Wade (19 page)

Wade's voice was hard and he appeared more intimidating than Chloe had seen him to this point. He was also devastatingly attractive in a rumpled pair of jeans with no shoes or shirt, and the morning light molding the musculature of his shoulders in light and shadow and gleaming white on the bandage that padded his side. His beard stubble was more pronounced than the night before, and his hair lay in dark windrows, as if he'd raked his a hand through it instead of combing it.

“Think I'll do that, since you've so kindly invited me, and since I'm damn sure you can use all the help you can get. Problem is, nobody can say when these guys might show up.”

Wade didn't look up from his coffee cup. “Don't change your schedule or our account.”

“Schedule, be damned. But I expect Maggie might be a little harder to put off. She kind of likes to keep tabs on me, you know.” Nat sent Chloe a quick look. “That's my wife, Maggie.”

“I thought it might be,” she said with a slight smile that faded as she looked at Wade. “Don't
blame, Nat, please. He was only answering my questions.”

“If you think he doesn't know how to avoid that, then you don't know him, particularly not well enough for early-morning chats.”

The look he gave her was a potent reminder that she was naked under the caftan. It was something he must know very well, too, since her discarded clothes were probably strewn over the floor of their room. She was trying to decide exactly what that meant when Nat spoke again.

“He's jealous, you know,” he said, his manner confiding, as if Wade wasn't standing less than four feet away. “Not that I blame him.”

“Thank you,” Wade said. “I'm sure she needed your opinion.”

“Hell, Wade, don't be so all-fired stiff-necked,” Nat said, frowning as he turned back to him. “You Benedicts may think you're off-limits as subjects of discussion, but the rest of the world isn't quite so nice in its ideas. It's no crime for a person to be concerned about you.”

“No compliment, either.”

“Didn't know you needed one, buddy.”

“I don't.”

“Fine. Great. Now if you'd just quit acting like a ten-year-old with a new bag of marbles, or an idiot with a fishing pole up the wahzoo, we might get somewhere.”

The look Wade turned on his friend might have
annihilated a lesser man. Nat only returned it with steady regard.

Abruptly Wade's mouth twitched. He looked away, rubbing a hand over his face as if to erase a grin. Finally he turned back again. “So what's on your mind?”

“Couple of things, like when you intend to light a shuck out of here. And how you want to go?”

“Now,” Wade said with an intent glance in Chloe's direction. “We're leaving immediately, or as soon as we can get ready. And you can drive us, since you have a rental and seem determined to transfer to Grand Point.”

“Good. I'll call Maggie while you're packing.”

“Tell her I've got my eye on you,” Wade said, his gaze steady.

Nat gave a nod before his mouth curved in a rich grin. “I'll do that,” he said. “Yes, indeed. She'll get a real hoot out of it.”

C
hloe would have willingly undergone torture before she admitted any interest in Wade's home. She tried to act unconcerned and a little tired as they turned off onto the winding drive that led through woodland fronted by dense undergrowth. The last thing she wanted was to give him reason to think she might have hopes of any kind of permanent relationship.

She had not expected Wade Benedict to be a part of her life once she reached the States. She'd thought to contact other Islamic women's groups, become a member of their network and continue with her efforts to help their cause. There had been no place in her plans for a man, still wasn't. Why, then, did the idea of saying goodbye to him seem so terrible?

He was the only American she really knew, other than her mother's parents who hardly counted, the only person who really knew what she'd left behind so the only connection she had between that life and an uncertain future. That was probably the reason she had such an impulse to cling to him now.

She couldn't do it. He owed her nothing, regardless
of the transports of the night before. That had been the agreement, and she would stick to it. He would as well, she had no doubt. He might have agreed to rescue her, could feel some responsibility for seeing that she was safe, but he had not signed on to take care of her the rest of her life.

She'd forgotten the fecundity of the landscape, the sheer mass of the vegetation of all shapes and sizes that filled the ditches, skirted the tree trunks and dangled from their branches in long vines. She wished she knew the plant names, particularly for the wildflowers in pink, lavender and multiple shades of yellow that sprawled among the waving grass.

She'd had plenty of time to notice such things. It had been a quiet trip with desultory comment between the two men, mostly about local politics, sports, or national events over the past few weeks. Since she knew nothing about the first two and little about the third, she spent most of the time staring out the window and trying not to think.

The car rounded a curve. Ahead of them, a man stepped into the road, squarely in their path. Dressed in jeans and a camouflage shirt and with a camouflage cap pulled down over his eyes, he held a rifle like a natural extension of his hand.

“Whoa,” Nat said as he braked to a crawl. “Looks like we've got us a sentry.”

“My cousin Luke,” Wade said. “You remember me mentioning him.”

“Looks like he knows what he's doing.”

He did indeed, Chloe thought. The tall dark-haired man could as easily have been Wade's brother, however. The resemblance was that striking.

As they pulled to a stop, Nat lowered the driver's side window. Wade leaned over from where he sat in the passenger seat. “Hey there, cuz,” he called. “How come you got stuck with guard duty?”

“Just lucky, I guess. Could be nailing up windows and carting in groceries.” Luke relaxed his rigid stance and sauntered forward. Nodding a greeting to Nat, he leaned to peer into the car in a fast, comprehensive inspection. “Ma'am,” he said, touching the brim of his cap as he caught sight of Chloe in the back seat.

“Everybody here?” Wade asked.

“The clan has gathered, man, woman and child.”

“Kane?”

“Taking care of logistics. He and Regina are in charge of food, water, ammo, baby diapers. The important stuff.”

“Roan?”

“Lining up law enforcement all over the state to keep a lookout for the creeps.”

“Clay and Adam did make it?”

“And your mom. Clay's in charge of water transport and escape routes, and has enough boats gathered down at the dock to move an army. Adam is watching the lake access to the house. Your mom is cooking. Thank goodness.”

Luke's voice carried cheerful unconcern, but Chloe
wasn't fooled. He might appear nonchalant, but he was also deadly serious.

“The rest?” Wade asked.

“Taking orders like good little soldiers while waiting for the captain to put in an appearance at last. That would be you, cuz.”

Luke winked at Chloe as she caught his eye. His grin was so contagious that she couldn't help smiling back at him. Wade, catching that brief exchange, did not appear amused.

“Sure it is,” he said with irony.

“Your house. And you're the one with the commando training.”

“DSS.”

“Same thing.”

Wade didn't argue, but said instead, “You didn't mention April. She got back from her book tour okay?”

“Yesterday, thank you God,” Luke answered with a hint of fervor in his voice. “She's on deadline, though, so holed up in one of the upstairs bedrooms and doing her damnedest to write a love scene in the middle of bedlam. I do my humble best to provide inspiration now and then, but it ain't easy with fifty or sixty people milling around.”

“I'm sure you manage.”

Luke raised a brow at Wade's sardonic tone. “You need lessons, sonny boy, you know where to come.”

“That'll be the day.”

“What I thought.”

“Surely there's not really fifty or sixty people at the house?”

“Minimum, came out of the woodwork when they heard somebody tried to cut out your liver.”

“It's not that bad,” Wade protested.

“Glad to hear it. But the clan is madder than hell that some nutcase wants to wipe us out.”

“Besides which, they can't stand to miss a fight.”

“That too.”

The glib words were a cover for more deeply felt emotions, Chloe thought. They were there anyway, in the warm camaraderie between the two men and the look in their eyes.

“Right.” Luke straightened and stepped back with a mock salute. “Carry on. I'll see you all later up at the house.”

“Take care,” Wade said. “I mean it.”

“You got it. Don't eat all the bread pudding, especially the one with the rum raisins and whiskey sauce.”

Wade lifted a hand. Nat put the car into gear and drove on. When Chloe looked back, there was no sign of Luke. He'd faded back into the woods as silently and completely as if he'd never been there.

Seconds later, they rounded a curve, and the house appeared in front of them. It was big, though not as large as Nottoway. Rambling, with odd angles and decorations, including a widow's walk, and a conglomeration of styles from French West Indies to neoclassical, it made up in character what it lacked in
grandeur. It couldn't be looking its best, since its windows were boarded up with plywood and the small entry court was barricaded with sandbags. The front lawn had been turned into a parking lot for every kind of truck and SUV ever manufactured, as well as a couple of truck campers and even a motor home—and every one, it seemed, flew the Stars and Stripes. Sentries were posted behind the entablature of the roof, and guards could be glimpsed in a line around the perimeter of the woods that encroached from all sides, and also along the lakeshore. Wade's home was, for all intents and purposes, an armed camp.

Yet children were playing ball in a clear area toward the rear, next to a peculiar mound of earth that might have been Wade's old fort. Nearby, a group of women peeled potatoes around a picnic table set up next to a pair of gas burners on metal stands. A couple of older men watched over the enormous cook pots on the stands, while others played dominoes on a card table that was kept level by a brick under one leg. Clothes flapped on a makeshift line stretched between two trees, fanning the pack of hunting dogs that lolled beneath them. If there was fear and panic anywhere among the group, it was well hidden.

As Nat rolled to a halt at the side of the house, the dogs rose with a great baying and began to lope toward the car. A teenager playing pitch with a younger girl turned and yelled at the dogs, calling them off. They dropped their tails and ruffs, but came on, circling the car.

“Don't worry about the hounds,” Wade said as he got out, then opened the door for Chloe. “They belong to Roan, and are harmless mutts unless he gives the order to hunt.”

“I'm not worried.” She rubbed the silky-feeling heads of the half dozen or so that pushed and shoved around her the instant she put feet on the ground. It was easier to concentrate on the dogs than face the curious stares of the other Benedicts who turned in their direction.

Wade glanced at her with a measuring look, then motioned the boy and his teammate forward. “Chloe, Nat, meet Jake. He's Roan's son. And this gorgeous shortstop with him is Lainey, Janna's daughter. Janna is married to Clay, has been since this time last year.”

Chloe smiled at the pair, wondering at the same time if Wade actually realized that starting with the younger members made it easier or if that was an accident. The boy showed every sign of being a true Benedict when he grew up, which was to say, handsome, confident, and with a habit of looking people in the eye. The girl seemed shyer, but was pretty in a fragile way and had a sunny, uncomplicated smile. This was the child who had received a kidney transplant, Chloe thought. She appeared to be adjusting well.

“Pop Benedict,” Wade said with a wave in the direction of an older man who ambled up to the car, “Roan's dad, so Jake's granddad, of course.”

She offered her hand while mentally cataloging
names. At least the surnames were the same, for the moment anyway.

“Welcome, Chloe, glad to have you. I remember you as a kid, in the pictures your dad used to show. We used to fish together, he and I.” The older man glanced at Wade. “You want Roan, he's in the house, checking with his office and Lord knows who all, seems to have a phone permanently attached to his ear and his son and heir glued to his shoulder. Clay's around somewhere. I know because I caught him and Janna in the pantry when I looked in for a broom a little while ago. Said they were checking on bread-and-butter pickles for the fish fry, but that's a likely story.”

“Mama's chopping onions for gumbo now, Uncle Wade,” Lainey piped up. “But she's not crying.”

Pop cleared his throat. “Yeah. Guess maybe Regina and Tory are with her. As for the rest of the crew, who knows?”

“Fish fry, huh? Sounds good.” Wade ruffled Lainey's hair in an affectionate gesture. “Go easy on Jake, little bit. He's not used to playing with pros like you.” The glance he sent Jake over the girl's head carried a message.

That the boy understood was plain from the serious expression that descended over his face and his quick nod. “We'll both go easy,” he said. “I'm starving from just smelling all the good things to eat, without working up more of an appetite.”

Wade's smile held approval before he turned to
ward the back door of the house. Chloe, moving with him, considered the scene she'd just witnessed. Lainey's tender ego had been stoked and her pride spared while insuring that Jake remembered her limitations. Jake had been reminded of his responsibility to take care of those younger and weaker than he was, and also rewarded for his ready acceptance of the task and approved for his tact. It was how consideration for others was taught, she thought, no lectures, no demands, just example and oblique instruction that was a lesson in itself. That it worked was obvious from Wade's level of manners. That it could be learned from etiquette books was doubtful.

The question was, just how far did such consideration go? Would Wade make love to a woman in whom he had little interest simply because he was too much of a gentleman to refuse? And if he did so at her invitation, did that make anything that happened afterward her own fault?

They entered the house by way of a living room that combined English country house comfort with antique parlor furnishings. It was empty, however, and the murmur of voices indicated that everyone was gathered in a room to the left. This turned out to be the kitchen, an open area with windows tall enough to flood it with light when they were not boarded up, and done in blue and white with a collection of flow-blue porcelain arranged in the space between the wall cabinets and ceiling. Fixtures were of stainless steel and sized for a restaurant, including the walk-in re
frigerator. Counter space was generous, more than enough to accommodate the five women who worked there.

Conversation that had been so animated died away to nothing as the women turned from what they were doing. They appeared like a team, facing Chloe as a solid front. Each one exceptionally attractive in her own way, they had a gloss of natural, effortless sophistication that was more than a little intimidating.

These women, his brothers' and cousins' wives, were the standard to which Wade must compare any woman who came into his life. There was no way on earth that she could ever measure up. Not that she wanted or needed to do that, of course, but it didn't make her feel good, all the same.

Then Wade's mother turned from where she stirred something in a huge pot on the monster of a range, waving her wooden spatula in greeting. Her smile and recognition seemed twice as warm, twice as welcome. The rich, homey smells of chopped onion that hung in the moist air along with those of diced celery and green peppers, browning flour and caramelizing sugar seemed to belong to her alone.

One of the wives, tall and with a long, braided rope of blond hair hanging over her shoulder and the rounded shape of midterm pregnancy, reached to wipe her hands on a kitchen towel before moving toward them. Wade opened his arms and enclosed her in a quick hug. Then holding her casually in the circle of
one arm, he introduced her as his brother Clay's wife, Janna.

Her greeting was pleasant enough but a degree of reserve lingered in her eyes. She didn't release Wade, but gingerly brushed her fingertips over the bandage he still wore under his shirt. “You sure you're okay? Clay said the gash you picked up over there was a nasty one.”

“Not that bad. I'll live, promise.” Affection made his eyes a darker green as he gazed down at her a second. “How's Clay junior doing?”

“He's great,” Janna said with a wry grimace, “and I will be, too, in about three and a half months. So is this Chloe?”