by Angi Morgan
“I promise to do everything I can to find him.”
She rose and the towel fell behind her as she walked to him with her shoulders back and face tilted to look him in the eyes. Her small hand flattened on his chest covering his heart. The rest of her body followed until he could rest his chin on the top of her head. He wanted to kiss her so badly he could barely get air into his lungs.
Would he ever be able to think straight around her?
“Please tell me I’m doing the right thing by trusting you,” she whispered. “They said not to let the FBI know, but I need you. I can’t do this alone.”
He put his arms around her, loving every miserable minute of agony it caused him. At that moment he didn’t care if it would jeopardize the operation. He didn’t care if his attachment was too strong and would cloud his judgment. He wanted Jane right where she was.
“We’ve got to call. It’s our only choice, Jane. Dallas doesn’t have any leads except you.” He let his words hang in the air a moment, but she didn’t respond. “They don’t know your neighbor is missing. If we find her, she may be able to give a description of the kidnappers.”
“I can’t let you take me back.” Barely shaking her head, she tightened her grip on his shirt. “Not until I’ve done what they said I have to do.” Her body trembled, an imperceptible tremor that could be associated with tears.
“It’s okay to cry, Jane,” he whispered in her ear.
“No, it’s not. It achieves nothing and keeps me from thinking. But I miss Rory. What if he’s scared and is crying for me?”
“You can’t think of that.” He could say the same for himself. It impaired an agent’s judgment when he got too involved. Like he was right now, cradling Jane. “We have to concentrate on getting him back. And we will. I promise.”
But he couldn’t make promises that excluded the best way to find the Brant kid. Somehow, he’d contact his team and protect Jane. By harboring and abetting a suspected felon? Him. Steve Woods, hard-nosed, by-the-book FBI agent.
Yeah, shot down with one look from the only woman who’d ever meant anything to him.
Chapter Three
The storm raged outside. Whitecaps on the lake splashed over the boat dock. A perfect scene for Jane’s turbulent feelings and emotions. She was drowning in guilt. Guilt over leaving Rory, guilt over not telling Steve straightaway he was a father.
Even now, she couldn’t wrap her mind around any words good enough to explain why she’d waited so long to tell him. Nothing she formed in her mind convinced her to say the words aloud.
“What’s he like?” Steve asked near the top of her head.
“Rory?” She couldn’t breathe. Of all the things he could have asked, she wasn’t prepared to describe his son to him. Not right now.
“Yeah, Rory. Your son.”
Your son. Simple words she didn’t know how to correct. The lie gave her a nauseous feeling. His son, too. Was it too late to tell him?
Just do it. Say, “Steve, you’re Rory’s father.” Tell him why you kept his son away from him for almost four years. Tell him you were an idiot and scared to death of losing everything. Tell him why you came back to Texas.
Tell him!
“I thought you said you needed to make a call,” she said instead, too much of a coward to try to convince Steve of anything else.
“Calling will wait.”
Jane searched his face for Agent Steve Woods. He was as reliable as a Swiss Army knife when it came to the Bureau. He’d never put off work before. He’d chosen his job over a possible future with her.
Granted, four years ago they’d only been together several weeks and he’d been between assignments. But the fervor he’d used when talking about his job made her more than a little envious.
She’d yearned for that passion. It was part of what drew her to him. It would be so nice to get lost in Steve’s enthusiasm for life. To forget about all her worries for just a little while. But Rory’s kidnapping was her first priority.
Lightning lit the sky and thunder shook the windows. The weather wasn’t working in her favor. The longer she waited to tell him the truth, the less he’d believe her. What would he say when she admitted she’d kept knowledge of his child from him?
“Maybe this conversation should wait. It’s getting worse out there.” He nodded his head toward the window. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll hit my mom’s closet for some clothes. You can at least start out mud-free before we take off again.”
His breath moved tendrils of hair across her face. It tickled her skin, but she wasn’t about to move from his arms. She needed to feel connected to someone, anyone, but was grateful it was Steve.
“What’s going to happen?” She tried to remain calm, to keep the shakiness from her voice. “If they have the money and the formula, why not give Rory back?”
“I don’t know, Janie. I really don’t know.”
“WE HAD…LEAD…OPERATIONS…moved…San Antonio.”
“I’m only getting every other word, George.” He was soaked to the skin after standing on the covered porch, but it was the only place his phone halfway worked. Steve glanced through the window to an empty living room as he spoke into his cell. “Can you hear me? She’s innocent.”
“I can have a team…evacuation point…approximately two hours…local PD to pick her up.” George’s distorted voice punched through the static on the connection.
“No.” He hated the thought of Jane in handcuffs. “George, trust me. I don’t need any help to get her to San Antonio. Set up around the Alamo like I asked so we can catch these bastards.”
“You…way over your head. You know…and McCaffrey hit the roof…you were gone.”
“I’m losing the connection, man. We’ll meet you in San Antonio. Give me your word.”
“You’re wrong. You can’t trust…”
“Just check it out for me.”
“You…the river has crested…evacuated your area.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Son of a…” He resisted the impulse to throw the state-of-the-art piece of crap into the soggy yard. Before his broken phone call the lake had been a couple of feet from the house. Now it was creeping into his mother’s flowers.
The homes on the north shore of Lake Buchanan had been evacuated since yesterday. Even though the lake was flood-regulated, it didn’t stop the creeks that fed it from becoming dangerous flash-flood zones. The river had already crested and the rain kept coming down in sheets.
They’d lost time talking about the kidnapping. His job of helping victimized children had suddenly become grimly personal. The lake water rushed by, but he couldn’t seem to get moving. He had one of those feelings of dread stuck in the pit of his stomach. He just couldn’t pinpoint what Jane was lying about and the whole scenario of her son’s kidnapping made no sense.
He was blown away. Jane had a kid. He shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts on track. They needed to leave. Now. Steve had driven around the barricades to get to the house so they could use his rental to get back out.
Heeding his sense of urgency, he walked back into the house and straight to his mother’s workroom. Straight into a table with his mother’s scrapbook junk that he knocked to the floor. Crap. He knelt to pick up the pictures scattered on the carpet.
Baseball. First grade. Bobby Joe Hill.
Big as day, there was his friend with his arm around Steve’s shoulder and two teeth missing.
The fear and confusion from that summer slammed his body, forcing its way into his mind. Shutting him down to hear his breathing echoing in his head.
If he hadn’t thought he’d done the right thing by calling George, his memories confirmed his actions. Bobby Joe had disappeared without a trace. That wasn’t going to happen to Jane’s son.
He slammed the picture on the table, got a sweat suit and T-shirt from the back of the closet and left it on the bed in the guest room. Opening the bathroom door a crack, he said, “I’ve left some of Mom’
s clothes here. We need to head out.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“The Colorado is already out of its banks. It’s sure to cause problems and detours on the way to San Antonio.”
The water cut off. He quickly pulled the door closed. No matter how much he wanted to be close to Jane, missing the kidnapper’s deadline wasn’t an option. He rubbed his aching head and found aspirin in the kitchen cabinet. He tossed back two tablets and half a can of soda.
A muffled thump had him reaching for his weapon—that was in his pack.
A couple of sporadic whacks outside got louder as he approached the mudroom and opened the door. The water covered the road leading to the driveway. He yanked his boots from his feet and let the door slam behind him.
JANE SEARCHED THE UNFAMILIAR room for a clock and confirmed she’d been in the shower less than ten minutes. She never should have let him convince her to clean up, but getting the filth off her skin helped regain control of her thoughts.
Loud thunder rumbled through the house as she pulled Amanda’s sweats around her waist. Her feet tangled in the long pants, slowing her progress as she vaulted from the bed toward the window. Another strange thudding outside along with a string of colorful curses carried through the storm. Water lapped at the base of the porch. Steve’s rental car floated in the flooded driveway, bumping into the sides of the detached garage.
There wasn’t any way to get back to her rental which had probably washed away, too.
They’d lost their transportation, but couldn’t wait around for rescue workers to get to them. She had to be in San Antonio ready to get Rory back tomorrow. Pulling the drawstring around her waist tighter, she ran down the stairs and pulled the porch door open just as Steve dove off the dock.
The downpour drenched her in a matter of seconds. The sky was dark and menacing. It was hard to see even though it was nine-fifteen in the morning.
They had another six or seven feet before the water would reach the first floor. But the contents from the garage—level with the lake—joined the rest of the flotsam.
Debris, trash, beach toys, a foam cooler and lots of tree limbs made it not only disgusting but very dangerous to swim through.
“Steve!” Was he crazy?
Then she saw the rope tied to the corner post of the porch. Her heart slowed just a bit from its rapid beat. With her eyes, she followed the rope toward the floating boat dock and prayed Steve had enough sense to tie the other end around himself.
“Steve!”
“I’m okay, Jane.” He waved and swam farther away. He was crazy. “Wait there.”
Another lightning flash, with an almost immediate crack of thunder, helped enough with the horrible visibility to see Steve swimming back with a Jet Ski in tow. Jane went to the rope and pulled the loose end from the water, tossing it to him when he got close.
“Grab my pack and shove my boots inside,” he shouted through the rain. “They’re in the laundry.”
She should let him have a piece of her mind for scaring her half to death, but she didn’t argue. She ran through the house and found his boots, shoving one worn shoe inside the bag, but something prevented the other from fitting. Rearranging things, she jumped when her hand connected with the cold metal of Steve’s gun handle.
Calm down. He’s FBI. He wouldn’t go anywhere without this thing. Shoving the second boot inside, she tugged the too-big sweatpants up as she ran back to the porch.
Steve finished a couple of hitches around a post and turned his back on the Jet Ski. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“So am I.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” he shouted sternly, placing his fists on his hips. “You’re staying here.”
“This is our only way out.”
“It’s too dangerous. I couldn’t get to the life vests. The rain’s coming down so hard I can’t see twenty feet in front of me. The evacuation point will have rescue boats. I’ll come back for you after I’ve gotten across to the south side.”
“No.” She shook her head, running a hand across her eyes only to have the rain replace the water as fast as she’d removed it. “We go together.”
“Don’t be so dang stubborn.” Creases between his eyes emphasized how much he believed he was right.
“Me?” All the fright she’d experienced in the past three days surfaced faster than she could control. Words tumbled from her heart that she’d wanted to say for over four years. “You are the biggest, most stubborn, hardheaded, jackass of a man I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, yeah? This Jet Ski is twelve years old. This hard head of mine might just survive getting across ten miles of lake on my own. The seat might just be big enough for my stubborn ass, but there’s no way two of us can make it in this weather. Shoot, it’s probably going to run out of gas anyway.”
“You can’t leave me behind.”
“Yes, I can. It’s too dangerous to take you with me. Now hand over my pack.”
Although she’d experienced it only once, Jane knew that tough look he threw her way. He’d used the same one when he’d told her she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work for Johns Hopkins. But she wouldn’t let him make decisions for her.
Not again.
Never taking her eyes from Steve’s, she slipped one arm through a strap, then the other.
“Aw, hell,” he moaned as lightning splintered across the sky. The storm wasn’t backing off. It was getting worse. He stomped barefoot across the porch and angrily grabbed her shoulders. “You aren’t a strong enough swimmer for this, Jane. No one’s a strong enough swimmer for this.”
“I’m going. Rory’s depending on me.” Stubborn? He only thought he’d seen stubborn before. Jutting her chin out, she gritted her teeth and prepared to fight him if necessary. He could stay here. She’d take the Jet Ski. Her mind raced to the self-defense book she’d read once.
Pictures flooded her mind. Steve’s tall lanky frame would topple if she had the right move, but she didn’t want to hurt him on the slick porch.
Then he freed her, pushed his hair out of his eyes and released a long sigh. “Get on.”
Not waiting for a second invitation, she grabbed the sweatpants around her waist, inching the material from under her feet, then carefully walked the steps leading to the rising water and Jet Ski. She waited as Steve untied the rope from the post, wrapped some around his hand and followed her.
Standing on the slope with the lake rising around their calves, Steve tipped her chin to face him. The wind whipped the rain in stinging pelts against her skin, but she could barely feel it after his warm touch.
He wrapped and knotted the end of the rope around her waist. “I won’t lose you, Janie.”
His lips brushed hers firmly and much too briefly to be considered exciting. Yet all the euphoric sensations she’d experienced four years ago rushed back, making her light-headed.
Maybe it was just a lack of sleep.
The other end of the rope now hung around his waist. He waited for her to climb on, then led the Jet Ski away from the house.
With the rain assailing their bodies, Steve shoved them farther from shore, mumbling about her hardheadedness all the while. Then he pulled himself onto the ski and turned the starter.
“I wish I’d been more stubborn and kept you from pushing me away four years ago,” she whispered softly into the back of his shirt.
He couldn’t have heard her. The roar of the Jet Ski coming to life combined with the thunder and water crashing the muck against the porch drowned her whisper. But his hand squeezed her thigh and pulled her closer to him on the seat. He drew her arms tighter around his broad chest before he gunned the gas and headed into the gray, murky horizon.
Tell him.
The nagging voice kept pestering her to tell Steve he was Rory’s father. But how? It wasn’t possible on the back of a Jet Ski. She’d missed the opportunity to calmly inform him. He already thought she was half-crazy and would never believe she was telling the truth.
J
ane had no choice but to trust that he’d help. She had to get to San Antonio and find Rory. Then she’d worry about telling Steve everything she should have a long time ago.
TRAVELING THROUGH A thunderstorm that could be classified as a mild monsoon and getting to safety should have been the most important things on Steve’s mind. Well, they were priorities. Along with dodging the debris swept downstream by the Colorado River. He jerked the Jet Ski around another bobbing tree limb as thick as his thigh.
But Jane hung right there at the top of his problems. She hadn’t moved an inch, still hugging his waist as tight as when they’d started out. He wanted to reassure her.
Better to just concentrate on getting across the lake.
It would be safer to stay near shore, but that wasn’t an option. Too much debris, too much shoreline, too little gas. He knew of one possible evacuation site—the dam on the southwestern point of a hundred miles of shoreline. It was the only place people were still likely to be, and high enough that cars could still get to the roads.
It might as well have been pitch-dark for all the visibility he had, so he crept along like an old hound dog hunting for a scent. With no windshield on the Jet Ski, not even fools took these machines out in a mild rain. Especially with no life vests. The dang things had floated away before he could get to the boathouse.
Jane should have stayed at his parents’ home where she’d be safe. But he couldn’t risk making a mistake that might cost them finding her son. She would never forgive him.
He could beat himself up all day. It wouldn’t do any good. They’d find Rory, the Brant kid and the money. He spied an unidentifiable floating object ahead and released the throttle.
“What’s wrong?” Jane asked, shouting into the wind.
“Nothing. We’re fine.” They bumped into a lounge chair cushion and Steve pushed it away with his foot. He wiped the water from his face using the tail of his wet T-shirt and flexed his stiff fingers several times. “You doing okay?”