Dark of Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Jimmy knew that the FBI agent wasn't happy about that. Kind of the way Jimmy hadn't been happy about Tess leaving the safe house without him. But like she'd said, if Jimmy really were dead, she'd come out of her self-exile to help Dave. Which was why she and Decker were planning to meet Dave and Sophia at the airport.

  Crossing the room, Sam went to the array of monitors that displayed clear pictures of every room in the house—huh, there was the bed Jimmy was eager to start sharing again with Tess. Note to self: Block that camera before getting her naked.

  As Jimmy watched, Sam used one of his currently baby-free hands to push an intercom button so that they could hear his conversation with Alyssa, who was still upstairs, over the main speakers.

  “How'd we do?” Sam asked in his good ol’ boy Texas drawl.

  “One minute, thirty-four seconds.” Alyssa came through clear as a bell. Ash burbled, clearly pleased to hear his mother's voice.

  “Not bad for the first time.” Sam was the eternal optimist as he grinned, delighted with his son. “That's right, Big Guy, that's your mama.”

  Alyssa stayed on topic by laughing her derision. “We've got to do significantly better if we want to—”

  “We can definitely shave it down,” Sam interrupted the woman who was both his wife, his boss, and the mother of his child. How the hell did he handle that? “And we will.”

  Even harder for Jimmy to imagine dealing with was the fact that they'd just locked Alyssa on the wrong side of that panic room door. And Sam had done it without blinking. Of course, this was just a drill. …

  “Maybe I should sleep down here until Tess gets back,” Jimmy suggested, raising his voice to be picked up by Sam's microphone, so Alyssa could hear him, too.

  This may have been a panic room, but it was decked out with comfortable furnishings, a flat-screen TV, and a virtual storeroom of supplies. There was enough food and water in here to survive the end of the world.

  Although why anyone would want to do that was beyond him.

  Ash was starting to wiggle and, again, it was astonishing how strong the kid was, so Jimmy turned him around so they were both more comfortable, with that sturdy little back warm against his chest. He kept one hand on the kid's belly, and Ash took hold of one of his fingers with a warrior's grip.

  “I don't think that's necessary,” Alyssa said. “Gentlemen, you're cleared to release the door. Sam, it's your turn tonight in the kitchen, I have some paperwork to do.” She paused, and when she spoke again, amusement was in her voice. “Unless you'd rather trade?”

  “Nope, I'm good with what I've got,” Sam answered. “But thanks for asking, ma'am. Over and out.” He switched off both the speaker and his headset, then opened the door with a hydraulic-sounding swoosh. “She always knows exactly what to say so I don't complain. At least not in her earshot. I'd rather spend an hour in the pool than cook, but I'd rather hit my thumb with a hammer over and over for a full day than do paperwork, so … Don't look so scared, Nash—I'm not half-bad in the kitchen. I learned from a master—my Uncle Walt, who spent a few years in Italy during World War Two.”

  As he spoke, he went out into the hall, pulled a wheelchair back inside with him, set the brake on it, then deftly lifted Ash from Jimmy's lap. “Need a hand?” he continued in that same neighborly tone.

  “No thanks.” But Jimmy was worn out from the scramble down the stairs, and he did need Sam's help—one strong hand catching him under his elbow, keeping him from falling back into the chair.

  As it was, he landed a little too hard, ringing his pain bell.

  He would never say it aloud, not in front of Ashton, but the words fucking wheelchair were probably written all over his face. He hated sitting here, but right now he was glad for it.

  And he hated it twice as much because of that.

  “You'll be outta this thing in no time,” Sam reassured him, plopping the baby back in Jimmy's lap.

  He hadn't fully recovered from that brain-jarring peal of pain, but he knew enough to cling to Ash as Sam swiftly wheeled them both out into the hall.

  “Barbecue or lasagna?”

  It took Jimmy a moment to realize Sam was asking about dinner. “I don't care.”

  “Then it's grill time tonight. That way I can cook and swim.”

  The elevator was open and waiting for them, and Sam backed the chair inside. He pushed the button for the first floor.

  “I'm on two,” Jimmy reminded him.

  “I know,” Sam said. “But with Jules and Tess gone, we're shorthanded. I could use a baby wrangler while I'm making the sauce, so it looks like you got yourself a job. This is real Texas barbecue, by the way—I don't just open a jar.”

  “I'm kind of tired.”

  But the elevator door opened off the spacious living room, and Sam pushed him out, wheeling him over to the couch that was closest to the open kitchen area. “It has been quite a day and …” He stopped talking, cleared his throat, and started over. “What say we cut the bullcrap and I just tell you up-front that Jules asked me to talk to you. And frankly? I'd far rather let you go back to your room to mope and drive yourself into a panic over Tess. But I promised Jules, so …” He took Ash off Jimmy's lap and put the baby on his back, on the couch, penning him in with a pillow. “You don't have to say a word in response—I didn't promise I'd force you to talk, too, so if you want, you can just sit here and keep Ashton company while I both cook and talk at you. Deal?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Jimmy said, as the SEAL all but lifted him out of the wheelchair.

  “Nope.” Starrett helped him onto the sofa, next to Ashton, who was starting to whimper. “He likes to be picked up, so he can see what's going on. He also likes it when you make faces.”

  Faces. Ash was starting to demonstrate his Navy SEAL–worthy lung capacity, so Jimmy reached over and carefully picked up the kid, his hands under both of the baby's now-flailing arms. The T-shirt thing he was wearing—it fastened with snaps between his pudgy legs—felt… damp?

  “Or he could need a change.” Starrett raised his voice to be heard over his son as he plopped a bright blue-and-yellow-striped bag on the couch next to Jimmy. “Go wild.”

  Jimmy held the baby up and out. “I'm not changing his diaper.”

  “What, you'd rather just sit there like a giant load, while we do all the work?” Sam said cheerfully as he went behind the huge granite-covered island that separated the bulk of the kitchen from the living room. He began getting out a collection of cutting boards, saucepans, and knives. “If it's anything more toxic than plain old wet, I'll take over. Otherwise, I'll talk you through it. There's a waterproof pad in the side pocket of that bag. Put that down on the couch first. No need to provide Lys with a reason to give us her renting this place doesn't give us the right to pee on the couch speech. It's a good one, but I've already heard it twice. Even though, considering the rent Robin's paying, I remain unconvinced that she's right. You owe the Boy Wonder a huge thank-you, by the way.”

  Jimmy didn't move and Ash's wailing became halfhearted as he looked over at his father with interest, as Sam serenely got a pile of tomatoes and peppers from the refrigerator and began washing them in the island's little sink.

  “One of the reasons you're sitting down here instead of up in your bed, like a little whining girl,” he told Jimmy, “is because we got clearance from your doctor to start some strenuous PT. Jules's been sending your vitals back to the doc, and you finally got his green light.” He pushed the faucet's handle down and off with his elbow and carried the clean and dripping vegetables to the cutting boards.

  “Which means, in case you haven't figured it out yourself,” he added as he began cutting up the tomatoes, glancing up at Jimmy with a flash of a grin, “that you're also cleared for other strenuous, non-PT-type activities.”

  The man was talking about sex.

  Of course, Tess was not only not here, but she was very not happy with him. Just because the doctor gave his green light didn't mean she was going t
o do the same.

  “I know exactly what you're thinking,” Sam continued, and he actually did. “It's not an automatic when you piss off your woman the way you've done of late. But picture this: She comes back, tonight or tomorrow—and it will be soon. I know you're worried about that, but she's gonna be just fine, and she'll be here before you know it. So she walks in, and you're not only up and sitting on the sofa, but you're hanging with Ash. You go, Hey, I think the baby needs a change, I'm like, Thanks, man, and I stand up, but you're all, No, I'm right here, Starrett, I got it—let me. And I toss you the diaper bag, and Tess, with her chin on the floor, watches as you expertly change Ashton's diaper. Now, it's not hard to do, but you got to start by putting him down on that pad, on his back.”

  Shaking his head, Jimmy did just that. It was like flipping a switch, though, because Ashton immediately quieted down.

  “Keep one hand on him, so he doesn't roll off the couch,” Starrett directed. “You need three things from the bag. A fresh diaper, one of those little blanket things, and the wipes. Get 'em all out first, before you take the old diaper off. And then look and see how the diaper he's wearing is fastened. There's tape—you see how that works to hold it on?”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said. Ash was grinning up at him, so he told the kid, “I think your father's related to Tom Sawyer, and that after this I'm going to be scrubbing the kitchen floor and thanking him for the opportunity.”

  “You're going to peel the tape back and take off the diaper,” Sam instructed. “It's going to weigh about a ton, so don't be surprised. As soon as you get it off of him, use the little blanket to cover his package. Otherwise he's gonna piss in your face. It's not personal—it's just a baby-boy thing.”

  “It's not hard to do,” Jimmy repeated Sam's earlier words, “except he might piss in my face.”

  “Wait until Tess sees you do this.” Starrett pointed at him with the gleaming blade of a knife that looked suspiciously like a battle-ready KA-BAR. “You, my friend, are gonna get laid. Provided you follow through with step two.”

  “What? Feed Ash and put him to bed?” Jimmy asked. Man, the used diaper was ridiculously heavy. The baby seemed positively ecstatic with his diaper-free status, and he chortled and flailed, entertained by his own tiny feet, his shiny little butt in the air.

  “Better cover—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jimmy said, but he covered the kid only loosely. It seemed a shame to weigh him down again.

  “Step two,” Sam lectured, as he continued to chop vegetables, “is all about what you do and say after you and Tess shut the door of your suite.”

  “I think I've got that part handled, thanks.” Jimmy struggled to open the plastic container of wipes. What the hell was wrong with this thing?

  “Yeah but, you're thinking of step three. You can definitely go from one to three, but it's two that's crucial if you really want to make it all work.” He immediately backpedaled. “It's a crucial truth for my relationship—it may not be true for yours. But, see, we're both in a unique position, being connected to women who can kick most people's asses. As much as we might want them to stay out of harm's way, that's not in their nature. We love them because they're in the thick of it—so we've got to let them go be in the thick of it.”

  He paused as if waiting for Jimmy to respond, but when Jimmy didn't, he just kept talking.

  “Early in my relationship with Alyssa,” Sam continued as Jimmy finally got the container of wipes open and pulled one out, “she went overseas on a bodyguard assignment, and her helo was shot down. I had to sit at home and wait to find out if she'd lived or died. Let me tell you how much that sucked.” He laughed. “When she came back, it was unbelievably hard for me when the time came for her to take another dangerous assignment. So I told her that. I said, This is hard for me. I'm gonna need your help, because it's always going to be hard, and sometimes I'm gonna screw it up. And I need you to remember, when I do screw it up? That it's because I'm scared of the things I know are not in your control. It's not because I don't have faith in you.”

  Jimmy was silent as he wiped off the baby's belly—which seemed to be the only place Ash was even slightly wet. He looked at the new diaper, which was folded into a smallish square of plastic and God-knows-what.

  “This is hard for me and I'm gonna need your help,” Sam repeated. “Those two little sentences can make a world of difference.”

  The diaper unfolded into something only slightly more recognizable—with elastic-edged leg-holes and a fairly obvious front and back.

  “Other way,” Sam directed. “It's a boy diaper, so the absorbent part's in the front.”

  Okay, so maybe the front/back thing wasn't so obvious. And who knew diapers had genders? Jimmy looked at Ash to try to figure out how to do this without picking him up.

  Sam again came to the rescue—although not literally, since he stayed back behind that counter. Bastard. “Grab his feet and lift and slip it under his butt.”

  The baby laughed as Jimmy did just that. He replaced the piss shield with the front of the diaper and taped it all securely down. Well, hell. That had been easy. Now, what to do with the used diaper?

  “Another thing,” Sam said. “Just an FYI. If Tess is anything like Alyssa … If you start the conversation? Trust me, you can't buy her a better gift than that. It's what she wants. For you, you know, to affirm the fact that you're a team. You can also start by telling her something that's obvious. Tell her you're afraid that something you've done is going to harm her in some way—”

  “In some way?” Jimmy had to interrupt. He covered the baby's tiny ears. “I'm fucking scared to death that those pricks from the Agency are going to reach out and touch me—through her. It's bad enough that we think they've already tapped Dave—”

  “Whoa, don't tell me,” Sam said. “Tell her. And if that's too hard to start with, then start with something else. Maybe, you know, that new scar she's got on her hand.”

  Jimmy looked up at him sharply.

  “That's a hard one, too, huh?” Sam mused. “But to be honest, it's all gonna seem hard, so maybe it's best to start with the things that're getting between you.”

  Jimmy shook his head in disbelief. “What'd I do?” he asked. “Look at it too much while you were carrying me down the stairs today?”

  “No,” Sam said. “But I noticed it myself and figured it had to be bugging the hell out of you.”

  Tess had a scar on her right hand—both on her palm and on the back. A bullet had gone right through her, but she was unbelievably lucky— there had been minimum damage. It hadn't broken a single bone. She'd received the injury during the same incident in which Jimmy had nearly been killed.

  He'd taken a bullet to the chest and had hit his head when he'd fallen—knocking himself out cold. Tess had been shot, too, but she'd crawled over to him and, trying to defend them both, she'd reached for the weapon he'd dropped—and gotten shot in the hand.

  The scar was small, but it was still new and raw-looking. And every time Jimmy saw it—which was every minute of every day when she was with him—he was reminded of the fact that he hadn't been able to protect her.

  And that the enemy they'd been up against then were amateurs compared to the people they were facing now.

  Sam was quiet, still chopping tomatoes, just waiting for Jimmy to respond.

  “I don't know what good talking about it is going to do,” Jimmy finally said. “Except make her self-conscious—”

  “I'd bet you a year's salary,” Sam interrupted, “that that scar means something entirely different to Tess than what it means to you. And maybe if you start seeing it—and other things—through her eyes, it won't hurt so fricking much.”

  “Maybe it's supposed to hurt,” Jimmy said.

  “Ah,” Sam said, putting down his knife. “Okay. Yeah. Here we go. It's supposed to hurt? What's supposed to hurt? Life?”

  “I don't know,” Jimmy said. “Yeah. It's hard. It's always so fucking hard.”

  “W
ell, okay then. Do me a favor, will you, and tell Ashton to quit laughing, because life is supposed to hurt and be hard.”

  “You're oversimplifying,” Jimmy argued. “It's not supposed to hurt for him. He's a baby, and you're here, to protect him—”

  “Like you're here to protect Tess?” Sam countered. “And how do we do that, exactly? And by the way, Lys and I agreed that we wouldn't say four-letter words in front of Ash, so watch your fucking mouth, dickhead. We also won't raise our voices in anger in front of him. And if one of us gets sick or injured, he's not going to know about it. Until he's old enough, we're going to be careful what he sees on TV and what we talk about in front of him, because as a four-year-old, he shouldn't have to worry about the fact that the world is going to hell in a handbasket. He's going to be dealing with the hurts he can handle—bullies on the playground, skinned knees, coping with wanting things that other kids have that we can't or won't give him. But you better believe, by the time that boy turns eighteen, we'll be treating him like an adult, because the rest of the world sure as hell will be treating him that way, too.”

  Jimmy attached the snaps that connected the T-shirt thing Ash was wearing, fastening it securely between his pudgy little legs. “You really think I treat Tess like a child.”

  “I think that's part of the problem, yeah. I think you might also want to try some alternative mission statements on for size. I mean, maybe it's supposed to hurt? How about maybe it's okay if it feels good. Not just a little good, sometimes, but really good, most of the time. Look at me.” Starrett held out both hands, one of them still holding that deadly-looking knife. “I just got you to change my kid's diaper, and I know for a fact that before the month is out? You'll be doing the really ripe ones, too. See, I have faith in you, Jimbo. You're a very intelligent man, and you're going to recognize the correlation between action and reaction—as in Tess's reaction to you changing Ash's didee. So that happiness is hanging in my very bright future.