Adam

by Irish Winters

  Despite the foolish hope in his heart, it was obvious. The fact that she hadn’t reached out once to him or Ember cinched the deal. She’d written a quick I love you on the back of her business card that fateful day that Ember and Mother got in to see her, but logic told him it was time to let her go, to get over her. She didn’t need some redneck like him in her life. Hell no.

  Judging by that ritzy outfit and the cluster of gold chains draped around her neck, she was still Gucci and caviar, while he’d never be more than beer and pretzels. She was that damn sleek Gulfstream; he was a nothing more than a bumpy ride on a military cargo transport. She was the universe. He was a HALO jumper in the night, and on his way down at that. Hell, she was Reagan’s daughter. She had nowhere to go but up.

  But even as he groaned in bleak despair, the truth roared out of him. She’s my everything.

  “Adam. Adam. Are you still there?” Ember could be so damned annoying. “Do you hear me?”

  He lifted the receiver to his ear one last time. “Sign me out. I’m not coming in tomorrow. I’m taking a personal day.”

  “Why? Are you sick?”

  “No,” he ground out through clenched teeth. Hell, yeah, I’m sick. I’m damn sick and tired, and I want to be left alone.

  “Adam.” Her voice softened.

  “What?” He wished she’d take the hint and signoff. The wish had no more than bubbled up when he noticed silence at the other end. He checked his screen and sure enough. Call ended. He’d accidentally, maybe purposefully, hung up on her.

  He tossed his cell to the bed and stared at the ceiling, forcing the pain back down into the cellar of his heart. Men like him were made to see too much and maybe do too much, to suffer so others wouldn’t have to, and to keep on moving no matter what. Wounded, dying, or mad at the world—it didn’t matter. They had a distasteful job to do, and it was all they knew. A man like him kept fighting until the last soldier and sailor died or the final mission was complete. Only this wasn’t a mission. This was hell, and he had to keep moving if only to save what was left of his sanity. Shannon certainly had.

  Seamus rearranged his long legs and flopped his hard head onto Adam’s stomach. Running his fingers through the sappy dog’s long silky hair brought the pain back. Adam stifled the anguish climbing up his throat. His silly dog whined, like he knew his master was hurting. That simple kindness from the big dog broke the damn.

  “I love her,” Adam said softly. He should’ve been stronger. Meaner. Tougher. But truth be known, even a hard man craved that one sweet spot where he could rest his head from the ways of the weary world. Maybe find the comfort of a good woman who loved him more than he loved himself. More than he deserved.

  Seamus snuggled closer. One heavy paw flopped onto Adam’s chest. The dog was moving in to stay. He must’ve needed that sweet spot, too.

  Adam flung an arm over his furry friend. “She didn’t look happy, did she, boy?”

  Seamus didn’t reply, because well, dogs can’t talk. But he groaned, and Adam took that for conversation.

  “I think you’re right.” He scrubbed his hand over his face, wiping his weakness away. “I wish I could see her. Hell, I wish I could get her out of that house. Squeaks too. I bet that’s all she needs—to get away from that twisted old man she calls a father.”

  Seamus groaned again, barely keeping his end of the conversation alive, but Adam’s analytical brain had already kicked into gear. He glanced outside. He was a Navy SEAL, goddamnit, and SEALs don’t quit. They thrive when everyone else thinks all is lost. They fall out of the damned sky and they hit their mark every son-of-a-bitchin’ time. They hump all day to make things right, and they can find and save anyone on the planet. Jet lag could wait. Enough talk. Time for action. Name the place. Name the time.

  “Sorry, buddy.” Adam pushed Seamus off and onto his side where the hound just groaned again. He had one personal day to make his plan work, and he meant for Shannon and Squeaks to be back where they belonged by the end of it. “Thanks for listening.”

  Seamus glanced over his shoulder, his eyes still bleary with sleep, and Adam went to work. Flipping the light switch on extracted another canine groan, but Adam was wide-awake, focused as hell, and one hundred percent back on target.

  He poured himself a whiskey, pulled his gear bag off the floor, and settled down on the bed beside his dog, a rescue plan formulating in his square, red-necked, and extremely hard, military head. He might not be in Shannon’s social network, but damn it, she wasn’t herself right now. Anyone could see it. Somehow, he would get inside Reagan Manor. He’d prove Paul Reagan was a snake once and for all.

  He set his face-paint, his shaving kit, and his mess kit aside, then lifted a week-old and very soiled shirt to his nose. Phew. It smelled to high heaven. He’d taken every last camouflaged shirt and pants he’d owned with him to South America. He had no choice. He had to do a quick load of laundry first.

  Seamus snored softly, oblivious to his master’s plan. The silly dog wasn’t coming on this mission anyway. Adam let him sleep.

  He was on his second glass of whiskey and deep in thought in his laundry room when a light tap sounded at his door. Who the hell? He tossed a fabric softener sheet into his dryer and set it on a normal cycle before he peered out the peephole. There stood a gorgeous blonde with her hair pulled up in a ponytail on the top of her head.

  Ember?

  He opened his door and got the surprise of his life. Rory stood there too, his arm draped across her shoulder, his dark eyes piercing Adam to his core. The man had a way of seeing right through people. Adam was speechless. There was no lie or excuse he could come up with that Rory would fall for. Yet another covert agent stood to behind Rory.

  Oh, shit. Alex.

  Adam waved them in, his mouth clamped shut and his heart sinking. He was dead before he’d gotten started. Ember grinned. Adam stepped aside as Seamus bounded out of his apartment to perform the usual puppy meet-and-greet for some of his best friends before they could come in out of the hall.

  “Hi Seamus!” Ember knelt to fondle the wriggling Setter like he was an overgrown kid, slapping his side while the rambunctious, four-legged youngster all but bowled her over. Alex hadn’t said a word, which didn’t bode well for Adam’s day off.

  Rory stood watching his wife schmooze with the dog, while Adam held his breath. He was made. Damn it. Ember had ratted him out.

  “Kennel,” Adam commanded once Seamus made a couple rounds. The dog gave one last ‘I’m so happy to see you guys’ grin and headed for his crate just inside Adam’s bedroom door. After a couple circles inside the big plastic den, he flopped noisily to his side, his smiling muzzle and one huge paw hanging out the crate.

  “Why are you guys here?” Adam finally asked, sure this was going to be one of those come-to-Jesus meetings that Alex was known for, the kind where he chewed butt and spit nails and stupid guys got fired.

  “We figured you’d still be up,” Rory offered nonchalantly in his quiet way. What he really meant was—what are you thinking? He was here to talk common sense. Adam was past that point.

  “I called Alex,” Ember confessed, like Adam didn’t already know that.

  “Why’d you do that?” he asked her pointedly. She got the message. She was a rat and she knew it, but she shrugged in that cute little-girl way that she used when she knew damned well she was in trouble. It didn’t work this time. He wasn’t happy with her. This was yet another feminine trick most dumb jocks fell for. A pretty gal batted her eyes, and the rules suddenly didn’t apply anymore. Well, guess again.

  “Lay off. She’s just worried about you.” Rory stabbed a finger in Adam’s chest. “We all are.”

  “And we’re here to help,” Alex spoke up. “What’s the plan?”

  “The plan?” Now it was Adam’s turn to act innocent. “I don’t have a plan. I just got back from a long op. I’ve had a drink, and I’m—”

  “Stop the bullshit. Spill.” Alex didn’t fall for it, not for a s
econd. Damn. Adam sized up the odds. Three highly trained covert operators against one, a no-win situation for sure. He licked his lower lip, certain Alex had Mother drawing up his severance check.

  Might as well get it out in the open. “I’m going into Reagan Manor. Tonight. Alone,” he qualified.

  “To do what?” Alex asked, point blank.

  “To get Shannon and Squeaks out of there.”

  “With face paint and what? Your cloak of invisibility?”

  Adam caught the sarcasm Alex had leveled at him. “Fire me if you want, but I’m going to see her.”

  “And then what? She calls the police again? Or better yet, Paul Reagan shoots you for B and E? He’d be within his rights, you know.”

  “He won’t catch me breaking and entering.” Adam stood his ground. “Look. I didn’t ask you guys to be here. If you don’t like it—”

  “You’re no ghost,” Alex snapped. “Your expertise is HALO. Not urban warfare. You’re a flying squirrel, damn it.”

  Yeah? So? Adam ground his teeth in exasperation, wiping his hand over his head. The problem with taking his boss on was that the man fought dirty. He went straight for the throat. He could be mean and nasty—and right.

  Each agent had their own special talents, and yes, Adam was the number one flying squirrel in The TEAM. Connor, Izza, Rory, and Zack were hands down the most accurate long-distance sharpshooters. Harley was the TEAM’s canine handler, and without a doubt, Ember and Mother were geniuses at anything computer related. So what?

  “I don’t care, Boss. You saw the interview, didn’t you? Shannon needs someone.” And that someone is me, not you.

  Another quiet tap at the door, and Adam couldn’t believe his apartment was suddenly freaking TEAM central. There stood Connor and Izza, already decked out in the perfect face paint and cammies needed for a covert insertion.

  “Hey,” Connor said calmly, as he smacked Adam’s shoulder on his way inside. “Who called this meeting?”

  Izza flashed her pearly whites and ducked in with her husband. “Good to see you again, brother. When are we leaving?”

  “Don’t any of you guys sleep?” Adam asked in bewilderment.

  “Sleep can wait. We have a better plan,” Ember declared, her green eyes lit with her usual excitement.

  “This job will take expert coordination.” Rory stepped forward to stand with his wife. “I’m going with you.”

  “And you need a real ghost.” Alex dared him to ask, but Adam couldn’t stop his big mouth. “You? You’re coming with me?”

  Alex shot him a disgusted look. “Hell, no. You guys are coming with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Can I see him? Please? Just once before I have to leave?”

  Shannon hated the pleading in her voice, but she’d learned just how low a desperate woman could sink. It seemed there was nothing she wouldn’t do—grovel, beg, or cry if it bought her a chance of seeing her son.

  It galled that she had to ask, but since Adam had breached Reagan Manor and her initial reaction to him was caught on video, her father had exacted cruel and punitive measures. Linda was in charge of all things Jimmy Malone related. Shannon had a business to run. The two decrees never seemed to meet in the middle where a mother and her baby boy were allowed to spend sufficient time together, to actually get to know each other.

  It was early morning. Shannon had an early afternoon flight to catch, but she desperately needed one glimpse of her son to endure the week ahead.

  Linda Perkins, the butched-up bitch from hell, stared Shannon down from the nursery door, blocking any view of Jimmy like some squared-off prison matron with a burr up her butt. Her crooked nose twitched, no doubt bent out of shape that she’d been disturbed by someone as pitiful as Jimmy’s real mother.

  “Please, Linda. I’ll do whatever you want. I have to go out of town for a week. I’m going to Dallas. I won’t be able to see him the whole time, and I just thought... I hoped...” Shannon stammered, her frustration adding wordy explanations, like Linda needed or cared.

  Jimmy’s warden sniffed her puffy nose in that self-righteous way of hers. “He’s sleeping now. You know the rules. You can see him when you get back.”

  Shannon’s heart sank. Another week without seeing Jimmy would kill her, and pumping breast milk was no substitute for the feel of her sweet babe in her arms. His breath. His touch. God, how she craved that little boy. She shouldn’t have to ask to see him.

  Shannon clenched her teeth, holding back the tears along with the overwhelming need to punch that baby-stealing bitch square in the middle of her ugly face. Just once. “Linda. Please. This is wrong. You know it is. He’s my son. You have no right—”

  “Is there a problem?”

  Great. Her father decided to weigh in. Shannon’s hopes of spending any time with Jimmy seeped out of her open-toed heels and sank into the intricate weave of the expensive Turkish rug at her feet. She could’ve cried.

  “No, Mr. Reagan,” Linda answered brightly, her one-thousand-watt smile replacing her previous condescension. “Miss Reagan was just leaving, weren’t you, missy?”

  “I want to see Jimmy.” Shannon whirled on her father. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

  “Shannon,” he soothed in that sickeningly sweet tone of voice, the cane he now used tapping against the baseboard. The sicker he got, the more he pulled the doting father routine. “I trusted you once, remember?”

  “Bullshit!” she snapped, surprising herself with the venom in her tone. But then, life was one hell of a surprise, wasn’t it? “If you ever trusted me, you would’ve been honest, but no. I’ve lost track of your lies, and now you’ve got me lying for you.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He shook his head, muttering as he approached. He used a cane now, though he’d still not admitted to her what his health issues were. Something was seriously wrong. He’d never pushed her to understand how Reagan Industries worked like he did now, but neither did he completely confide in her, either. Why would he? Everything about him had always been about mystery and misdirection, his way of controlling the world. And her. “It’s hard being the richest woman on the East Coast, isn’t it? It takes a great depth of dedication and stamina, which you’re only now beginning to realize, aren’t you?”

  “It takes treachery and deceit,” she hurled back at him. “You’ve never spent any time with Jimmy. Not once. He’s your grandson. Your only heir.”

  “And that is why we do what we must do, my dear,” he purred, still so very much in charge and out of touch. “We take care of business now so your descendants won’t have to dirty their hands or knees later.”

  “Like I do?” she snapped. “It’s been months, Father. Three long months. Enough is enough. How much money do you need? How much power? Isn’t owning the world enough?”

  He studied her silently for a moment, his crafty eyes sliding over her face like he was still searching for something he would never find. She didn’t share any part of his dream. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t! Not if he waited until the end of time.

  For a moment, the rheumy depths of his gray eyes reminded her of her dead ex-husband, Brit Paxton. Emotionless. Cold. Desperate. Filled with disgust. “It isn’t about the money or the power, little girl. Surely you’ve realized that by now.”

  Stop calling me little girl!

  “What then?” Her head hurt. She was tired of the mind games. Life wasn’t the calculated chess game of strategy and destroying one’s enemies that he made it out to be. There was more to it than power and success. Adam had showed her just how much more at what should’ve been the worst time in her life, but now stood as the best.

  Shannon caught the sob that sprang forth from her mouth at the thought of being in Adam Torrey’s strong arms again. She forced it back down into her gut where all her other regrets lay curdled and sour. Adam was lost to her, and if she wasn’t careful, Jimmy would be, too. The very real fear that her father would hurt her child or send him far away lingered like a malevo
lent threat between them. He’d implied, but had never actually spoken the words, but Shannon didn’t doubt for one second that he would.

  She stifled her anger and faced the father she’d grown to hate. “I want to see him before I leave. That’s all. Just for an hour. Linda can stay and watch me while I’m with him if that will make you happy. Please.”

  Her stomach churned as she stood waiting, her heart wrung out with the total despair and misery of her plight. The longer he made her stand there, the darker she felt. All hope was gone. Each day was one grinding repeat of the last. Her only bright spot in this whole universe was that three-month-old boy who finally resembled a normal birth-weight baby. Jimmy had filled out; his cheeks plump considering all he’d been through in his short life. At least he still recognized her. He smiled when he saw her. That was what kept her groveling like a simpering fool for one more day…

  Shannon swallowed another sob. Please, God. I can’t live without my baby. Please let me see him. I promise I’ll go to church. I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll...

  She stopped cold. How could she promise the God in heaven she’d be better tomorrow when she knew wouldn’t? When she knew she’d willingly spread every last one of her father’s lies if it bought her an extra minute with Jimmy? That she was on her way even now, to swear on a stack of bibles that Alex Stewart and his men had intentionally defaulted on their contract, that they’d lost the Hummingbird Hawks out of sheer negligence? How could she beg blessings she didn’t deserve when her very next words and actions would slander decent and honorable men? Had she become so twisted that she really believed she could lie to God, too? That He could be manipulated?

  She bit her lip at the bitter truth. The simple answer was—yes. She’d become more like her father every day. Too soon, the old Shannon Reagan would disappear. She’d finally be the daughter he’d always wanted. She’d be—him.

  He sighed as if he’d read her mind and appreciated the comparison.