Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) (19 page)

“My pleasure.”

“Your mom wants me to call him Richard.”

“Nice. That was her father’s name. What are you leaning toward?”

“Joseph—Joe for short. That was my grandfather’s name.”

“Perfect. So what’s the problem?”

“That’s just it. I do want it to be perfect. I’ve already failed by giving him an awful father. What if I mess up his name, too? He’ll hate me before he even knows me.”

“For all the grief you give me about holding on to my past, you’re equally as bad. What happened with your ex is old news. Odds are, one of my guys will flush him out soon, and then we’ll hand him over to police we know can’t be bought.”

“Didn’t you tell me everyone has a price? How do you know your cops will be any different? Even if they do get Vicente behind bars, what’s going to keep him there?” She rose and paced, cradling her son close. “How am I ever going to be truly free?”

“Have patience. We’re working on it, okay?” Nash’s arms ached from the effort of not pulling her into the sort of embrace that would allow her to not only feel secure in the moment, but in their shared future. Only that would be a lie. Because regardless of the outcome with her ex, because Nash’s heart was already taken, the two of them could never be a couple again. “As long as there’s breath in my body, I’ll never give up.”

“Thank you.” Her sad, shimmering gaze made him all the more determined to return her smile.

“No problem.” Only where she was concerned, everything was a problem. The faint scent of lilacs in her hair. Her full lower lip he remembered drawing into his mouth to keep her from crying out when they’d hidden in his bedroom closet to
study
each other. The longer they were together, the more memories flooded his system—not replacing those of his wife, but coming into clearer focus than they’d ever been before. They weren’t all of hot sex, but Sunday dinners and yard work and riding bikes with her down to the corner store. Holding her when she’d sobbed over not making the debate team. Having her comfort him when he’d lost the state baseball title. Their lives had been tangled to the point that he wasn’t sure where he left off and she began. He’d always assumed that was the way they would always be, then she’d rejected him and he’d walked away. Prior to losing his wife and baby, that was the most crushing pain he’d ever felt. Why had he ever given her that much power? “So is it official? You’re naming the little guy, Joe?”

“Yes. I love it. Thank you.”

He was the one owing her thanks. Her smile brought back the sun. More than anything, he wanted to hold her and kiss her and comb his hands through her soft curls, but how could he do any of that while honoring Hope?

“Should I go pack?”

“No time.” Not wanting the intimacy that may stem from simply holding her hand, he pressed his palm to the small of her back, propelling her toward the garage.

“What about the baby’s gear?”

“Grab his diaper bag, but that’s it. I’ll have one of the guys bring the rest.”

“Where are we even going?”

“I would tell you, but I’m afraid you’d blab.”

“Shove it up your—”

Jasper cleared his throat. “Hate to break up this love fest, but I’m afraid I’ve got bad news about Delia Leti. She’s dead.”

UPON HEARING DELIA was dead, the only thing keeping Maisey upright was the fact that if she collapsed, her son could be hurt. There was a loud ringing in her ears and her pulse had gone haywire.

“Let’s hustle,” Nash slipped his arm around her shoulder, supporting her while helping her get to the SUV he’d parked in the four-car garage. “Jasper, in case we have more uninvited company, you follow. Once you radio back an all-clear, Harding can follow with our moms. The rest of the team can head out after that. We’ll rendezvous at the appointed location at—” he glanced at a black digital watch “—thirteen hundred hours. Clear?”

“As a Texas sky.” Jasper relayed all of the information via radio to the rest of the team while Nash gingerly took the baby from Maisey’s arms, got him fastened in his carseat, then helped her into the back to sit alongside him.

Nash steered the hulking vehicle from the neighborhood without incident, then veered onto the freeway.

Only once they’d left the city and Jasper was still within view, did Maisey dare ask the question she feared she already knew how Nash would answer. “Do you think Vicente killed Delia?”

He met her gaze in the rearview. “I think it’s a given.”

She crossed her arms, staring past the window through silent tears. When would this nightmare end? The day was bright and sunny—made for Florida tourists. Not running from a psycho killer. Why didn’t the rest of the world see Vicente as she did? How could he have them all fooled?

She placed her hand on her son’s chest. He blessedly had no idea what they were going through. Instead, he peered in wonder at the shining white dot on the ceiling that was caused by the sun’s reflection in a side mirror.

“Relax. Judging by his profile, Vicente’s not a patient man. We’ll find him—I won’t rest until he’s locked away for good.”

Maisey nodded, but didn’t fully believe Nash’s reassurance.

Up ahead, traffic had slowed to a stop.

“Do you think there was a wreck?” she asked.

“No telling.” He radioed to Jasper to stay alert.

One by one, cars inched forward. On the raised, divided highway, there was nowhere else to go.

A muscle ticked in Nash’s whisker-stubbled jaw. He tapped his index finger against the wheel.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I don’t like this. One of the most critical roles in security is establishing two or three escape routes. Unless Harding sends a copter, we’ve pretty much got none.”

A quick glance out her window showed what he meant. The shoulder was barely two feet wide. A twenty-foot drop to black water and thick vegetation waited on the other side. Ahead, stretched a double row of cars as far as the eye could see. Behind—same story.

“I can just make out police lights. I haven’t seen construction signs, so there must be a wreck.” He shifted in his seat, then lowered the A/C.

“Your body language says you don’t think it’s that simple.”

He sighed before they shared a look in the rearview.

“A few weeks ago,” she said, “I wouldn’t have believed Vicente capable of pulling a stunt like shutting down a freeway. Now, judging by the way he bribed an entire police department, then managed to make the whole state believe he’s the victim, anything’s possible.”

“Exactly, which is why if there’s even a hint of this turning bad, I’m going to need you to be incredibly brave.”

“Oh no—I’m not leaping into that swamp with my baby.”

“I’m not asking you to.” They’d moved up a dozen car lengths, and now had a clear sight line to a police road block. Was this an ordinary drunk driver check, or something more? “There’s only a Jeep Wrangler between us and Jasper’s Hummer.”

“I thought it was Harding’s?”

“Semantics. He’s behind the wheel.”

“What’s with you guys and your giant cars?”

“Bulletproof and big are always good when under attack.”

Made sense. At the word
attack
, her stomach cramped. How often did he face gunfire?

“Focus. Right now, take Joe from his carrier and hold him. Unbuckle the seat, and stash it in back—any other baby paraphernalia, too.”

“I’m afraid to ask why.” But she followed his instructions.

“In a few minutes, you’re going to open the back door and slip out in as small a space as possible, then duck to the ground and crawl beneath the car behind us until you get to Jasper’s. There’s an escape hatch beneath it, but in this case, I want you to open the door and climb up into his vehicle. He’ll help. You’ll be in an airtight box that has its own ventilation system good for twenty-four hours if necessary.”

“Wait—
what
?” All of this was sounding very James Bond.

“You can do it. Go, Mais. Now.”

“But—”

“
Now
.”

Forced into action, heart hammering in her ears, she hid all the baby gear in the back, then slipped from his SUV’s safe, cool interior to suffocating heat.

Praying no one had seen her, she followed Nash’s instructions to the letter in ducking beneath their vehicle, then scrambling onto her back, inching between the tires to the Jeep with her precious son hitching a ride on her chest.

Her eyes stung from the heat and exhaust. Concrete bit the tender skin of her palms as she used them to help scoot on her back. Terror didn’t begin to describe the nerves making her every muscle scream, but for little Joe, she clamped her lips tight and pushed through. Time fractured and seconds ticked by like hours. She’d made it midway down the length of the vehicle behind Nash’s SUV when it moved.

She froze.

NASH STRUGGLED FOR his next thought, let alone breath.

He was two cars from the cops who’d blocked both lanes, funneling all vehicles into a single lane of passage. It was now clear that all vehicles were being checked for a specific element—what that was, he didn’t know.

He slipped on mirrored Ray-Bans and a Florida Gators ball cap.

If these cops were legit, they could be on the hunt for an escaped convict or this could be as routine as an insurance check—both of which seemed unlikely given their current location. Which made the likelihood of this event being attached to Vicente all the greater.

Given Delia’s death, he surmised that Maisey’s bestie ratted her out for a fee by agreeing to have her phone tapped. Vicente, in turn, had his men case the safe house’s neighborhood, and possibly even trailed them onto the highway, but then lost them. With thirty-five miles before the next exit, if Vicente had radioed ahead to still more of his men to be on the look-out, this would be a brilliant trap.

As much as Nash hated to admit it, the bastard was one hell of an opponent.

“Any sign of her?” he asked into the radio shared with Jasper.

“Not yet, but I’ve got this.”

“You’d better, man. Maisey and her son mean . . .”
Everything
. If something happened to her, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, so his plan was to make damned sure her and Joe came out of this healthy and happy. As for his own state of mind? He’d worry about it later. “Well, they’re important.”

“I get it.”

“Shit, we’re moving. See her?”

“Yeah. She’s frozen. Hold up, and I’ll get in position over her.”

The next twenty seconds felt like a lifetime. Nash would have said his whole life flashed before his eyes, but in that instant, he didn’t see merely his life, but combined moments with the girl next door who’d shared most every occasion with him. Christmases and Thanksgivings. Graduations and birthdays. Highs and lows. He’d loved Hope, but hadn’t realized the true depth of what he’d shared with his Maisey. And she was
his
—would always be.

Maybe if only in a secret corner of his heart.

His pulse raged in his ears. Waiting was torture.