Irene sighed and slammed down the lighter. “All right. Calm down.”
“You’d better not have been smoking inside this cabin.”
“I know better than that. I always smoke outside.”
“Tell me how you got inside. Did you break a window?”
“Getting in was easy. I made a copy of the key years ago.”
“Why?”
Irene shrugged. “You’re my son. What if you needed me?”
Claudia really needed to pee, but was too fascinated by this conversation to miss a word. Why was Jack being so hateful to his mom? Of course he’d been shocked to find her here—especially considering the clandestine reasons for their arrival and how she complicated their mission—but he ought to be glad to see her. He acted as if she was his mortal enemy rather than his mother.
“If I needed help, you’d be the last person I’d call.”
Claudia stifled a gasp, and Irene seemed to deflate at his words. She collapsed into one of the chairs surrounding the table.
“Don’t be cruel, Jack. Not in front of your new wife.”
“She’s not my wife.”
Irene glanced at Claudia. Knowing what it felt like to be interrogated by Jack, she gave his mom a nod and a reassuring smile.
“I know you’re disappointed in me, son, but I’m still your mother.”
“Just tell me why you’ve moved in to my house without an invitation.”
After a long moment, Irene raised her chin and held his gaze. “Because I had nowhere else to go.”
That statement hung in the room like a deadly but odorless gas. The only sound was the steady beat of raindrops on the roof.
Claudia searched Jack’s face for some subtle sign of softening, but couldn’t get a read on his thoughts. This was a whole new and disturbing side of her gladiator, one not quite so heroic.
Deciding now was a good time to defuse the tension, Claudia stepped forward. “Um, I could really use a bathroom.”
“Down the hallway,” Jack said in a flat tone. “Door on your right. I’ll get our luggage out of the car.”
When he jerked open the front door, a cold wind rushed inside the cabin, ruffling the plastic grocery bags on the table and chilling her arms. When the door slammed, the turbulence calmed.
“I guess he’s still a bit pissed at me,” Irene murmured into the silence.
“It’s been a long day,” Claudia said. What else could she say? She’d like to give this sad woman a hug, but wasn’t sure about Irene’s reaction. Whatever she’d done in the past, it had to be horrible. Jack didn’t want her here, and her presence definitely complicated their plans.
Irene brightened. “Have y’all had supper? I made my famous chili today. Jack loves my chili.”
“Sounds delicious.” Wondering about the next surprise the universe would toss at her, Claudia opened the bathroom door and a small white dog leaped onto her legs.
“Well, hello there,” she cooed, only then remembering the angry barks while waiting in the car. She’d envisioned a huge Rottweiler, not a tiny mop.
Grinning, she bent down to pet the animal. “Did your mom lock you in here to avoid the fireworks?”
The dog licked her face as if it’d been smeared with a favorite treat, then padded into the living room, ears erect and tail high.
When Claudia reentered the living area, Jack wasn’t there, but her duffel bag and a few boxes sat inside the front door. Irene stood by the stove stirring a pot while sipping a glass of white wine. An enticing fragrance of chili pepper, tomatoes and garlic wafted through the room, reminding Claudia that she hadn’t eaten much lunch. Homemade chili did sound good.
“You want some pinot grigio?” Irene asked holding up a green bottle. “Finest vintage—made just last week.”
“Sure,” Claudia said. “Thanks.”
“Have a seat, honey.” Irene placed a plastic wineglass on the table, scooped up the grocery bags and transferred them to a kitchen counter.
When Claudia sat at the table, the white dog jumped into her lap and curled into a small ball of fluff.
“That’s Pookie,” Irene said, pouring the wine.
“Quite the watchdog.” Claudia stroked the dog’s soft fur, and Pookie released a contented sigh.
“Oh, she’s ferocious,” Irene agreed.
“Where’s Jack?” Claudia asked.
“He said he was going to check the perimeter, whatever that means.”
“In the rain?”
Irene shrugged. “I don’t think he wants to remain in the same room with me, but doesn’t have the heart to throw me out. A walk is his way of cooling off.”
Walking in this cold rain should accomplish that. Claudia took a sip of the chilled wine and doubted this particular bottle cost anyone ten thousand dollars.
“You two seem to have some issues.”
“You could say that.” Irene issued such a deep, throaty laugh, it created a series of nasty coughs.
Claudia narrowed her eyes at the sound. Jack’s mom needed to quit smoking ASAP.
“Are you okay?” Claudia asked.
“I’m fine.” Irene blotted her eyes with a paper towel and took a sip of wine. Then she opened a wooden kitchen cabinet and began stowing her groceries. “My son has a lot of good traits, but he isn’t the forgiving type.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Claudia said. “I’ll remember that.”
“How long have you two been dating? I’m thinking not long, or you’d already know that.”
Claudia took another swallow of wine to give her time to think. How should she answer that question? Of course they had to tell Jack’s mom something, but what? Definitely not the truth.
“You can’t remember?” Irene asked.
“I haven’t known Jack all that long,” Claudia said.
“I see.” Irene stood on her tiptoes to place a box of shredded wheat on the highest shelf. “The last thing he said to me—in his meanest tone—was not to tell anyone about you guys being here.”
“Please don’t,” Claudia said. “That’s why he got so mad when he found you here. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d come home.”
“Why?” Irene stood flat-footed and faced Claudia.
“Don’t tell her anything you don’t want everyone in the fricking state to know,” Jack boomed from the front door.
Claudia started at his harsh tone, and turned to see him remove a yellow rain slicker, shake off water and place it on a hook outside the front door. His hair was dripping, but because of the rain gear he wasn’t soaked through as she’d feared.
Irene opened a closet and tossed Jack a dry towel. “Did you find any monsters?”
“All clear,” he replied, and used the towel to dry his hair.
“So what’s going on here, Jack?” Irene asked. “Is Miss Claudia on the run from something?”
“We came up here for a vacation,” Jack said. “To get away. That’s all you need to know.”
“People don’t drive to north Florida in February for a vacation. Especially not during a cold snap.”
“Let it go, Mother.”
Irene glanced at Claudia. “Most likely you’re not running from the law, though. Jack don’t truck with nothing illegal.”
Claudia waited for Jack to respond. What would he tell his mother about her? Jack folded the towel into neat quarters, then strode across the room and sat at the table between Claudia and his mom.
“Why don’t we focus on our real problem?”
“What’s that?” Irene asked.
“How I’m going to muzzle you.”
Irene placed a palm flat over her heart. “I swear I won’t tell anyone you’re in Dunnellon.”
“I wish I could believe you, Mother, but history h
as taught me otherwise.”
For the first time, Claudia caught emotion in Jack’s voice, and she decided his mom had done something really awful to him. She must have said the wrong thing to the right person at the worst possible time for him to behave this way.
He placed the towel on the table. “There’s only one way to be sure you don’t spread the word to everyone you know.”
“What’s that?” Claudia asked.
Jack didn’t look away from his mom. “Take away her phone.”
“My phone?”
“Okay,” Claudia said, making a T with her hands. “Time-out. The chili is hot, it smells yummy and I’m hungry.”
Irene had set out two bowls, so Claudia ladled steaming chili into them for herself and Jack. Hoping food would put him in a better mood, she set a full bowl and a spoon in front of him, poured more wine for Irene and sat to eat her own supper. She needed energy.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Irene took long pulls on her wine, staring at the table. Jack concentrated on his meal as if it were the last one he’d ever have.
“This is delicious, Irene,” Claudia said finally.
“Thanks,” Irene mumbled, and shot Claudia a grateful look.
“Isn’t it good, Jack?” Claudia prompted.
He grunted in what sounded like agreement and kept eating.
“You must give me this recipe,” Claudia said after another long moment.
“Sure,” Irene said. “The secret is fresh tomatoes and lots of garlic.”
Jack’s spoon clattered into his empty bowl. “If you ladies are done with the business of your society of secret recipes, I’d like to resolve our problem.”
“We’re here on official police business,” Claudia interjected before Jack could disrupt the fragile peace. “We can’t tell you any more than that, but lives depend on no one knowing where we are.”
Irene’s gaze darted from Jack to Claudia and back to Jack.
“You’re still a cop? I thought you quit.”
“Please believe me, Irene,” Claudia said. “We can’t give you any details, but the security of the United States government is at stake.”
Claudia glanced to Jack for his support, but he only raised his eyebrows and gave her a look that said, “Oh, please do go on. This is a fascinating tale.”
She glared at him. What she’d told his mom wasn’t a lie. Carlos was a domestic terrorist who would blow up more government buildings if her testimony didn’t keep him in jail.
“The US government?” Irene asked doubtfully. “You work for the government now, Jack?” Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, Lordy. Does this have something to do with that scandal down at the federal farm bureau?”
Claudia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Irene. We can’t tell you. The less you know, the safer it is for you.”
“That’s like waving a red flag in front of her,” Jack said. “She won’t stop asking questions until she badgers us to death.”
“I can keep a secret, son.”
“No you can’t, Mother.”
“Stop it, you two,” Claudia said. “This is not helping.”
Jack sat back in his chair and issued a disgusted noise that sounded like a snort.
“Irene, if you tell anyone that we’re here—anyone—it could be a disaster. That person could mention it to someone else and so on and so on.” Claudia placed a hand over her heart. “That would be dangerous for all three of us.”
“No, it won’t,” Jack said. “Because Mother is leaving.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JACK SHIFTED IN his chair as Claudia leveled questioning eyes on him.
“Where’s that bourbon?” he asked his mother.
“In Grandpa Strawn’s sideboard,” Irene said.
Jack rose and approached the wooden cabinet that had been handcrafted by his mother’s grandfather. She’d discarded the piece when she’d moved in with a new lover saying it didn’t go with his contemporary decor. Typical of her not to cherish things that had real meaning.
He poured himself an inch of straight whiskey and returned to the table. Might as well get this over with.
“What happened to the little love nest Chuck Wheeler set you up with?”
His mother averted her gaze.
“You know I can ask around,” Jack said.
“Not without telling someone you’re back in town,” his mother spit out.
Jack took a pull on the whiskey and waited her out. A conversation with his mother always went this way. Had since he’d been twelve years old and she’d left his dad for a greener bank account.
“Janie Sue found out about us.”
“You knew she would eventually.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect her to ask Chuck to fire me. And I definitely didn’t expect him to.”
“You lost your job?”
“Six months ago. That’s why I’m homeless. Janie Sue spread it all over town that I was a home wrecker and a bad employee—which you know is not true—and I haven’t been able to find another job because of her lies.”
“They’re not lies. You are a home wrecker, or are trying to be.”
Irene looked away, and Jack shook his head. But of course this was the story of his mother’s turbulent life. And the blowback from her disasters always knocked him off course.
That was the story of his life. Or it used to be. He thought he’d moved beyond his mother’s gravitational pull.
“Wait,” Claudia said. “I’m confused.”
He shot her a glance. He’d been wondering when she’d interject. What must she think about his mother? During high school he’d never brought a girlfriend home so he didn’t have to explain Irene’s peculiar way of seeing things.
“Me, too,” Irene muttered.
“Yeah, it’s like a soap opera,” Jack said. “Hard to keep track of all the players. Bottom line is my mother was screwing the county sheriff, who happened to be both of our bosses once upon a time, his wife found out and good ole Mom got the axe.”
“And now she can’t get a job because his wife spread rumors?” Disbelief dripped from Claudia’s tone.
“I guess you don’t know small towns,” Irene said.
“I guess not,” Claudia agreed.
“I’ve been making my quilts and cleaning for old lady Smithfield to buy groceries and gas,” Irene said. “I’m a month behind on my car payment.”
“I’ll help with that,” Jack said. “But you can’t stay here. I built this cabin for one person, not three.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” Irene said.
“No,” Jack said. He took the final swallow of whiskey.
“Jackson, I don’t know why you—”
“No!” he shouted, cutting off her protests. He slammed the glass onto the table. He was sick of this. His mother never listened to him, but he needed to make her understand she wasn’t bulldozing into his life again. Whether she believed him or not, if the Warriors tracked them to Dunnellon, she’d be in danger. He didn’t need that additional complication. She had to go.
The question was where. He closed his eyes, trying to think. Why couldn’t he think?
“Why don’t we all sleep on it tonight,” Claudia said into the sudden silence.
She placed her palm on his forearm and gave a gentle squeeze. Knowing she wanted his attention, he met her gaze.
“Jack didn’t get much rest last night and drove all day,” Claudia said. “He needs sleep. Maybe we’ll come up with a solution in the morning.”
“Why didn’t you get any rest?” Irene asked.
Jack focused on his mother again. She stroked the little dog curled up contentedly in her lap, oblivious to the controversy swirling over its furry head. Like mother; like dog.
&nb
sp; “He had things to take care of last night.” Claudia rose, tugging on his arm. “Come on, Jack. You’re going to bed.”
Jack stood, and realized Claudia was right about at least one thing: he seriously needed rest. Now that his body had used up the jolt of adrenaline required to deal with the intruder—his own mother—he was drained of energy. For sure the shot of whiskey hadn’t helped, but whatever the cause he wasn’t thinking clearly. What was he doing sitting here trying to have a logical discussion with his mother? Conversations with her always had the same outcome.
“Irene, do you want to get anything out of Jack’s bedroom you’ll need tonight?” Claudia asked as she all but pushed him toward bed.
“No, I’m good. I’ll just wash up these dishes and crash on the sofa.”
Jack almost laughed. Typical. His mother was trying to make them feel guilty.
“Thanks,” Claudia said. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
Jack turned back to his mother. “Where’s your phone?”
Irene hesitated, but like a guilty suspect her gaze darted to her huge purple bag where it rested on the recliner.
Jack grabbed the purse and fished out the phone.
“Oh, come on, Jack,” Irene said.
“We’ll talk more in the morning,” Jack said, repeating Claudia’s words but in a more ominous tone.
* * *
WHEN CLAUDIA CAME to consciousness, it was to the sound of birds singing and chirping joyously, obviously delighted with the new morning.
The next thing she became aware of was heat from the large body of Jackson Richards—in full, glorious view since he wore nothing but his briefs—stretched out next to her on the bed. Stretched out extremely close to her because the bed was full size, not even a queen.
He lay flat on his back breathing so deeply she’d almost call it a snore. She supposed it would be polite to avert her gaze, but didn’t want to. What she wanted to do was give in to the visceral pull that urged her to straddle him and let instinct take over.
She rolled onto her side and allowed herself to take a long, admiring look at his well-toned physique. Her gaze lingered on a scar that slashed across his abdomen in the wrong location for appendicitis. Had her gladiator been in a knife fight?
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