant.

“There you are.” When Nash entered, a rush of elation swelled, only to fade when he didn’t smile or step closer for a hug, or do any of the myriad of things a man who’d missed a woman might do. “This house is a trip, huh?”

“It’s huge, but Vicente has half a dozen even larger.”

“Swell . . .”

“Did you find him?” she was almost afraid to ask.

He winced. “Not exactly.”

Her stomach churned. “What’s that mean?”

“We’ve got trouble.” He took a folded newspaper clipping from a side pocket of his black cargo pants, spread it open, then set it on the bed. It was the front page of the Miami Herald and read:
Philanthropist Offers Five Million for Safe Return of Kidnapped Wife and Infant Son
. Alongside the article were full-color photos of not only herself, but Nash as well. “This ran in nearly every newspaper in Florida and neighboring states. Even worse—he’s being interviewed on local and national news. With that much money at stake, people are hunting you for cash and me for sport. Since I was the one seen on hospital security with your son . . .” He shrugged.

“What about what I told police? That Vicente’s the true criminal. Why haven’t they taken him into custody? This makes no sense.”

“Welcome to the American justice system. At this point, it’s your word against his, and apparently his lawyers win at working the media machine.”

“I thought you and Harding were working your own media angle? You promised this would be over soon.” Her throat ached with frustrated tears, but she had none left.

“It will . . .” He stepped toward her, wrapping his arms around her, but she lurched free.

“No, Nash. It won’t. Not ever. Guys like him always win, and the stupid, moonstruck girls who think he’s their savior lose. Worst part is that there’s no one but myself to blame. But I can fix it. By God, for the sake of my son, I will force police to realize Vicente is to blame for all of this—certainly not you.” She marched to her balcony door and thrust it open. Outside, she shouted to everyone on the crowded golf course, “Hey! Look at me! This is what five million—”

“What’s wrong with you?” Nash grabbed her from behind, clamping his hand over her mouth. “Have you got some kind of death wish?”

She put up a strong fight to break free, but it was no use. In her weakened condition she was outmatched. Once Nash had her safely back inside with the curtains drawn, he released her.

“Don’t do that again. We can protect you against one man, but now that Vicente’s employed practically the whole, damned state, we’ve got to be all the more careful.”

“What good will that do? Other than prolonging the inevitable?”

“It will keep you and your baby safe.” This time when he pulled her into his arms, she let him. Those brief shining moments of absolute security served as a godsend, bolstering her strength and resolve to see this through. “From where I’m standing, that’s a very good thing.”

“Why do you even care? It’s not like you want me.” She hated her petulant tone, but her statement was true. Even if by some miracle they managed to escape her ex, then what? Would Nash go on to his next mission and leave her to begin the rest of her life as a single mom? She was beyond excited about raising her son—whatever the circumstances. But it would certainly be more fun with the man she loved—had always loved—alongside her.

“That’s BS, and you know it.” Gripping her shoulders, he eased her back, staring into her eyes with enough intensity to make her shiver. Their mouths were close enough for her to feel his warm exhalations. The familiar scent of his breath made her punch drunk-dizzy with irrational longings. “You and me—it’s no secret we share incredible history, but until this mess with Vicente is cleared up, my role is to protect you—not kiss you. Besides, you know I owe it to my wife to remain faithful.”

“Your dead wife?” Screw it. Maisey once again wrestled away, but he was pulling her back. “I’m such a fool. This whole situation has me losing my mind.”

“Then we’re even.” He was beside her again, resting his forehead against hers.

Despite a distinct lack of exertion, both breathed heavy.

“Thinking of you and the baby makes me crazy,” he said. “I can’t stop wondering how great it would be to buy a house near our moms and make a family—just like we always wanted. But I can’t erase the fact that I already had a wife, and I almost had a son. They can’t be replaced like old car batteries. They were alive and a few days earlier I’d heard our baby’s heartbeat via Skype, and then both of them were gone. I can’t forget, Mais. I owe it to them to never forget.”

“I-I understand.” But she didn’t. Not really. Of course, she grasped his need to continue loving those he’d lost. But she was right here, standing before him, heart beating strong and true. She wanted to be the one who comforted him and reassured him that he had permission to resume his life. Sadly, she lacked the power. And since she had been the one who’d pushed him away all those years ago, she also lacked the right.

Her baby released a few fitful cries. She went to him, glad for something to do other than think about how different her life might now be had she married Nash when he’d asked.

“All right, well . . .” Nash crossed his arms. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Without a sound, she watched him go.

“Sweetie,” she whispered to her son on her way to a rocking chair to feed him. “How is it that the whole time we were stuck in that smelly swamp, Nash and I connected like we used to, yet now, we feel like strangers?”

Of course, her wide-eyed son had no more answers than she did.

“I need to name you.” While he fed from her breast, she traced the tip of her pinkie down his cheek. “And then I need to get back to reality. I used to be lucky enough to work with my best friend, but things between us went sour.” She smoothed the crown of her baby’s head. “Delia and I used to own the sweetest dress shop. We sold pretty purses and evening gowns and shoes, but your mommy went and did something not so smart when she let Vicente talk her into selling her half.” She refused to call that monster her son’s father. A man had to earn that title. “Because I love you, maybe I’ll start a new business. When you’re older, you can help. We’ll be a team. Together, we’ll be a spectacular duo.”

Her words sounded more reassuring than they felt.

Still, she was determined to make at least one part of her life right, so when her son finished snacking, she climbed onto the king-sized bed, tucked him alongside her, then used the house’s landline to call the Centre Street boutique,
Glad Rags
, she used to spend so much time at that she considered it home.

“It’s a great day to look your best. This is Delia. May I help you?”

“Dee, it’s Maisey.”

“Where are you? You’re all over the news. Are you all right? Did Nash really take you against your will? Because back when we were in school, seemed like you were fully consenting.”

“Ha ha. I am with Nash, but only because he’s trying to help. My mom got him involved, and—”

“Is she with you, too? When I first saw the news story, I called her but got no answer.” Maisey was touched that her friend had been concerned for her well-being.

“Yes. She’s here, along with Nash’s mom. He thought they would both be safer that way.”

“This is incredible—like something out of a movie.”

“I know, right?” It felt amazing to be chatting with her friend like old times. Normal. And at the moment, that was what she most craved. They hadn’t left off on the best of terms. For a while, Maisey had needed to apologize. Finally, now was her chance.

“Listen to me, rambling when you probably had a reason for calling. How can I help?”

Maisey’s eyes once again stung. “I wanted to apologize for leaving you in the lurch, but mostly, I wanted to help you. To warn you that you might be in danger.”

“You know I can take care of myself.” There was a long pause. “As for that apology, it’s not necessary. You and I will always be friends.”

“Thanks.” Now it was Maisey taking time to find her composure. Her friend’s kind words meant the world. “But I made a big mistake with this guy. He’s dangerous. I don’t think he’d come after you to find me, but I can’t be sure. Promise you’ll at least be careful?”