Safe in His Arms (2 page)

“Parker, find your mom’s inhaler.”

The boy obeyed him, looking frightened yet self-possessed, scampering down the hall. Zac entered the nanny’s room, tossing the body on the bed and wrapping it up with the comforter.

“Got it!” Parker announced, and his little feet raced back down the hall. Zac poked his head out, but Parker had it under control, delivering the medication and staring into his mother’s pale face. “Are you okay, Mom? Mama? Mommy?”

Zac paused until he saw her nod at her son, then he returned to the nanny’s room to search her things. He took the laptop and purse, finding nothing else in her meager belongings. When he returned, Becca was still struggling for breath, looking pale.

He crouched next to her, not wanting to frighten her more by touching her. “Exhale more, as much as you can,” he coaxed, keeping his voice as calm and relaxing as he could.

She glared at him as if the suggestion irritated her.

“Listen, it’s just the shock that kicked off the asthma attack. You can get it under control.” He pointed at her low belly, barely touching it with the tip of his finger. “Expand your breath down to here.”

Her brow furrowed and her breath didn’t slow, but he thought she might be attempting it.

“Expand your belly three dimensionally—front and back and both sides, each time you breathe.”

There was a slight slowing of her breath.

“You have all the breath you need,” he assured her, though it probably wasn’t true. “Your body can manage on what you’re getting in and this asthma attack will pass, just like they all do.”

A significant calming.

“Parker, I need you to put some things in your backpack,” he said to the boy.

“Okay.”

The eagerness to please in his voice made Zac’s heart contract.

“I need you to get your jammies, a change of clothes, your toothbrush, and a stuffed animal.”

“Got it!” Parker cried, running for his room.

“Oh, and maybe a book or toy!” he called after him.

Becca’s lips moved, but shock or lack of breath prevented any words from forming. Still, her color was returning and more air was moving in her chest. “Can you pack a bag?” he asked.

“No!” she gasped, glaring at him.

“Okay. Stay here. Breathe into your upper back now—see if you can expand your ribs behind you, against the wall.” He stepped past her, striding down the hallway to enter her bedroom. She stood and followed him, shaking her inhaler and taking another puff.

“There you go,” he said encouragingly. “Suitcase?”

“What…the…hell…is—”

“I’ll explain later; right now we have to get you out of here.”

He grabbed a few pieces of clothing out of her dresser and a toothbrush out of her bathroom. “Let’s go,” he said, taking her elbow.

She shook him off. “No fucking—”

He turned and gave her his full attention. “Becca, you are in danger. I need to get you and Parker out of here right now.”

She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held her fast, bending his head down to speak in a low voice. “I know this is a shock, but I’m here to help. I’m taking you with me now. If I have to take you by force it will scare the hell out of the kid.”

Her jaw opened with indignation, but she closed it again and swallowed, allowing him to steer her out of the room.

“Let’s go, buddy,” he said to Parker, who was still in his room, stuffing things into his backpack.

Parker raced out of his room, passing them in the hall and wiggling into his Star Wars sneakers.

The smell of smoke drew his attention to the stovetop, which was still on after the nanny-assassin had used the hot frying pan as a weapon. A wooden spoon lay over the burner, smoking. He turned it off and tossed the spoon into the sink. Becca had slipped on sandals and they exited. If he were alone, he’d take the stairs, but he wasn’t sure either Parker or Becca could handle eleven flights, so he hustled them into the open elevator.

Parker hit the button and the door swished closed.

He crouched down. “Parker, do you know who I am?”

The boy nodded soberly. “You’re my dad.”

“That’s right. And I’m proud of the way you handled yourself back there,” he said, holding a fist out. Parker bumped knuckles with him, looking pleased.

“My mom is upset,” he said.

He met Becca’s eye. She still labored to breathe, her brows knit into an angry furrow, her eyes frantic. “I know.”

In the parking garage, he led them to his SUV, popping the locks with the fob. “Parker, climb in back and stay down on the floor,” he ordered. He opened the passenger side door and helped Becca in, pushing her head down to lie on the seat. She fought him, but he held it firm. “Keep your head down.” She glared up at him. “Please.”

The line between her brows deepened, but there was a settling to her position that indicated compliance. He slammed the door and ran around to his side, jumping in, starting the car and backing out in almost one movement. He hit a button on his phone and pressed it to his ear.

“Yes?” came the careful question, revealing nothing to a wayward caller.

“I need cleanup at 1112 Stonebridge Row, Apartment 1104. A professional was detected on premises and eliminated, civilians have been extracted. I will also need the location of a safe house.”

A pause, and the sound of keys on a computer. “2205 North Angel Blvd. Your fob will open the lock.”

“Roger that.” He hit the power button on his phone to turn it off.

Becca reached for her purse. Guessing her intent, he put his hand over it, holding it closed. “No phone calls. It’s not safe.”

* * *

“Why isn’t it safe? What the hell is going on?” Her voice sounded shrill to her ears.

“I’ll explain when we’re in a safe location.”

The possibility her son’s father was a psycho killer or kidnapper or stalker seemed very real. But there was a professionalism to his actions that spoke of more than just military, more like CIA…

My dad is a spy guy.

But could that all be for show? Was he really some nut playing a trick to win her trust?

“What was that song you were singing while you were fighting? About the grapes of wrath?” Parker asked inanely from the back seat.

Becca had heard no singing during the struggle; in fact, it had been eerily silent, but Zac asked, “You heard that?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s called ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic.’ It has a good, steady pace for fighting. Keeps me from getting ahead of myself.”

“So you sing a song?”

“Uh huh.” The car rolled to a stop. “Let’s go,” he said, climbing out and opening the door for Parker. She sat up and reached in her purse, digging for her phone. Who should she call? 911?

Her door opened and Zac snatched the phone from her hand. He slid the back cover off, removed the battery and sim card and tossed it back to her, pocketing the crucial parts. “I said no calls,” he bit out, taking her arm and hauling her out of the car. “If I’m going to protect you, I need you to follow orders.”

She stopped, wrenching her arm free. She had the impression it was only because he allowed it. “What if I don’t want your protection?”

“Not negotiable.”

“So I’m really your prisoner?”

He shrugged, “If you like.”

“And if I don’t?” she demanded.

He lifted his shoulders again, then looked over at Parker, who had stooped to pick at some grass, knowing with his childlike intuition they needed privacy. “Look,” he said in a low voice. “I know that’s my kid. And I can’t—” He stopped and blinked. “I won’t let anything bad happen to either one of you. Can you believe that?”

He seemed so different now from the man she’d met seven years before—his face was still young, but the pale blue eyes were ancient. Looking into them, she saw a hardness and behind them, a haunted pain.

Against all reason, she did believe him. She gave a single nod.

“Then I need you to follow orders when I give them.”

She frowned. “And if I don’t?”

He leaned forward and looked her directly in the eye, speaking in a voice too quiet for Parker to hear. “Then I’ll spank you till you can’t sit down.”

The instantaneous flip the word “spank” produced in her belly was followed closely by shame, then hot indignation. She gave his chest a hard shove. “How dare you?”

He smirked, but held his hands up in surrender, “I’m sorry. That was the wrong thing to say. Look,” he sighed. “I was just trying to point out you trusted me once, remember? I didn’t hurt you then,” he paused and added with an ironic tone, “—at least not more than you wanted me to—and I’m not going to hurt you now.”

His mention of their “once” opened a fissure in her chest, releasing a flood of confused emotions that literally rocked her on her heels. Her nose burned with the threat of tears. She stared at his chest, the muscles standing out under his t-shirt. She remembered the way he’d looked without a shirt—the lean definition of his pecs covered by a smattering of golden fuzz, the washboard lines of his abs. He’d been like an Adonis. The first lines of Shakespeare’s
Venus and Adonis
popped into her mind:

EVEN as the sun with purple-colour’d face

Had ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,

Rose-cheek’d Adonis tried him to the chase;

Hunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn;

And clearly he had scorned love, because here he was, alive and well while she’d spent the last six years single parenting, believing him dead.

She lifted her eyes to his face, a jolt of electricity hitting her when their eyes met. Despite her best efforts, he had a powerful effect on her. His eyes held compassion for her, as if he knew all the thoughts she hadn’t even begun to sort through.

“I just don’t understand what’s going on here,” she croaked.

“I know.” His voice was warm, enveloping her in its embrace.

She drew in a breath.

“The less you know, the safer you are, though. I’ll tell what I can when we’re inside—come on.” He placed his hand on her upper back and the contact made her shiver. This time, she let him lead her into the house where he swept through the place, drawing curtains.

“Stay away from the windows,” he warned sharply when she wandered near one. The reminder of his threat outside made her butt flinch and her face burn. She didn’t think he’d meant it, but it was hard to be sure.

“I’m hungry,” Parker whined and she realized, with a pang, he hadn’t eaten dinner.

Zac stopped his security check as well, as if he, too, had forgotten about feeding Parker. “Okay, I’ll get some food brought in.”

“Can we have ice cream?” Parker asked hopefully.

A smile twitched at the corners of Zac’s mouth. “Sure, bud. What kind do you like?”

“Cookies and cream.”

“You got it.” Zac pulled out his phone and placed a call, walking into the master bedroom to call in private.

Becca searched through the cupboards in the kitchen, finding no fresh food, but plenty of dry and canned goods. She opened a box of cheese crackers and put them in a small bowl for Parker. “Here you go, kiddo.” Picking up the remote control for the television, she turned it on and searched for a kids’ channel. She didn’t allow Parker to watch much TV, but if ever there was a time to bend the rules, this was it. Finding Nickelodeon, she handed him the remote and followed Zac into the bedroom.

He glanced up at her and ended his call. “Hi.”

She leaned against the door frame. “So what’s going on?”

He took a breath and exhaled. “Okay. I work undercover for an organization we call Black Ops, which falls somewhere between the NSA and the CIA. There is a member of your family who used to work for us and has since disappeared.”

“Who?”

He shook his head.

“You won’t tell me?”

“Can’t tell you,” he corrected.

“Is he dead?” She asked, thinking of her father, who had died when she was fifteen.

Zac shook his head. “We don’t think so. Seven years ago, I was sent to your sister’s wedding in case this person turned up. They never did, and I guess you know how I spent my time there.”

She stared at him, trying to digest it all. He had known who she was when he picked her up out of that hotel bar. And she’d thought she’d been the one doing the picking up.

“Afterward, I put you on surveillance.”

“Why?” she demanded, the violation making her chest tighten. She pulled her inhaler out of her pocket and took another puff.

He looked at her for a long moment, giving the impression he was deciding what to tell her.

“It would be a lie to say I thought you knew something. The fact is, I knew you and your family were clean. But I could justify surveillance because of your connection to our target—you know, that they might show up to visit you.”

A cold prickle ran over her skin. “Did they?”

He shook his head.

“Is my sister on surveillance? My mother?”

He looked uncomfortable. “No.”

“So, when you said you could
justify
surveillance—does that mean…” The sensation of violation swept over her again. “Are you like a fucking peeping Tom?”

He winced and she glimpsed the world-weariness in his eyes again. He shrugged. “I was into you.”

A wave of nausea hit her full force. How she’d fantasized of what it might have been like if Zac hadn’t died—if he’d returned from his deployment and somehow became a part of their lives. But he’d been alive all along. He’d known she’d had his baby and he’d never even tried to make contact. He’d put her on surveillance like a creepy stalker.

She ran for the toilet, her stomach heaving. She stood over it for a moment, but nothing came up. She coughed instead, tears burning her eyes. When she felt a hand on her back, she whirled around and went for him. Attacking with years of pent-up regrets and deferred desires, she slapped at him, punched his face and chest. When she raked her fingernails down his cheek, he caught her wrists and pinned them behind her back in a loose, but inescapable grasp.

He gazed down at her, the light blue of his eyes full of regret, the scratches on his weathered face turning red. “You are the only woman I was sorry to leave,” he said softly. “Hell—you’re the only woman I even stayed long enough to share breakfast with. And you permanently ruined one-night stands for me.”