Solitary Soldier

by Debra Webb

  Sloan leaned casually against an ornate column that supported the part of the roof that canopied a large area near the French doors leading into the main hall. His expression revealed nothing. Right now Rachel was too annoyed to care what he thought.

  “What do you mean carrying an unholstered weapon around Josh?” she demanded, hands on hips.

  He straightened. Rachel resisted the urge to take a step back. He cocked one eyebrow and glared down at her. “You should keep closer tabs on your kid. If I hadn’t seen him, he’d be face down in the pool about now.”

  Anxiety tightened in Rachel’s chest at the image his words evoked, but did little to assuage her fury. “What were you doing with the gun?” she insisted.

  “I thought we’d been invaded by aliens and I went to check it out. What the hell do you think I was doing with it when I saw movement in the dark?”

  A new kind of terror swelled inside her. “You…” She shook her head, unable to voice the unthinkable. She gathered her courage around her and fixed her gaze on his. “Don’t ever take that gun out around my son again.”

  “It’s pretty difficult to protect someone without a weapon.” He straightened. “What did you come here for, Miss Larson, a protector or a baby-sitter? I’m no nanny.”

  She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. God, she hated to cry, but she always cried when she was angry. “Surely you can tell the difference between an intruder and a child!”

  “I never discharge my weapon unless I have the target in sight. When I realized it was the kid, I lowered my weapon.” He stepped intimidatingly closer. “Contrary to what you appear to believe, I know what I’m doing.”

  “You actually pointed that thing at my son?” The mixture of fear and anger overwhelmed her then, made her tremble. All other thought ceased. “Just stay away from him.” Her voice didn’t waver, despite the trembling rampant in her body now.

  Renewed anger kindled in that cold blue gaze. “Keep the kid out of my way and we won’t have a problem.”

  “His name is Josh.” Rachel took the step of aggression this time. “Little boys are naturally curious. I can’t promise you that he’ll stay quiet and out of the way. Children play, children explore,” she argued, her voice growing higher with each word.

  He was truly furious now. His eyes shone with it, his posture shouted it. “I’m surprised you haven’t lost him already the way you let him run around here. There are a dozen hazards for kids around this place, besides the damned pool. What were you thinking leaving the door unlocked like that? You can lose your kid in the blink of an eye.”

  “The way you lost yours?”

  The moment the words left her mouth Rachel knew she had made a mistake. Overstepped her bounds. Her anger died an instant death. All emotion drained from Sloan’s expression, from his eyes. The look of devastation that remained ripped her heart into shreds.

  “Yes,” he said, the word an expression of pain. “Exactly like that.”

  A tear rolled past Rachel’s lashes and trickled down her cheek before she could swipe it away. “I’m sorry,” she said tautly. “That was uncalled for. What happened to your son wasn’t your fault.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. It was entirely my fault. I made a mistake.” His gaze leveled on hers. “Don’t make the same one I did.”

  He turned from her then. More tears trekked down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She was wrong. She had no right to say such hurtful words.

  “Wait.” Rachel touched his arm, he hesitated, but didn’t look back. “You can’t believe what happened was your fault.” Her fingers tightened on his muscular arm to relay the sincerity of her words. “It was Angel—not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He turned back to her then, his eyes on fire with some emotion she couldn’t quite define. His fingers encircled her wrist and pulled her close. He glared down at her. “You don’t have a clue what I’ve done wrong in my life. All your misguided sympathy isn’t going to change the past, so don’t waste it on me.” His grip tightened. “I don’t need your pity, lady. If that’s all you’ve got to offer you’d better go inside and see after your kid.”

  Rachel jerked free of his hold and glared at him. “Go to hell, Sloan,” she snapped.

  “I’m already there, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Knowing the truth in his words, but unable to bear his indifference, Rachel hurried back to her room.

  To Josh.

  Chapter Five

  Time proved no ally to Sloan in the matter of his houseguests, or his work. By Thursday he still had no leads on Angel’s current whereabouts. Sloan could not connect him to any recent assassinations in the States. Things had apparently gotten too hot for him since the Larson hit to risk high-profile assignments in the good old U.S. of A. The bastard was probably doing most of his dirty work abroad these days.

  Sloan blew out a breath of frustration. As was now his habit, the house was quiet for a long time before he came inside for the night. Even in this twenty thousand square foot home he felt crowded with Rachel and her son scurrying about. They had only been here three days and four nights, and it felt far too long already. Their presence disturbed him in ways he couldn’t or didn’t want to name. Pablo appeared determined to make an affair of preparing and serving dinner to the two. So Sloan ate alone, after the others had left the kitchen. Tonight he had skipped the affair altogether. Instead, he sat in his office, staring at a blank computer screen.

  He glanced at the near empty bottle on the desk and released a disgusted breath. It was a sad state of existence when that much tequila couldn’t even begin to put him out of his misery. He had attempted to methodically numb himself to the desires of his body and the memories he’d just as soon not recall. When that failed, he decided on something else with which to occupy his rambling mind. Research. He needed to know how Angel always found her so easily. Rachel wasn’t a stupid person. She had likely taken steps to elude the bastard.

  Anything was better than allowing the words she had said to him the other night to replay in his head. The way you lost yours?… What happened to your son wasn’t your fault.

  But it was.

  And nothing could change that.

  Pushing all else aside, Sloan entered Rachel Larson’s name and social security number, which he easily found in her purse, into the Colby Agency system and waited. Victoria continued to authorize his use of her data banks. Hell, he had helped put it together. It wasn’t like she could have kept him out. He smiled when he considered his longtime friend. Maybe when he had his head on a little straighter he would give her a call.

  Sloan quickly dismissed that idea. His days at the agency were just another part of his past he had worked hard to forget. No point in digging up bones better left alone.

  A few minutes later Rachel Larson’s life story appeared on the screen before him. The agency ran a thorough background search on all prospective clients. Though Victoria had sent Rachel to him, she would still be investigated. If anything suspicious had been discovered, Sloan would have gotten a call immediately, alerting him before Rachel’s arrival in Florescitaf.

  His attention focused on the details emanating from the screen. Twenty-four now, Rachel had dropped out of college at nineteen and disappeared from public life. Her father, Colin Larson of the State Department, had been assassinated in his own home a few weeks prior to her disappearance. Sloan could well imagine Angel’s motivation for that one. With the kind of security Larson no doubt had, someone on the inside was almost a must. Rachel had been the key to Angel’s success. Her statement and alibi had been thoroughly investigated during the weeks following the murder. The case was listed as unsolved. Since her disappearance she apparently supported herself with the huge estate left by her independently wealthy father.

  “Bingo,” he muttered. That’s how Angel kept such close tabs on her all these years. Shaking his head, Sloan stared at Rachel Larson’s five-year-old driver’s license photo on his computer screen. No m
atter how careful she had been in her efforts to elude Angel, she had dipped into that bank account whenever necessary and Angel had her. She couldn’t have been any less subtle if she had sent him a Christmas card from each new location. Angel had that account wired, and she never suspected a thing.

  Still too sober and restless to sleep, Sloan picked up her purse and prowled through it again. A curse hissed past his lips when he found a transaction slip from the International Bank of Mexico in Chihuahua. Rachel had withdrawn a fairly large sum of money the day she arrived. No wonder Angel had found her down here so quickly.

  Next, Sloan opened a plain, unmarked envelope that looked a little worse for wear. He withdrew a handful of dog-eared snapshots and shuffled through them. Rachel and an older man. Her father, he decided on closer inspection. He couldn’t reconcile the woman at home in sweats and a T-shirt with this younger version decked out in sequins and pearls at some ritzy social function. In the pictures her smile was wide and mischievous. Those big brown eyes glittered with happiness, as did the matching ones belonging to her father. Her full lips were rosy and so were her cheeks.

  Sloan frowned. Now those eyes were weary and underscored with dark circles. Her lips and cheeks were no longer so rosy. Fatigue and fear had long since robbed Rachel Larson of the happiness that once glittered in her eyes. Sloan tucked the pictures back into the envelope, then shoved the contents back into the purse and tossed it aside. Now she was here, in his home, with Angel’s son. Her life had taken a terrible twist five years ago. He glanced back at the screen. Josh had been born in St. Luke’s Hospital in Arizona. According to the hospital records, there had been complications and a cesarean section had been necessary.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  As if somehow his ruminations had summoned him, Sloan swiveled in his chair to find the boy hovering near his office door. His own son had been able to sneak up on him like that. Their innocence somehow slipped under his acute detection skills. Sloan fought the emotions that warred inside him each time confronted with Rachel’s son.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  The boy rubbed his eyes with his fist. “She’s too sleepy, she can’t wake up.”

  Perpetually wary, Sloan pushed to his feet and made the trip from his office to Rachel’s room. The kid followed. Sloan paused to check the alarm. It was armed. No way had anyone gotten in without alerting him.

  The glow from the adjoining bathroom light cast a slight halo over Rachel’s still form when he entered the guest room. She was sleeping soundly. Sloan supposed that today’s additional laps in the pool had done her in. Regret trickled through him before he could stop it. He did what he had to do. Aggression wasn’t in her nature. He needed her pissed off so she would work harder. If she hated him, that was all the better. This ill-fated attraction he could feel building between them had to be kept under control.

  “See,” the kid whispered.

  Sloan glanced at his expectant face. “You should be asleep too.”

  The kid shook his head adamantly. “I’m thirsty.”

  Sloan sighed in frustration. Why couldn’t the kid sleep like his mother? He swore under his breath. “Fine,” he relented. “I’ll get you a drink.”

  Sloan stalked through the house, flipping lights on as necessary to illuminate the way. He didn’t have to look back to know the boy followed him. He flipped one more switch as he passed through the doorway and the kitchen’s overhead lights blinked on. He pulled a glass from the cupboard and filled it half full with tap water. He made a mental note to add disposable cups for the bathroom to Pablo’s shopping list. Then the kid could get his own drink when he woke up in the middle of the night like this.

  He thrust the glass at the boy. “Here.”

  “Milk, please.” Those big, dark eyes full of unhurried expectation mocked Sloan’s impatience.

  He dashed the water into the sink and plopped the glass onto the counter. He gritted his teeth against the emotions churning inside him as he reached into the fridge and snagged the container of milk. Holding the door open with his hip, he poured the milk into the glass, then chunked the container back onto a shelf. He kneed the fridge door closed as he held the glass out to the boy waiting patiently less than three feet away.

  The kid turned the glass up and gulped down half the contents, leaving a picture-perfect milk mustache.

  “Go back to bed when you’re finished,” Sloan ordered as he left the room. Irritated beyond reason and with his gut tied in a thousand knots, he dropped back into the chair at his desk. He glared at the image of Rachel on the computer screen. “Why the hell did you come looking for me?” he muttered. “I told you I wasn’t the right man for this job.”

  Resigned to his fate, Sloan focused his full attention on the string of words displayed before him.

  “That’s my mommy.”

  Sloan jerked at the sound of the kid’s voice. Josh walked right up to Sloan and pointed at the image on the screen.

  “How’d she get in there?”

  “You’re supposed—”

  “I wanna see,” Josh interrupted as he climbed onto Sloan’s lap.

  Startled, Sloan stared at the kid, unsure what he should do. His first thought was to run like hell. He blinked. But he was a grown man. He wasn’t about to run from a kid.

  “Mom-mee,” he pronounced slowly, pointing to the name printed beneath the picture. “What does that say?” he demanded then, tugging on Sloan’s shirt when he failed to answer quickly enough.

  “Hair color, brown,” Sloan said crossly. What was he supposed to do now?

  “Read Mommy’s story to me,” the child insisted as he settled against Sloan’s chest.

  At the feel of the small body resting against him, something stirred beneath Sloan’s sternum, an unfamiliar tightening making it hard to breathe. “I don’t think—”

  “Read it to me,” he repeated sleepily.

  Sloan swallowed hard. One instinct warred with the other. Push him away, hold him closer. He didn’t know what to feel.

  “’Kay?” The plea was hardly a whisper.

  Sloan began to read the words on the screen, leaving out the parts not intended for small ears. He lost himself to the detailed summary that was Rachel Larson’s life. Josh snuggled more closely against him, curling into a fetal position, as the information he wouldn’t understand or even remember tomorrow unfolded regarding his mother.

  Finally, there were no more words to read. An odd silence filled the room. Too many emotions to sort strummed through Sloan. Reluctantly, he lowered his head and looked at the sleeping child in his lap. The memory of holding his own son exactly like this when he would be working late in his home office played through his mind. The sound of his son’s young voice, his rambunctious laughter. The smile that could make the worst day feel like the best. Sloan closed his eyes to fight the tears that burned there. He swallowed against the ache building at the back of his throat. His arms instinctively tightened around the small boy cuddled so close to him.

  He would gladly give his life for just one more moment with his son. How could God be so unmerciful as to allow his child to die, then sentence Sloan to life? He clenched his jaw as a single tear slipped past his restraint. He sucked in a harsh breath and blinked rapidly to slow the emotion still brewing, threatening to make a bigger fool of him than he already was. His son was dead. He couldn’t change that. Couldn’t go back.

  He stood, cradling Josh gently against his chest. Without making a sound he took the child back to his room and placed him in the bed with his mother. Sloan stared down at him for a long while after that. He would not care about this child, he promised himself. No attachments, no bonds. Sloan would do the only thing he could for him—he would destroy the evil that threatened him and his mother. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would kill Angel.

  THEIR ROUTINE HAD fallen into a rhythm of sorts the past couple of days, in Rachel’s opinion. She worked hard to follow Sloan’s instructions to the letter. She rare
ly spoke to him unless she needed to question some instruction she didn’t quite understand. Each day when the morning workout session was complete, Sloan disappeared while Rachel played in the pool with Josh. Each afternoon she honed her fledgling marksmanship skills. After the first couple of shots at each session, Sloan insisted she wear ear protection. He wanted her to become accustomed to the sound, thus a couple of shots without the headset.

  Rachel was proud of her progress so far. She hadn’t made that bull’s-eye yet, but she always hit within the circles. She could control the recoil better, and her balance. Sloan was right about one thing, it was all in the way you held yourself. Think of the weapon as an extension of your body, he would say. And he was right, technique was everything. She felt tremendously more confident now. It felt good to be able to protect herself, at least to some extent. A few days ago she hadn’t even known how to fire a weapon, much less load one.

  There had been no indication other than the bear the day she found Sloan that Angel knew her whereabouts. But Rachel knew his method of operation; he would strike when she least expected it. He would come. And she had to be ready.

  After dinner each evening Josh watched television for a while and Rachel sketched with a pencil and plain pad of paper. It kept her occupied. Fortunately Sloan had a satellite which picked up Josh’s favorite cartoons. Bedtime came early, however. She needed all the rest she could get to keep up with Sloan’s demands. He wasn’t an easy taskmaster. Especially if he felt she wasn’t giving her all. She had already swam at least a dozen extra laps in the pool each day because he wasn’t satisfied.

  She sighed when she thought of his refusal to join them for dinner. But Pablo made things a great deal more pleasant. His patience with Josh never seemed to end. Each time Rachel considered how strained the atmosphere would be without Pablo, she thanked her lucky stars he was here most of the time. She wondered if he disappeared to his own home late at night.