The Fugitive's Secret Child

by Geri Krotow

  “Did it hit you? The missile?”

  She hated this question, even five years out. “No, I evaded. I was the PPC.” She’d been the patrol plane commander, flying the aircraft and in charge of the crew. “But the maneuvers coincided with losing an engine, and we had to ditch. We took a belly landing on a dirt road in the middle of Iraq. I’m lucky our folks got to us before the bad guys did.”

  “You were injured?”

  “The plane broke apart a bit on the landing, let’s say.” She wasn’t going to go into specifics and in fact couldn’t. How the plane bore the stress of the ditch was classified. “The copilot and I each had a few broken ribs, collapsed lungs, you know, the usual.” She shrugged. “The worst thing was that everyone back at the base tried to make it out that we were heroes. We all got back alive and the classified material was saved or destroyed, to include the airframe. No enemy learned anything from one of our newer military platforms.”

  “You are a hero, Trina.” Quiet words.

  “No, no I’m not. A hero would have listened to intel and never been anywhere near that enemy encampment. Certainly not flying at one thousand feet.” A true heroine would have told her flight surgeon she thought she might be pregnant, and grounded herself from the op. She stood up, ending the intimacy created by sharing her story with Rob. “That was my last flight. I requested a transfer to shore duty. The squadron was coming home the next week, so it didn’t hurt the operations that I grounded myself.” Since she’d also begun to suspect she was pregnant, she didn’t want to do anything to harm her child. Their child. Holy hell, she was going to have to tell Rob the truth.

  “It sounds like you might need some closure, too.” His voice soothed, but she fought against it. She didn’t want his compassion.

  “I have my closure, Rob. At least, I did.”

  “And then I walked into your gin joint.” His attempt to lighten the mood by referring to her favorite movie only fueled her regret.

  “You remember.” They’d watched Casablanca on her tablet computer, huddled next to each other on her twin-size cot. A wartime desert date.

  “I never forgot.” The fierceness of his statement gave her pause. The tiny part of her that desperately wanted to believe him, wanted to think he’d never stopped caring for her, was growing. She couldn’t let it become the biggest part of her, though. Her heart wouldn’t survive it this time.

  * * *

  After the doctor had checked Rob over, declaring he was severely bruised but most likely had no broken bones, Rob’s hunger made an appearance.

  “Where’s sandwiches?”

  Trina straightened from setting down a bowl of water for the dog. She pulled a bright yellow plastic bag from the mini refrigerator and handed a wrapped bundle to Rob. “Here you go. Chicken Caesar wrap.”

  She’d remembered his favorite salad from the military canteen. It could be coincidence, but when she unwrapped a tuna sandwich for herself he knew it was more.

  “You still like tuna, huh?”

  A small smile painted her lips. “Yes.”

  They ate at the tiny kitchenette counter. Rob stood as it was simply less painful. He was constantly aware of Trina next to him.

  “We can order takeout later if you want.” She bunched the paper from her sandwich and tossed it into the garbage bin in a perfect arc.

  “My appetite’s not as strong since I took the acetaminophen. But maybe by then I’ll be hungry again.” It was a miracle he was hungry now, with the pain still throbbing at several points on his frame.

  “I still don’t get why you didn’t take the stronger meds the doctor offered. There’s not a whole lot that’s more painful than bruised ribs. And I don’t care what he said, I’ll bet you have a small fracture in that arm.”

  “They’re manageable. And my arm’s not broken, which is a plus. I’ve had more success using non-opioids and ice, frankly.” Besides, his head needed to stay clear in case they had to make a run for it again. His interior radar was pinging, and he had to fight his urge to flee. It was probably having the object of his dreams sitting right next to him. After five long years.

  “Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, I can go to a quick drive-through pharmacy.”

  “I think we’re going to do everything drive-through or delivery, at least until we’re back in Silver Valley.”

  She gave him an odd look. “How did you know you’d find me, taking a job in Silver Valley? It’s a big enough town, and close to a good-sized city, but still...”

  “I looked you up. You haven’t remained off the grid as much as a lot of our former colleagues have. I saw you were working in Harrisburg. I didn’t know you were a US marshal, though, until I took this recent job.”

  “You’re telling me that the CIA resources didn’t tell you where I was and whom I worked for?”

  Score one for Trina. “Maybe they could have. But I wasn’t one to abuse my privileges. And I wasn’t ready to come find you again until I realized I was done working for the Agency. It was time to come clean and do something a little different. I took five months off between the CIA and this current agency. That’s when I did the hard counseling work I probably should have done at least four years ago if not sooner.”

  “I’ve learned that beating myself up about the past doesn’t work.” She was still holding something back. He’d wait her out. “It doesn’t strike me that you’re doing anything different. You’re still some kind of undercover agent, for what? A CIA contractor?”

  “Something like that.” He couldn’t divulge Trail Hikers’ existence. Wouldn’t. He’d signed a nondisclosure agreement that was just as binding if not more so than the one he’d signed for the US government on other occasions.

  She got up from the counter and moved into the small U-shaped kitchen area. “Coffee or tea?” She filled a mug with water as she spoke.

  “I’ll have a coffee. Full strength is fine. Nothing keeps me awake, except...”

  Their eyes met, and he watched her absorb and process his words. At one point he thought she’d laugh, but she quenched it by biting her lower lip with teeth as pearly as they were even. Her smile had only grown lovelier over the time they’d been apart. Time he suddenly felt had slipped through his fingers like the finest dust. Never to be captured and relived.

  “Lucky you. I can’t have caffeine after three in the afternoon.” The microwave beeped, and she pulled out the mug and placed a tea bag in the steaming liquid. His cup was next, and in short order they each had a steaming hot beverage.

  “You never drank anything but coffee when I knew you.” He deliberately nodded at the mesh bag of herbs she steeped in her prepared water.

  “No, I was pretty much a live wire in those days. I uh, had some, some health issues that forced me to evaluate my nutrition and caffeine intake. Nothing major, just enough to find out what does and doesn’t work for me and my body type.”

  “Define ‘body type.’” Because if she couldn’t, he could. Without hesitation. He deliberately intoned the demand so she’d know exactly what he meant.

  A hard glare was his reward for pushing her past her comfort zone. His dick got the message in a different way, and he wished he could take back the tease. A relationship with Trina was not happening. It would spell disaster for both of them. If he wanted to stay in Silver Valley, work with TH for the long term, he didn’t want to always be concerned about running into her. At work or out in town. Friendship was the best option.

  “By ‘type’ I mean fast or slow metabolism, more of a muscular frame versus a more slight, fragile set of bones.” Her words were carefully neutral.

  “Makes sense to me. My metabolism hit the skids when I left the SEALs.” He sipped his coffee.

  She looked him over, and he wanted to strut around like a peacock, fanning his tail and turning in a circle. It’d never been this way with another woman. He was
a guy; he liked knowing he turned a woman on. With Trina it went to a primal level, this elation at her approval.

  “You don’t look any worse for the wear.” Spoken like the compliment it wasn’t—sincere but with a grudge. He got it. Someone who came back from the dead should look like they had died. Not all strong and healthy.

  “Don’t be fooled. Sure, I’m a little broader, stronger. But I can lean toward a beer belly since I’m not burning it all off like I used to. I’m not a SEAL. Staying in shape is one thing, but that kind of conditioning is for the very young. They say it gets worse as we age.”

  “My mom says that all the time. But she tells me to enjoy the extra cookies now, before my metabolism shuts down.”

  “I don’t remember you having a sweet tooth.”

  She sighed. “I’ve always adored my mom’s homemade baked goods. And it’s true. It is harder, much harder, in fact, to lose weight. Especially after—” She stopped dead cold.

  “Especially after what, Trina?”

  The Trina moat was fully flooded again, her drawbridge pulled up and away. He wasn’t going to glean any new information from her. And they’d only been talking about metabolism. It wasn’t as if it was anything personal.

  She didn’t budge on the drawbridge. “Nothing. Hey, we’re each five years older. It’s to be expected. I’m going to hit the shower. Do you mind keeping an eye on the dog? You okay waiting out here?”

  “Where will I go without you?” He tried to be humorous, but it fell flat, as had every emotion he’d tried to express to her. It killed him to admit if only to himself that how Trina felt, how she viewed the world, was as important to him today as it had been all those years ago.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Exactly. You can try to take off, but trust me, Bristol, I have eyes in the back of my head and I’m not afraid to use them.” She flashed him a bright smile. “If you need me, holler. I can be dressed and holstered in a minute.”

  He’d really like a variation of that—maybe Trina holstered and undressed. But he remained silent. Timing was everything, not only in covert ops.

  * * *

  Trina took her time in the shower, as if by lingering under the hot spray she’d somehow gain back her peace of mind.

  A US marshal wasn’t guaranteed serenity of any sort, but knowing she could still work in a role supporting the government after she resigned from the Navy had been a godsend. As a new mother her priority was completely Jake, and remained so. But as he grew up and needed her less for the physical routines of the day and more for his emotional and mental support, she found herself wondering if there wasn’t another job she should be looking for. Something that would keep her closer to home, able to pick him up after school and see all of his athletic events.

  Being a local cop had crossed her mind, and she’d even mentioned it to Corey, but he’d waved his hand and said “no way” enough times that she’d started to believe him, accept that his assessment of her talents and capabilities was spot-on. Being a marshal was the best fit for her and Jake. Besides, he was only five. She had time to figure it all out.

  She’d left a voice mail with her brother and save for the brief two-word text reply, Got him!, she hadn’t discussed her situation with Nolan. How could she tell anyone she was with her son’s father when she hadn’t told Rob yet? The anger and betrayal at finding out he was alive and had been this whole time would take a long while to work out in her mind. And yet she knew she couldn’t keep his son from him. Rob deserved to know he had a son. And Jake deserved to know his father.

  The bottle of body wash she’d had with her in her backpack whistled out its last drops. She looked at the bar of soap that sat on the shower’s tiny shelf. There was only one, and sharing it with Rob felt too intimate, too much like something a real boyfriend and girlfriend, or husband and wife as they’d posed as in the lobby, would do.

  She was overthinking everything. A side effect of the adrenaline rush.

  She rinsed off the sudsy shampoo in the shower stall and thought of his hands on her. God, she wanted to run to his arms, allow him to comfort her as she accepted he was still alive. He was alive. Her body had no reason to defend itself against Rob, apparently as her attraction to him was still incredibly hot, over-the-top.

  Vibrations shook the shower glass as the bathroom door banged open, followed by Rob’s deep baritone.

  “Trina!” She’d never heard such a strident tone from him before, and her fingers shook as she shut off the water.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’ve got trouble. Get dressed and get ready to climb out that window over your head.”

  She blinked away the last of the suds and stared at the small sliding opening. “You’re kidding. That can’t be more than twelve by twelve inches big.” One square foot was not enough for either of them to squeeze through.

  “Get out and dressed. Hurry!” His demand was punctuated by pounding on the room door and shouts of “room service!” Since the motel didn’t have room service and they hadn’t asked for anything, she knew Rob was correct. They were about to be ambushed. Trina wiped at her skin with the towel she’d thrown over the stall door.

  “I called 911, and I’m sure as soon as they hear the sirens they’ll take off, but we can’t count on it.” He didn’t have to say what they both knew. ROC didn’t care if the local LEAs found both of them with a bullet between their eyes. And they’d make it look like it had been a murder-suicide.

  “Fine.” She shoved open the shower door to face him, the puppy clutched to his chest, his face a map of painful injury. Save for his eyes, which heated at her nakedness. “Stop being a perv and hand me my clothes. And put the dog down—he’ll be okay. We’ll carry him when we have to.” She’d hung them on the hooks on the back of the door, her weapon on the sink’s minuscule counter. Silently he held out her panties, bra, jeans and T-shirt, followed by her body armor and holster. She put her gun in its place while still barefoot.

  “You need body armor, Rob. Can you move quickly? Where are my boots?” The pounding was louder and they both tensed, looking to each other for what the next move should be. “Crap. We’ve got to go now.” She turned back around and looked at the window, which wasn’t looking so bad. “But we’re on the second floor. You’ll never make the fall.”

  “That’s why you’re going to jump first.” Rob looked like he was about to push her through the window, bruised skeleton be damned. He still held the dog, at whose comfort she couldn’t guess.

  “And leave you and the puppy here? Never.”

  * * *

  Rob bit back the harsh order on his lips. Trina wasn’t a Trail Hikers operative and had never done deep undercover ops. Her loyalty to him was misplaced, but he’d have to address that with her later.

  When they were both safe.

  She’d literally shoved her soaking wet body into her clothing and now stomped her bare feet into her boots. A distant siren pierced the spell of silence in between their pursuers rapping on the door and their own heavy breathing.

  Trina stood up fully and held her hand up. “Is it...”

  A second, shriller siren sounded, followed quickly by the echo of footsteps running away from their room.

  She looked up at him, her expression triumphant. “Score! Thank God you called emergency right away.” She arched her brow, its smooth shape in sharp contrast to her tangled hair. Her eyes, the deepest shade of gray, framed by her clumped lashes, drew him in.

  “Trina.” Slowly, he put the dog down. There was so much to say, and nothing. Words escaped him as quickly as his pulse shifted into overdrive and the erection he’d been fighting came on hard and insistent. Her lips were moist, plump, parted.

  She placed her hand lightly on his chest. “Rob, no. You said that Justin was dead. So is the woman you knew. So—so are we.”

  Her words would cut later, when he replayed them in his mind.
All he could sense was his body’s need for her. He allowed her to maintain the space between their upper bodies with her hand as he grasped her hips and pulled her up against his cock. And God help him, he ground into her pelvis, unable to stop the bliss-inducing movement. He closed his eyes to the pain from his ribs and focused on the sensation of her hot center rubbing against his erection.

  “Are you sure about that, Trina?”

  She looked at his mouth, and her pupils dilated as her breath hitched. When her eyelids lowered, he took it as the invitation it would have been five years ago.

  He kissed her.

  Rob expected Trina to pull back, push him away or endure a few seconds of lip-to-lip contact. As a courtesy to a dead man come back to life. What he never envisioned was how quickly her arms would wind around his neck, her breasts press against his chest, how their staccato breathing and soft sucking noises would be the only audible elements in the tiny bathroom. The biggest surprise was how forcefully she kissed him back, her tongue demanding all he had to give her.

  Rob had everything to give Trina. If she’d let him.

  It was a kiss of loss, regret, sorrow. Affirmation that they were together again, in the same place, not separated by war or death.

  Distantly he heard a siren, close enough to cause alarm. “Trina.” He hated to pull back, to end the moment that felt frozen in the timeline of their relationship with each other. A relationship that’s over. He’d be better off if he kept that in mind.