Safe in His Arms (12 page)

* * *

Oh, shit.
The condom had slid off in the act. He froze and wondered if he ought to warn her. She might want to take the morning-after pill or something.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t want to warn her, didn’t want her to protect against a pregnancy.

Something had changed for him; something had woken up. She was so pure it made him ache. A woman who knew her life’s purpose was to inspire teenagers to love literature; a woman who laid not just her body but her soul bare to him. She was like a pre-arranged cue that woke him from a hypnotic trance.

There was good in the world and Becca embodied it.

If he was going to leave any part of himself on this earth, any legacy at all, he wanted it to be through her, and not through the political machinations of his government. So he was going to let fate roll this die for him.

* * *

It was another three weeks before Parker looked at her over dinner and announced, “My dad is coming home.”

“Home?” she asked, trying to keep the leap of strained excitement out of her voice. “You mean home to San Diego?”

“I mean home, here.”

She should correct him—this was not his dad’s home. Except maybe he sensed it truly was, the same way he sensed Zac was back. That thought sent a warm tingle across her chest. But no, Zac would never actually live with them, because he couldn’t. And didn’t that thought just dampen all the warmth that had just flared?

After cleaning up from dinner and helping Parker with his homework, she waited, itchy, for any sign of her…lover. Because that was all she could call him—he certainly wasn’t a partner, or a husband. What else could she call him? Her ghost?

It was not until Parker was in bed and she had just finished picking up the living room that she heard a thump in her bedroom. She smiled, her nipples tightening and her breath speeding up. She opened the door to her bedroom with an expectant bounce, but froze when she saw two men dressed in black engaged in combat.

If she’d had any breath, she would have screamed. She leaned against the door frame, gasping. They were moving quickly, in an intricate, silent dance. She could tell one was Zac, recognizing his lean frame, and the purposeful style from when he’d fought—
killed
—her nanny. The second man had a black knit cap pulled low over his forehead and was stockier, slower.
What was he doing in her bedroom?

Zac kicked the man in the gut and he doubled over, then lunged toward the floor, where a gun lay. Zac tackled him before he reached it, extending his own hand toward the weapon. When Becca realized neither could reach it, she leaped into action herself, snatching up the gun and pointing it at the intruder with shaking hands.

“Do not shoot that gun, Becca,” Zac ordered, the distraction costing him a blow to the face. She gasped as he staggered backward, recovering just in time to dodge a second punch and throw his weight at the intruder’s midsection again, knocking him to the floor again. He twisted out of Zac’s grasp on his way down, and seized Zac’s neck between his lower legs in a strangling hold.

Finding her breath at last, she held the gun trained on the man and gasped, “Let him go! Stand up and put your hands in the air!”

The man ignored her completely, but Zac had wrestled his way free and they both scrambled to their feet.

“Do not shoot! I repeat, do not shoot,” Zac said without looking at her, concentrating instead on dodging the knuckles that were flying at his head.

“Why is my dad fighting…your dad?” Parker’s clear boyish voice rang out across the scuffle and the intruder froze, looking at Parker, then at Zac.

He never looked at her, but she knew with complete certainty, as if 17 years’ absence never happened, that he was her father. He ran for the window, jumping out in a surprising exit. Zac raced after him.

“Wait! Demo!” Zac climbed out the window. “Wait—you can see we have a mutual interest! Hang on—I just want to talk.” He cursed. “Fine. Find me,” he called out.

He shut and locked the window, turned and walked swiftly to her, completely calm, completely confident. He took the gun out of her hand and folded her into his arms, pulling Parker into the hug at the same time.

“Nice work,” he said into her hair. “You were great.”

She hadn’t expected praise. He’d been so stern about not shooting she’d doubted her actions. But that made sense, didn’t it? He hadn’t wanted her to shoot her own father. Her knees buckled and she sagged against him, a sob caught in her throat.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s a shock.”

She drew back, out of his arms. “You knew!” she accused, tears fighting their way out. “You knew he was alive and you didn’t tell me.”

Zac looked genuinely pained. He leaned down and picked up Parker, holding him like a shield between them, reminding her to get it together or she’d scare their child. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his lips remained closed.

“Was that your dad?” Parker asked.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Yeah, Park. It was.”

“How about a glass of milk, buddy?”

“Yeah, okay. What song were you fighting to this time?”

“‘Stayin’ Alive.’ It has one hundred beats per minute, for when I need to fight fast.”

Zac gave her a sympathetic look over his shoulder as he carried Parker out of the room, leaving her to muck through the betrayal and anger on her own.

Twenty minutes later, Parker was presumably back in bed when Zac joined her in the shower, neither of them speaking as he picked up the soap and began to lather her body. He was matter-of-fact about it, as if it was not a seduction, but more like a service. She stood docilely as he turned her around, shampooed her hair, his long fingers massaging her scalp with a reverence that surprised her. He nudged her back into the stream of water to rinse and stepped out. When she turned off the water and opened the curtain, he was standing there with a towel outstretched, waiting to fold her into it.

She let him wrap it around her and she took the edges, holding them to her chest as she walked to the bed and sat down, staring at the carpet. “I’d guessed when you said it was a family member. Who else could it be?”

He sat next to her and put his warm hand on her back, infusing her with his strength.

“What did he do? Why are you after him?”

* * *

He was surprised at the pang he felt at her words. The same pang he’d felt when she’d accused him of knowing and not telling. Was it guilt? It was a new sensation.

“I’m not going after him, Becca. I’m personally involved and I don’t think I’m capable of keeping a clear head about any of this, anymore.”

She looked at him, her eyelashes clumped together with water from the shower, her skin still dewy. “What did he do?” she whispered.

He swallowed. “He sold state secrets. We’re not sure why. And as far as we can tell, he killed everyone he gave them to, so it may have just been for the money, with no intention of actually harming his country. But he disappeared after that, so now there’s an order on his head.”

“Your orders are to kill him?” Her voice was hoarse.

He hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “But I don’t plan to carry out those orders unless I absolutely have to.”

“What would make you have to?”

He shrugged. “A kill-or-be-killed situation.”

“What was this?” she asked drily, gesturing to her wrecked room with a sweep of her hand.

He grinned. “That was me trying not to get killed. He must have seen me entering through your window and thought I was here to harm you. I can respect that.”

After a moment of silence, he touched her back. “Come on, let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.”

He tucked her in and wrapped his body around her soft form, holding her back against his front. “I think he’ll find me,” he said softly. “And maybe together we can fix the mess he’s in.”

He heard Becca sniff.

In the morning, Parker crept into the room and stood beside the bed. Zac rolled over to face the boy and put his finger to his lips as he crawled out of bed, so they didn’t wake Becca.

“Dad, did you send me a bike?” Parker demanded.

“Yes, have you tried it out?”

“Well, Mom was going to take it to a bike shop to have it assembled.”

Assembled. Damn.
Why hadn’t he thought of that? Of course Becca wouldn’t have the know-how or desire to put a bike together. Being a single mom held a multitude of challenges, not the least of which might be putting together the “some assembly required” presents. He felt like a total ass for not thinking of that.

“Show me where the box is, and I’ll get it put together for you after breakfast, okay?”

“All right!” Parker exclaimed, racing down the hall to the laundry room and reappeared dragging a box as big as he was.

He laughed. “Just leave it there and I’ll take care of it,” he said.

He made breakfast and brewed some coffee in Becca’s French press. She came padding down the hall, sniffing appreciatively.

“Mmm, that coffee smells divine.”

He poured a cup and served her. “Hungry for some French toast?”

“Absolutely.”

He handed her a plate. “I’m going to my place to get some tools, but I’ll be right back.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you going out the window or the front door?”

“Don’t get smart, missy, you know that won’t end well for you,” he teased. “Front door.”

“Oh, can I come?” Parker yelled, racing out of the living room.

“Nope. Sorry, bud.”

“I want to see your place. Is it upstairs?”

“No can do, buddy. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“When does that mean?” Parker wailed, sounding somewhat desperate. Guilt washed over him. This coming and going thing was not going to work. He was making their lives infinitely worse. He glanced at Becca to see her mouth set into a grim line.

“It means less than one hour, unless I get called into duty. And if that happens, I’ll come back to say goodbye, I promise. Okay?”

Parker hesitated, as if he weren’t sure whether he could trust him, but then he nodded solemnly. “’Kay.”

He pulled a baseball cap low over his head and walked out the door, taking the stairs to his apartment on the top floor. In his apartment, he checked for communications on his laptop, then gathered some tools into a duffel bag. Picking up his cell, he called Marcus.

“What’s up?”

“El Demo showed. I’m not filing a report, so keep it under your hat until I know more. He was watching Becca’s place, and I entered through her window. I guess he thought she was in danger because he followed me in with intent to kill.”

“Whoa,” Marcus whistled. “You got a problem with doors?”

He grinned. “I liked the idea of showing up in her bedroom.”

“Ugh—please. I don’t want to hear about your sex life. So what happened?”

“So we fought a little and then Parker came in and called me ‘Dad’ and he realized his mistake and took off.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I told him to contact me. When or if he does, I guess I’ll take it from there.”

“Be careful.”

“Will do. I’ll keep you posted.”

When he returned to Becca’s place, Parker had dragged the box with the bike into the living room and emptied all the parts in a giant sprawl.

He’d often wondered what it would be like to be an ordinary person—to live the American dream, with the car in the garage and the wife and 2.5 kids. He thought he would go nuts. His profession was more than just money, or a means to avoid being killed. It was an addiction. He needed the adrenalin rush he got from combat, secret missions, and a variety of mortally dangerous situations. How would someone like him ever stop? No, he’d always figured he would die on the job.

But the satisfaction he felt from the simple act of putting together a bike for his son surprised him.

“Okay, Parker, it’s all set. I just need to pump up the tires and you need to put the helmet on, and we can go try it out.”

“Yay!” Parker said, getting up and running to put on his shoes.

“Wanna come?” he asked Becca.

“You’re going out in public with him?”

He had already weighed the risks and decided it would be safe enough. “Yeah. You coming?”

She looked torn, like part of her wanted to disapprove, but the other part didn’t want to miss out. “Yeah, okay.”

They took the elevator down and he threw Parker’s bike in the back of his SUV, which she had since learned that he parked in different locations around their neighborhood, to avoid any detectible pattern. He drove to a gas station to fill the tires, and then to Balboa Park, where he unloaded the bike.

“He doesn’t know how to ride yet, you know,” Becca said in a tight voice.

“I’m going to teach him.”

He could feel her anxiety level ratcheting up as she pulled out her inhaler and took a puff. He helped Parker with his helmet and explained the basics of steering into the direction he was leaning. Parker kicked off enthusiastically, only to crash before he made one rotation of the pedals. Zac helped the boy back up and steadied the bike. “Okay, I’m going to hold the back of your seat while you get the feel for it, all right?”

Parker’s eyes had a worried look now. He gazed up at Zac as if for reassurance. He smiled. “You’re fine, you’re doing great.”

Parker pressed the pedals again and this time Zac held onto the back to keep it from dumping, jogging a little behind him as he kept the bike upright. When it seemed like he had the hang of it, he let go.

Parker crashed.

Chapter Seven

“Jesus, Zac! Why did you let go of him?” she snapped, dashing forward. Parker was hurt, huddled on the sidewalk where he’d fallen.

Zac got there first and picked Parker up, placing him on his feet, instead of scooping him into his lap, as she would’ve done. “Let me see. Yep, you got a road rash. It happens, buddy. It’s part of learning how to ride.”