“Don’t give it another thought.” He sent her a small lopsided grin, and her heart staggered.
When he smiled, Gunnar Colton’s rugged features were transformed into a breath-stealing vision of raw male sensuality.
Oh, no, no, no, Violet chided herself. Do not go there. Her life was in enough chaos with this morning’s attack, Mary’s kidnapping, the stalled movie production, clamoring paparazzi at every turn and—oh, yeah—twin boys to raise alone after her husband’s drug overdose. The last thing she needed in her life now was a mercurial ex-elite forces soldier with his own baggage to sort out.
Even as the warnings tripped through her brain, Gunnar shifted his grip, lacing their fingers and giving her hand a squeeze. “Close your eyes, and think about those boys of yours. Think about the sound of their laughter.”
She did as he suggested, and a smile found her lips.
“Now try to sleep. I’ll be right here.”
His deep voice rolled through her like a warm wave at the seashore. But his promise not to leave brought her the most comfort and peace of all.
Chapter 7
On Tuesday morning, Gunnar was still drinking his morning coffee, clad only in his sleep pants, when a knock on his front door heralded Derek’s arrival with Violet’s twins. Gunnar groaned under his breath, took one more fortifying gulp of caffeine and shuffled to the door to let Derek in.
“Morning,” Derek said, sweeping into the living room and depositing a large blue bag with a smiling giraffe on his sofa and an apple-cheeked baby with curls the color of honey on the floor. “How’d Violet do last night?”
Gunnar shrugged. “Okay. She didn’t sleep too well, but her leg isn’t showing any signs of infection.”
“Good.” Derek nodded to the baby. “This is Hudson. You have to keep a close eye on him. He’s real active and into everything.” He sounded out of breath as he hurried back to the door. “I’ll be right back with Mason. He’s still in my car.”
With that, Derek disappeared out the front door. Gunnar eyed the toddler, and Hudson stared back up at him with wide curious brown eyes, every bit as doelike as his mother’s. Dread knotted Gunnar’s stomach as he and the toddler sized each other up.
“Ma?” the tyke said, lifting a hand and wiggling his fingers.
His gut twisted tighter. Did that mean the kid needed something?
Derek bustled through the door again, toting a carbon copy of the first baby, down to his identical red shirt and elastic-waisted blue jeans, and a portable crib. “And this is Mason. Everything you should need is in the diaper bag including written instructions from their nanny.” He set the collapsed crib by the front door. “They’ll nap together in this when the time comes. It’s pretty simple to set up. You shouldn’t have any problems. Try not to bother Violet with lots of questions. She needs to rest. And don’t let her boys see her or they’ll be clamoring to get to her. The last thing she needs, with her injuries, is boisterous toddlers climbing on her and demanding her attention.” Derek backed out the door. “Piper will stop by to pick them up after school. Good luck.”
As Derek stepped out on the porch, panic swamped Gunnar. “Hey, wait! That’s it? That’s all the directions I get?”
“Sorry, I’m already running late. You’ll be fine. Tell Violet I’ll check on her again tonight.” Derek tried to close the door, but Gunnar caught the knob and pulled it open again.
“Derek, I have no idea what to do with them. You know I have no experience with babies.” Gunnar tried to keep the apprehension out of his voice, but even he heard the tension threading his tone.
Laughing, Derek continued walking backward toward his idling car. “God, I wish I had a picture of your face right now. In fact...” Derek pulled out his cell phone and aimed it at Gunnar.
Gunnar shot him a scowl and quickly closed the door before Derek could snap a picture to tease him with later.
The babies sat side by side, grinning at each other and taking in their new environment with curious eyes. How was he supposed to tell them apart? And did it really matter? Mason—or was that Hudson?—spotted the diaper bag on the sofa and pulled himself to his feet. With a chubby grabbing hand, he yanked the strap of the bag and toppled it to its side. A small cup that had been in a side pocket rolled out, and with a squeal of delight, Mason—or maybe it was Hudson—seized the container and shook it with glee. Something inside rattled loudly.
“Whatcha got there, buddy?” Gunnar sat on the edge of the couch and took the container with the snap-on lid from the kid to look inside.
The toddler loosed a wail that would wake the dead. Gunnar shuddered, then clapped a hand over the toddler’s mouth. “Geez, kid. Pipe down. You want to wake your mother?”
The kid wiggled free with a strength that surprised Gunnar, and chubby hands grabbed for the container. “Chee-oos!”
Not wanting to get into a tug-of-war with a baby, he let the boy have the plastic bowl. “Fine. Have it. Whatever.”
Plopping down on his diaper-padded butt, the blond cherub pried the lid off and, in the process, flung dry cereal across the floor.
Gunnar groaned. “Great. A mess already.”
The second boy cooed with obvious delight and crawled over to start munching the cereal straight from the floor.
“Hey, no!” Gunnar tried to grab the cereal from the kid’s slobbery fingers, then hesitated. Sighed. “Oh, well. A little dirt is good for you. Right?”
While the twins sat at his feet, sharing the cereal and occasionally feeding it to each other and giggling about it, Gunnar fished out the directions from the nanny and scanned the sheet.
Snack at 10:00 a.m. Lunch at 12:00 p.m. Nap at 1:00 p.m. Snack at 3:00 p.m.
Ointment for Mason’s diaper rash is in side pocket.
“Diaper rash?” Gunnar sent the babies a look of horror. He had to change diapers?
Fingers gripping the instructions harder, Gunnar read on, Hudson gets one teaspoon of his antibiotic every four hours and decongestant syrup every six hours.
“Crap. Medicine? That means I have to figure out which of you is which.” He stared at the twins and tried to find some distinguishing feature. But to his eye, the kids were exact duplicates. “Okay. Let’s try this...Mason?”
Both heads came up and turned to blink at him. Strike one.
Gunnar thought about it some more. In high school, they’d played shirts and skins to distinguish teams for basketball. Picking up the closest baby, he headed back to Violet’s room, then remembered Derek’s warning not to let the boys see their mother. He knocked on Violet’s door, and after getting permission to enter, he opened the door a crack.
Holding the baby behind the door out of view, he peered inside. Violet looked rumpled and groggy, her sheets a tangled mess and the bruises on her face a darker shade of purple this morning. “Hey, sorry to disturb you. Derek thought it would be best if your kids didn’t know you were here, but I need your help. Which one is this?”
He put his hand over the boy’s eyes and moved to where Violet could see the baby tucked under his arm like a football.
Violet’s face lit up when she saw her son, and she pushed awkwardly to a seated position for a better view. “Hudson,” she mouthed.
“Roger that. I’ll be back with your breakfast in a minute. You need more ibuprofen?”
She nodded and lay back, her eyes widening as she took in his dishabille. Oops. Maybe he should put on a shirt before he came back with her breakfast.
Gunnar returned to the living room, pulling off Hudson’s shirt—Hudson would be skins—and found that Mason had ransacked the diaper bag in the short time he’d been out of sight. Diapers and toys, toddler cups and baggies of snacks were scattered everywhere. Putting Hudson on the floor, he scowled at Mason, who looked pretty pleased with his handiwork, and began gathering the strewn items. He moved the diaper bag out of the toddlers’ reach and dragged a hand through his hair. Now what?
Violet needed ibuprofen and breakfast. The boys neede
d something safe to occupy them. He opened the bag and took out two stuffed animals. After giving one to each baby, he aimed a finger at them. “Play with those toys, and don’t get into anything. I’ll be right back.”
Gunnar hurried out of the living room and found a muffin for Violet, poured her some coffee and put two ibuprofen on the tray next to her breakfast. Happy giggles and squeals drifted in from the living room. Good. At least they weren’t crying. Crying meant something bad had happened, right?
Just the same, he walked a little faster delivering the tray to Violet. “Here ya go. Breakfast, pills and coffee. Anything else?”
“Um, yeah.” She gave him a tentative look, her attention to his chest reminding him he’d neglected to get a shirt. “Can you help me get to the bathroom? I need to go, and it hurts to put too much weight on my leg.”
He rubbed his hands on his pajama pants and moved to the side of the bed. “Sure.”
Gunnar helped her sit up, swing her feet to the floor and rise on her good leg. Stooping low to accommodate her short stature, he kept an arm under her as she hobble-hopped toward the bathroom. After several seconds of this painstaking process, Gunnar grunted, “Screw this.”
He swept her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way down the hall and set her on her feet in the bathroom. “Call me when you’re done.”
He backed out, closing the door behind him and trying not to think about how perfectly she’d fit in his arms, how good it felt to have her nestled against his chest and her hands on his skin as she clung to him.
Dragging in a cleansing breath, he returned to the living room to check on the twins. The stuffed animals had been abandoned, and the boys, both stripped down to their diapers, had toddled over to his fireplace and were digging through last weekend’s ashes as if it were a sandbox. Soot covered his floor and Violet’s imps from head to toe.
Gunnar sighed. It was going to be a long day.
* * *
“Thanks,” Violet said as Gunnar carried her back to the guest bed. “I hope the boys aren’t giving you too much trouble.”
“Define too much,” he grumbled.
She noticed that Gunnar had pulled on a T-shirt while she was in the restroom, and a pang of disappointment plucked at her. He had an impressive chest and ripped abs, and it seemed a shame to cover all that muscled male beauty.
She studied his frown as he propped pillows under her injured leg and tugged her covers over her. “Uh-oh. What did they do?” She spotted black smudges on his cheek and knitted her brow. “What’s on you face?”
“Soot. They got in the fireplace.”
She tensed. “What!”
Gunnar raised both hands, palms out. “It wasn’t lit. But I have to give them both a bath now and vacuum my living room.” He heaved a sigh and shot her an exasperated look. “They’ve only been here thirty minutes, and they’ve already worn me out. How do you do it?”
Violet chuckled. “I have help. Rani is a miracle worker.” She sobered a bit and caught his hand to make sure she had his full attention. “Thank you. I know this is not what you signed on for.”
“I didn’t sign on for anything, Tinkerbell.” He blew out a breath and rolled the kinks from his shoulders. “But you’re welcome. Any hints you have for keeping the Lost Boys occupied and out of trouble would be appreciated.” He held his finger and thumb so that they nearly touched. “I’m this close to hog-tying them to a chair.”
She didn’t miss the Peter Pan reference but let it slide. Apparently that was his theme for nicknames for her family. “Believe me, I’ve been tempted to do that myself more than once.” She brushed her hair off her forehead, then tipped her head. “Get on the floor with them and play. They love blocks and wrestling and trains. When you’ve had all that you can stand, they should have a DVD in their bag. They love Baby Einstein.”
“Blocks and Baby Einstein. Check.” He gave her an appraising glance. “How about you? You good for a while? I’m about to be up to my armpits bathing sooty babies.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” He headed for the door, and she added, “Oh, and Gunnar, don’t leave them alone in the bathtub—even for a second. Okay?”
He gave her a thumbs-up. “Roger that.”
He left the door partially open, and Violet sank into the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, listening to Gunnar’s voice and her children’s babbling and squawks filter down the hall.
“Okay, dudes. Bath time.”
“Baff?”
“Hey, don’t put that in your mouth. That’s disgusting.”
Put what in his mouth? She bit her lip and tried not to worry. Her boys were fine. Gunnar could handle things.
And yet...Hudson and Mason were a handful at the best of times, and Gunnar had no experience with babies. It only took a second for a disaster to happen.
The thud of footsteps drew her attention to the sliver of hall she could see through the open door. As Gunnar passed the guest room, she glimpsed her boys, one in each of his arms.
“No baff!” Mason whined.
She wanted more than anything to call Gunnar back and ask him to bring her babies to her. But Derek’s suggestion was spot on. It was best the boys didn’t know she was there, or they’d give Gunnar fits crying to be with her and trying to climb on the bed to cuddle. She was still bone tired and hurt all over, and her leg throbbed mercilessly whenever she moved too much. Letting her rambunctious toddlers climb on her and tug at her for attention was not conducive to her healing.
But she missed her sweet boys so much...
The whoosh of water filling a bathtub rumbled down the hall, and she heard Hudson, her adventurer, squeal with delight.
“Here you go, sport. It’s okay. Look, your brother likes it.”
Violet closed her eyes and could picture more cautious Mason clinging to Gunnar’s arm and eyeing the unfamiliar bathtub with suspicion. But as soon as Mason realized Hudson was loving the bath, he followed his brother’s lead.
She wasn’t sure why she felt so at ease allowing a man who’d seemed so hostile and intimidating the first time she’d met him take charge of her children’s care. Maybe because he’d shown her such gentle attentiveness through a rough night. She’d awakened often, hurting and unable to shake the haunting images of her attackers, and Gunnar had been right beside her, just as he’d promised, to calm her, to fetch her more medicine, to reassure her she was safe. He’d slept in the hard wooden chair from the kitchen, and when she urged him to sleep somewhere more comfortable, he’d insisted he was fine.
“I learned to sleep under the worst conditions in Afghanistan. If I get too comfy in my bed, I might not hear you when you need me.”
The translation was he was sacrificing his comfort to take care of her. Violet recognized that truth with humbling gratitude. But then, wasn’t that what all soldiers did? Sacrifice their comfort, their safety, their lives so that the people they loved back home would be safe, so that even strangers in a foreign land could be protected?
And Gunnar had served for eleven years....
Her respect for him, despite his occasional grumpiness, grew every time she saw a new side of him.
Let’s just say I have a few things I’m still working through.
Violet’s heart clenched with concern for Gunnar. What kind of horrors had he witnessed in the war? On the heels of her sympathy for the issues he was still wrestling with, a voice in her head warned her not to get tangled up with another man battling personal demons. When they’d married, she’d been sure she could help Adam work through his problems, that her love would be the magic key to fixing his addictive behavior and the issues behind his alcohol abuse. Violet sighed heavily, acknowledging how naive and foolishly optimistic she’d been.
Lesson learned. No more men with complex emotional baggage for her.
That decision should have made her feel stronger and more confident about her future. So why did she feel a pang of disappointment, as if this safeguard meant she’d be losing somethin
g wonderful?
“Hey, take it easy, guys. I’ll get my bath later. Stop—” Gunnar sputtered as, clearly, he got a face full of bathwater. “Oh, nice shot. But let’s keep some of the water in the tub, okay? I don’t have flood insurance.”
Violet smiled, picturing the scene she knew well. Gunnar was being a good sport considering she and her boys had invaded his private sanctuary, imposed on his hospitality and burdened him with nurse and nanny duty.
And then the earlier pang made sense. If she kept Gunnar and his problems at arm’s length, she’d miss out on knowing the incredible man beneath the gruff yet oh-so-sexy exterior. And that would be a loss, indeed.
* * *
Tate Colton stacked lunch meat, pickles and cheese on a roll in the kitchen of the ranch house and was just about to bite into his Dagwood sandwich when his cell phone buzzed. Giving his lunch a wistful look, he set the massive sandwich back on his plate and answered the call.
“Colton here.”
“Tate, Solomon Miller is finally cooperating.” Recognizing his boss’s voice, Tate shoved the plate aside and focused on what Hugo Villanueva was saying. “He’s giving us names associated with the online sex ring and locations where the girls are being held. I need you to be ready to move on this soon.”
“Of course. What’s the plan?”
“I want you undercover, posing as a buyer. Since the sex ring seems to be targeting wealthy men with the funds to pay top dollar for these girls, you’ll tell people you’re a rich businessman from New York City. I’ll be in touch with law enforcement in New York and New Jersey to let them know what we’re doing and get the proper approvals.”
“Rich businessman, huh? The department gonna bankroll this?” Tate rubbed his chin and frowned. Budget cuts already had the police department handcuffed, and undercover operations could get pricy, especially if he wanted to appear as wealthy as he would pretend to be.
“I’ll talk to the mayor about underwriting the expenses. I’d hate to let these bastards get away simply cause we couldn’t fund the op.”
Tate plucked at the sesame seeds on his sandwich roll and twisted his mouth in a thoughtful moue. “Let me talk to my brother. He’s come into a small fortune recently and is looking for ways to pay it forward. Maybe we won’t have to bug the mayor.”
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