Maximum Memories

by Abby Gordon

  He groaned softly. His words and actions had probably confused the hell out of her and served to support whatever she’d been told about his supposed debriefing. He had to make sure she believed in him. The first step would be getting their son back.

  Max could hardly believe it. He’d been given a second chance. All of a sudden all the dreams he’d never dared to believe could happen seemed to be within his grasp. If he had the strength to hold on. He didn’t know what Ginny wanted. For all he knew, she only wanted one night. Comfort. A distraction. Despite what she’d been through, despite how she’d been treated after the failed mission, she had given herself to him.

  He was going to make her want more. Make her want him. Make her believe in them.

  Chapter Seven

  She was curled up against Max. Or perhaps a more accurate way to describe it, she thought, was he was curled around her. His left leg and arm were draped over her body. Relaxing back against him, she smiled. In his sleep at least, he made it clear that anyone trying to get to her would have to go through him. She closed her eyes. What about when he was awake? Feeling his heartbeat against her ear, she focused on breathing slowly. One step at a time. One heartbeat at a time.

  The sensation of his body draped over hers felt familiar though. She combed her memory but the exact event eluded her. She sighed and relaxed, then snapped her eyes open. It wasn’t something she’d seen. But something she’d felt.

  Max had protected her with his body that night. Just as he had during the attack at her cottage. He had been protecting her when the second explosion hit. She’d been unconscious but her body remembered him pulling her under him.

  With a sigh, she wriggled slightly and relaxed against him.

  She thought over the words he’d used—make love. That he’d used them, instead of a cruder term, mattered more than she wanted to admit. Two simple words but they implied emotion with the action. And she desperately wanted the emotion.

  His emotion.

  “What time is it?” came his voice, muffled against her neck.

  Lifting her head slightly, she dropped it back on the pillow.

  “Two-thirty.”

  He rolled her toward him so she was on her back. In the glow of the clock, her eyes adjusted and found his.

  “We’ll have to leave at six,” he said, watching her face. “We have to be in Vince’s office by eight.”

  She understood immediately.

  “Polaris called?”

  He nodded.

  “Charlie?”

  He hated to see hope flare in her eyes. Hope he knew would disappear when he spoke.

  “No one talked to him.”

  The terror in her eyes was too much and he pulled her against him.

  “Sh, Ginny,” he murmured as she started crying. “We’ll get him back. I promise.”

  “If Polaris knows he’s your son…”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he told her. He knew if he thought about their son in the hands of such an enemy he’d go crazy. Ginny might very well fall apart. She had the right to, but not the time. “Tell me about Charlie.”

  “That’s just it,” she wept, curling into his body. “I’ve taught him to be quiet and watch, but he was so upset at us and he’ll be frightened. I don’t know…”

  Rocking her gently, Max closed his eyes, praying like he couldn’t remember since he’d been nine and stopped praying completely.

  “What is he like?” he asked when she’d calmed down.

  “Let me get something to show you,” she whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  “I moved the bags closer.”

  “I see them,” she nodded.

  Reluctantly he let her slip from the bed. Grateful for the shadows, Ginny padded to her suitcase. Lifting the lid, she heard the mattress creak and then the lamp came on. Wincing at the light, she pulled out her favorite pink nightshirt and tugged it over her head.

  “Now why did you do that?” Max drawled.

  She looked over her shoulder to find him propped up against the headboard. The sheet had slipped down to his hips, exposing a broad expanse of chest and abdomen muscles that rippled as he put his hands behind his head. He grinned at her.

  “You know I’m just going to take it off of you as soon as you get back over here,” he told her. “Your modesty is charming but I prefer you without clothes.”

  Blushing at the look in his eyes, and the way the sheet tented over his thighs, she focused on the contents of her bag and found the object. With a smile, she lifted it up and turned.

  Max was amused when she pulled on a silk nightshirt. Honestly, did the woman think he was going to let her wear that? He wanted her naked in his bed, not trying to hide her body. Although, he mused as she returned to the bed, that body did look very good in a short bit of silk. His cock seconded his brain and threatened to take control. His brain maintained the upper hand as Ginny reached the bed and handed him a large leather bound book.

  “What’s this?” he wondered, taking it.

  She climbed back next to him. Instinctively he put an arm around her. Eagerly she snuggled against his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

  “Each year on Charlie’s birthday, I give him a scrapbook of everything that he’s done since the last birthday. Since he’ll be ten this year, I decided to do a ‘best of book’,” she explained. “I brought what I’ve done so far for the two of you to look at.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Holding her tight as she fought back the tears, he vowed again to make Polaris pay for every bit of pain she was feeling, for every second since Charlie had been taken from his mother.

  “Show me,” he whispered.

  In large gold letters “The First Decade of Charlie” wrapped around the edges of the cover. Max rested the book on his thighs and opened it. For a long moment, he just stared at the page, drinking in the pictures. It was the page of a day-by-day calendar with the word—pregnant!—written in a red marker. A picture of the cottage with SOLD across the realtor’s sign. He smiled. The trees were much smaller and the landscaping was obviously less-developed. Below it was a picture of Ginny cradling a black Labrador puppy.

  “Del?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  “I bought the house the week after I came back from Vegas and Del the week after that.” She hesitated. “I named him Delaware, for the river we were next to when…”

  She stopped when he lifted her chin and stared at her. Flustered, she dropped her gaze, twisting her hands on her lap. His large hand covered hers.

  “So, I guess now we get another dog and name it Potomac?”

  She blinked and chuckled. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “We’ll figure it out later,” he nodded, turning the page.

  He caught the light in her eyes when he said “we.” The hope flared in him that she did want more than one night. That she might just want him to live with her and Charlie in the cottage. The thought settled him down in ways nothing else could have.

  Max gazed at the photos and smiled. That’s what he’d wanted to see. Pictures of her pregnant with his child. With Charlie. A progression of the pregnancy month by month. The first five months showed little besides a growing glow in her face. But the sixth showed a definite bump as she stood in front of a Christmas tree. By the ninth, she stood in profile to the camera, grinning as her hands held her shirt along the bulge. And there was one of her gardening, Del sleeping nearby, under the fourth month. And an ultrasound picture at three months had a page to itself.

  More shaken than he’d thought he would be, Max reached out to touch the first proof of his son.

  “My son,” he breathed.

  He wanted to turn back time. Turn it back…to that morning. Take back the cruel words that had convinced her that she was on her own just a few weeks later. Maybe she might have tried harder to reach him, despite his supposed debriefing. And then he wouldn’t have missed any of his son’s life. He would have been th
ere from the beginning. With her when she bought the house. No. They would have bought it together. He would have been holding her hand as she labored to deliver their child. He would have held his son moments after his first breath. He would have been there for everything between that moment and now.

  He could feel Ginny’s eyes on his face. He couldn’t hide his awe and amazement as he gazed at the pictures. He turned the page and his eyes burned with tears. Max couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures. Ginny obviously in labor. And then, with a tired, triumphant smile on her face, holding a baby with a shock of thick black hair. Her maternal curiosity as she verified that her baby was indeed whole and healthy. And a picture, discreet, showing her nursing Charlie. He read the calligraphy heading the page—Charles Arthur Erickson, March 15th, 0315 hours, 9 lbs 9 ozs, 22 inches.

  “Is that big?” he wondered, recalling Charlie’s words about his size. It seemed pretty big. One of his nephews had been nine pounds, but both his parents were nearly six feet tall. “Was he healthy?

  “Very healthy,” she told him. “Size-wise? Maybe not considering how tall you are,” she smiled. “But for my size? And a first baby? He was plenty big. My brother and a cousin made a bet on when Charlie would be taller than me.”

  “He got a good head start,” Max grinned, arm tightening around her shoulders.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled with a smile.

  Max fell silent as he slowly absorbed what was in the book. His son’s life, usually with the faithful Del at his side. In the snow. Jumping into a leaf pile. Splashing through the sprinkler in the backyard. Playing baseball, soccer, and video games with his friends. There were a few of Ginny with him. At age five, they’d done a mother-son portrait. Max could see how her hair had grown, reaching past her shoulders.

  “Max?” Ginny whispered.

  He’d come to the last page and just stared at the photo—her, Charlie, and Del. Taken two weeks before they’d discovered Del had cancer. Charlie had not smiled much in the past two months. Neither had she.

  Dammit! What was he thinking? Was he thinking that he’d barely escaped being tied down? Was he thanking God that he’d missed potty-training, shoe tying lessons, and the terrible twos? Or was he wishing he’d been there through the chicken pox, the homework sessions, and stubbornness that was Charlie? Was he seeing all the joy and love that was their son? Was he wishing he’d seen the triumph when he’d made his first double-play? The delight on his face when he’d scored his first soccer goal? Or the heartbreak when the vet had told them their beloved dog had cancer and they’d had to put him down?

  She shifted under Max’s arm. He tightened it around her, nearly pulling her onto his lap.

  “I should have been there,” Max whispered, putting the scrapbook on the nightstand to his right. He turned to her and looked at her. “How could you have been so strong? Most women…” He swallowed. “Most women wouldn’t have had him. You had to have thought the worst of me, but you had my son anyway.” His large hands framed her face. “Thank you, Ginny. Thank you for having my son.”

  Tears streaked her cheeks as he tenderly kissed her.

  “Sh, don’t cry,” he murmured. “Don’t cry, my Ginny.”

  His kisses became more fervent. He pressed her down into the pillows to worship her body. With infinite gentleness, he stroked her from head to toe, turned her onto her stomach and explored every inch of her back. She rolled over, whispering how much she needed him.

  In a low voice, he told her how he had wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. Even as he’d pushed her in the field, he had been tempted to kiss her. Between her legs, he nibbled on her thighs. His hands roamed everywhere, kneading her breasts, tugging on her nipples, stroking her sides and legs. Then one hand slid over her belly and parted her folds.

  “Max,” she pleaded softly.

  She knew if he touched her there, she’d come completely undone. She’d be so fully under his spell that she’d do anything he wanted. Two fingers slid inside her, swirling slightly as his thumb moved over her clit. As Ginny trembled, trying to hold back the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm her, Max shifted his body up over hers until his mouth could capture a breast.

  Ginny exploded and fell apart as he pushed her over the edge and kept her there. Her body was still trembling when he surged into her with one stroke.

  “One more time, Ginny,” he told her. “Come with me one more time.”

  Chapter Eight

  Waking, the first thing Ginny was aware of was that Max was inside her. On top of her. Just as he had been nearly exactly ten years ago. Every insecurity she’d had since came to the forefront of her mind. With just about any other man, she could’ve shoved him off her and handled his anger. Except Max wasn’t just any other man. He was the only one she’d been intimate with. The only man who could destroy her with a look or word. The man who had done just that.

  The so-called debriefing had been salt in the wound of her broken heart. That’s what had demolished every fantasy she’d built up that night. She’d realized that any woman would have served his needs. The memory of those scathing words brought scalding tears to her eyes and she turned her head away from his on the pillow.

  Max sighed and she felt him move inside her. She froze. Oh, dear God. They hadn’t used a condom last night anymore than they had ten years ago. Had she lost her mind completely?

  Her son had been kidnapped and she had done little but repeat the mistakes of the past. What was her problem? There were things she should be doing, people she could be calling, and yet all she wanted was to bury her head against Max’s chest and feel his arms shelter her. She knew he could more than handle any rescue. And after?

  She had to make phone calls and move heaven and earth to get her son back. No matter whom she pissed off. She started to roll to the side of the bed.

  The movement had Max awake instantly and looming over her. As close as he was, he had to see the tears.

  “Ginny? Don’t cry,” he whispered, gently but firmly turning her chin so he could see her face fully. “We’ll get Charlie back.”

  Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “I’ve been reviewing every word, every gesture and expression the past ten years. I don’t want this to be based all on your memory, especially as I might have seen or heard something important. But I…” He raked a hand through his hair. “I want to see what I can do to move things along besides hold a gun.”

  “Max?” Her voice was low. His gesture was so like Charlie’s her heart started bleeding again. “Have you thought of something?”

  “The comment you made at your cottage. Two moles or more?”

  Closing her eyes, she nodded.

  “At least one in Analysis and one in Operations,” came her soft answer. “It’s the only way to control the information. Plus it has to have been someone in a position to intercept data coming in for me.”

  “Polaris info goes straight to you?”

  “I get first look under direct order from Vince,” she confirmed. She fought the fear if that order had been circumvented. Only a few could counter it. “I’ve no idea how much has been hidden, corrupted, or erased. Everything I know about Polaris could be wrong. How could this happen, Max? The biggest threat to the United States and I let a traitor…”

  “No,” he negated, arms tightening around her. “No, Ginny. This started before. It had to have been before we even met.”

  She moaned. People she had trusted. That Max had trusted. It meant that all of these lies had put their son in danger.

  “Max, who do we trust? How do we get Charlie back if we don’t even know who we can trust? They could go with us and…”

  “We stay together and let no one get between us and Charlie.”

  “That simple?” she whispered wistfully, knowing some who might very well stand between her and her son. People who had shown how they had very different priorities. People who would demand that
she follow their directives. “Nothing is…”

  “Yes. It is that simple,” he confirmed, rising up over her. “No one between us and our son, Ginny. They either get out of the way or we run them over. We will get Charlie back and if people don’t like it, then tough shit.”

  She stared at him. Our son. We. She could trust Max.

  The shrill ring of a cell phone interrupted them.

  Muttering vile punishment to the person at the other end, Max turned, rose from the bed, and stalked over to the chair where his pants were.

  “What is it?” he snarled.

  “Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Al snapped back. “If you can get your dick out of Ginny for two seconds, Frank wants to see you downstairs pronto.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He’s the boss and wants to see you. I didn’t ask why.”

  “We’ll be down in ten,” he replied, seeing Ginny sit up, clutching the sheet to cover her.

  “He doesn’t want to see her. He wants to see you. Alone.”

  The line went dead. Ginny watched Max growl and throw the cell phone back on the chair.

  “Was it Charlie?”

  “Al’s just being an asshole.”

  “What’s new about that?” she muttered, wrapping the sheet around her as she left the bed. Gathering up her nightshirt, she picked up the scrapbook. “He’s always been one.”

  “Meaning?” he frowned as she reached her suitcase a few feet away.

  “If he doesn’t think he can use you to further his career, then he treats you like dirt,” she replied, managing to pull out her clothes and pack the nightie and book without losing the sheet. “Which is just about every man who has less seniority and every woman no matter how long she’s been on board.”

  “What has he said to you?” Max demanded.

  “You mean, besides what he said downstairs last night?” She gave him an arch look. “Max, I meant what I said yesterday. No one, and I mean no one below a senior team leader, was supposed to know where I live. And Frank told Al and Mark.”