by Julie Miller
His gaze dropped to her fluttering fingers, clutching and unclutching the collar of her robe. He reached out and covered her hands with one of his. Her nervous tremor stilled beneath his touch, and he smiled. "The pistol's fine. I told her she could call me if she needed to talk, but that she needed to work things out with her dad."
Emma's face blossomed in a valiant smile. "Thank you."
"You look exhausted. You better hit the sack, too."
A dark shadow loomed up behind her. Drew released her hand and looked over her shoulder at her husband.
"I'll see you out," Jonathan said.
Emma turned, an embarrassed flush staining her cheeks. Embarrassed to be caught holding hands with Drew? Or embarrassed by her husband's rude, dismissive tone? "Jonathan—“
"Sweetheart. Drew's right." He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. "You go get some sleep."
Drew could see the snap of fire in her eyes. Her lips parted as if to protest. Instead, she pressed them together. He recognized the tight control she exerted on herself, and wondered why she didn't lash out at her husband. She would have told Drew exactly what she thought.
"Goodnight, Drew."
"'Goodnight, Em."
Both men watched her, graceful even though dead on her feet, until she disappeared behind her bedroom door. With Emma and Kerry out of sight, they didn't waste pleasantries on each other. Drew took the steps at an easy pace, while Jonathan followed more resolutely behind him.
At the bottom of the staircase, Drew turned the tables and stopped, bracing his hand on the balustrade and turning on Jonathan. "Why don't you try acting like a father instead of letting Em carry the whole burden of parenting that little girl? Pick her up. Hold her. Talk to her. She's going to be smarter than the rest of us put together, and she knows you’re not comfortable around her."
Jonathan crossed his arms and glared down at him. "Well, that's not your concern, now is it?"
Drew grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to his level. "I don't know what game you're playing, Moriarty. But I have proof, fingerprints, that show you were in Lucky's Bar the other night, not held prisoner in the Caribbean. You can have somebody beat you around the face a time or two, or pad your goons with bulletproof vests, but you don't fool me." He paused for a breath, time enough to cool his delivery if not his fury. "I haven't told Emma. But I will. If you don't treat them right, I will."
Jonathan laughed, an evil sound that chilled Drew to the bone. "Those fingerprints prove I'm Jonathan Ramsey, Lieutenant Colonel, USMC Retired." Drew didn't resist when the colonel pried his hands from his collar. "Now. Do you want to leave before I tell you who you really are, Mr. Gallagher?"
Drew backed off a step, giving himself a physical space to ward off an attack of any kind. "How could you possibly know?"
"Five years ago, in the jungles of Isla Tenebrosa, you tried to kill me."
"That was the Chameleon. Ask Hawk. He was there. No one knows what the Chameleon looks like."
An idea awakened inside Drew, leading him toward the truth he'd sought for so long, tightening him in its wretched grip like a noose.
Jonathan Ramsey smiled, a grin as full of hate as any perpetrated by Sherlock Holmes's arch nemesis. "I do."
Chapter Twelve
Emma returned to a routine of sorts, more for Kerry's sake than her own. She drove Kerry to school, then went on to LadyTech. Be careful what you wish for, the old adage warned. She finally had her husband home.
And she didn't think she could feel much worse.
She sorted through the stack of messages on her desk, wanting to ignore each and every one. The work she'd once found so invigorating now seemed an imposition. She had problems at home she needed to fix. But employees and investors and friends were counting on her—she wouldn't let them down.
A week had passed since Drew had come to the house to help Kerry through Jonathan's return. A week had passed since she'd felt secure. A week had passed since she'd felt it was completely safe to drop her guard.
The oddest things seemed to bother Jonathan—things he wouldn't have noticed before, things he once would have laughed at or dealt with and moved on.
She'd asked him to go through his clothes she had stored in the attic to see what he wanted to keep, what he might need to replace. He'd rifled through the trunks, left the clothes in a mess and told her to get rid of everything. "Even the uniforms?" she'd asked. "No, of course not!" he'd snapped at her before barricading himself in the study with the computer.
Hawk had stopped by with his new wife, Sarah, to introduce her to his old friend, and offered to take them to dinner. They'd stayed all of twenty minutes before Jonathan had chased them out with a false excuse of having a prior commitment.
And the thing that seemed most out of character for the man she remembered was the way he treated Kerry. Or rather, the way he ignored her.
Emma picked up the photo on her desk taken that morning long ago when she and Kerry had welcomed him home from a mission. He'd refused to set Kerry down, holding her even when a former commanding officer had stepped up to shake his hand.
Now he acted as if his daughter was a stranger to him
Poor girl. She marched up to him every night with her blanket in tow and asked him to read her a story. He'd found an excuse to get out of it every time but one. Emma had come running when he'd yelled her name from the study last Saturday. Kerry had cornered him on the couch. She curled up beside him, holding a book in her hands and resolutely trying to read to him. But not until Emma joined them did he relax and listen.
Emma set down the picture without giving it the loving caress that had become an ingrained habit over the years. She couldn't help but recall her memory of Drew sitting with Kerry in his lap, totally out of his element, yet willing to accept the responsibility of caring for a child.
She inhaled deeply and took a sip of coffee, trying to clear all such comparisons from her mind. She shouldn't spend her time missing Drew when she needed to concentrate her energy on helping Jonathan readjust to free, civilian life.
Still, her hand hovered above the phone. She wondered what case Drew might be working on now. She missed the challenging gleam in those emerald eyes, daring her to be as smart and resourceful as she knew how to be. She missed the comforting reassurance of his hand brushing her cheek. She missed the heady sound of his heart-baring confession, I'm falling in love with you.
When she felt her own knuckles brushing her cheek, she curled her fingers into a fist and forced her mind back to this moment and the task at hand.
She punched a button on her computer and began dictating a memo to Caitlin. "Computer, record. Staff memo, dated February fourteenth, regarding Takahashi Industries.”
A firm rap at the door distracted her an instant before it opened. She barely had time to hit the pause command and rise to her feet before Jonathan swept into the room with a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
He wore a double-breasted suit of charcoal-gray flannel. He created a dashing figure with his dark hair, handsome face, and mischievous smile. He seemed so like the Jonathan of old that she walked around the desk to greet him. She eyed the dramatic presentation of flowers in his hand. "What's going on?"
He bowed with a flourish that filled the office with the cloying scent of roses. "It's Valentine's Day, my dear." He laid the bouquet in her outstretched hands and kissed her before she had a chance to respond. "I asked Brodie and BJ to take Kerry tonight so I can take you out to dinner and we can have a romantic evening at home." He nuzzled the shell of her ear. "Or we can skip the dinner part."
Flustered by the invitation, concerned about the plans for Kerry, and distracted by the persevering flick of his tongue, she ducked her head and carried the roses to the wet bar. Suddenly she found it difficult to breathe. But her heart wasn't pounding in her chest with anticipation. It seemed to have sunk somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach. She ran some water and placed the stems in the sink. "T
hese are beautiful. I don't have a vase large enough for all of them. Let me buzz Caitlin and see—"
He cut off her rambling by sidling up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "Forget the flowers. I'll bring you champagne. Chocolates. Anything your heart desires to show you how much I love you."
When he pushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck, she gripped the edge of the sink and bit her lip. This was her husband, after all.
They loved each other. So why did she cringe each time he touched her? Why didn't it feel right?
She'd kissed Drew one time—one time!—and she'd felt more alive and sexy and desirable than she did with her own husband's recent repeated attempts to seduce her.
Thinking about Drew while her husband held her destroyed her good intentions to be patient with Jonathan. She pushed at his hands and shrugged him off. She gave him a shaky smile as he released her and crossed the room. "Please, Jonathan. I hardly think work is the place for that sort of thing."
He followed her to the sitting area, undaunted by her rejection if the glint in his deep blue eyes was any indication. "I can wait, sweetheart. I'd forgotten how beautiful you are. I've been alone for so long. But I can wait until tonight."
He slid his gaze along the length of her, somehow making her feel dirty. It wasn't love she saw in his eyes, but lust. She knew men had certain urges. Hell, she had them herself. But Jonathan's desires had always been prompted by something more emotional. She'd always felt that her feelings were more important his libido.
"Yes, well," she fiddled with the buttons of her jacket, "I'll see you tonight, then."
"Is something wrong?" He sat on a loveseat and patted the cushion beside him.
Yes. Thank God. This was the husband she knew. Sensitive. Willing to listen.
She perched beside him, wrapped her arm through his, and tried to figure out how to begin. "I guess I wasn't prepared for the adjustment it would take to get used to the physical part of our relationship again. I've been alone a long time, too. I guess I need a little time and patience."
"You want to be with me, don't you?" His eyes narrowed, reflecting confusion at her explanation.
"Yes, I do," she reassured him.
"You love me, don't you?"
"Of course."
He rose to his feet, dismissing the conversation before it had ever really started. "Good. We have reservations at seven. Wear something to show off those gorgeous legs of yours."
"Jonathan…” She stood, giving vent to her temper and to the doubts she'd held in check for too long. "We need to talk. Get reacquainted. Decide how to help Kerry. It's not like you to get up and walk out when we have problems we need to fix."
His expression grew serious. "You're right. I've been gone too long to just take up where we left off."
She breathed a little easier. "Exactly."
"Then we'll get reacquainted tonight." He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. "I'll help you through this. Don't worry."
"Don't worry?"
He strode to the door and opened it. "I need to run. BJ’s setting me up with a computer in my office, and I want her to show me how to navigate my way through the LadyTech system."
Emma's shock at his abrupt mood departure prevented her from getting the conversation back on track. "Are you sure this is the kind of work you want to do? You never really liked sitting in an office before."
He praised her with a smile. "I want to find out just how successful you've been in my absence. See if I can help by taking some of the management duties off your shoulders. You'd like to spend more time with Kerry, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. But we've barely discussed this." She followed him to the open door. "Are you sure you want to go back to work so soon?"
He caught her by the chin and tipped her face to his. "Sweetheart, I may never be able to go back to the kind of work I did before. I've had my fill of guns and violence. And don't you want to know what our enemy wanted with LadyTech? I do. Who better to check on Moriarty's plans than a man held prisoner by him for five years?"
His bleak statement shamed her. "Of course, you’re right. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it." He chucked her lightly on the chin, a love-tap that triggered memories that the Jonathan she knew would never intentionally remind her of.
"Jonathan—"
But he wouldn't let her discuss that, either.
"I'll see you tonight."
He waltzed down the hall to his new office with the oblique title of Administrative Executive. Emma raked her fingers through her hair and breathed deeply. The oversweet smell of the roses burned through her sinuses and gave her a headache.
Or maybe the scent merely compounded the aftershocks of Jonathan's visit.
"Help me get through this," she prayed to the guardian spirit she hoped was watching over her. In a moment of crystal-clear hindsight, she realized she'd had someone watching over her.
A guardian named Drew Gallagher.
But she'd paid his bill and sent him away.
* * *
Darn it!
"She almost had it! She came so close!" Faith pointed both arms at Emma, who sank into her chair and buried herself in her work once more. "She almost had it."
She dropped her arms to her sides and rolled her eyes upward.
"She said the words. Can't I talk to her now?"
She muttered something beneath her breath, knowing that every word and thought was overheard. "All right. I'm sorry. She probably wouldn't believe me." Her bangs rose in the air as she puffed out a sigh. "But she asked for help."
Faith planted her hands on her hips and circled Emma's desk. "What am I going to do with you people?"
She dug her invisible fingers into the tense muscles of Emma's shoulders. Emma angled her head, but since she couldn't see her, she dismissed the sensation. At least she'd decided to relax and accept the inexplicable massage from an unseen friend.
Faith kneaded harder. "You won't trust your instincts. Gallagher won't trust his heart. And that Jonathan—he doesn't listen to anybody but himself."
Her voice trailed off as a new thought hit her. "Or does he?"
She clapped her hands together in joy. "Of course! That's why this isn't working."
All those years ago, at the citadel of the outer reaches, she'd struck a bargain with Jonathan Ramsey. She'd been swayed by pictures and prayers and heartfelt pleas.
But her bargain had been with Jonathan Ramsey. Not the Chameleon. She was spending her time helping the wrong man. One man was her enemy. He was Jonathan's enemy. Emma and Kerry's enemy, too.
Faith tapped her palm on her forehead, wishing she'd had the sense to think of this sooner. Her job was to protect the Ramsey family, watch over them with patience and care. She'd reunited them, but it wasn't working out the way she intended.
But the Chameleon wasn't her charge. She had hoped that the second chance at life would make him a better man. Being with Emma and Kerry should have shown him how beautiful and positive life could be. But the man was unchangeable.
Just because he'd reentered the world at the same time Jonathan had didn't make him her responsibility. She didn't have to follow the rules with him.
"Of course. That's what I'll do."
The electrical power in Emma's office snapped off, then surged back on again. Faith watched Emma check her computer right away, then frown and lean in closer to read the flashing message there out loud.
“’You don't follow the rules anyway.’" Emma picked up the phone and punched in a number. "Did you just get a weird power surge, BJ? I’ve got a message on my computer that wasn’t there before. What's going on?"
Faith pushed her sleeves up past her elbows and headed out, with new determination driving her. She ignored the words that flashed on and off on Emma's computer.
Faith knew the message was meant for her, but she ignored it. "I'm gonna make things right for you, Emma Ramsey. I promise."
* * *
Thunder p
ounded through Drew's brain. He rolled over onto his stomach, buried his head beneath a pillow, and prayed that the sound would go away.
It thundered again. Drew cursed and sat bolt upright, then cursed again when the bright sun hit his eyes. He blinked the world into semifocus and discovered there was no storm outside.
When he heard the sound a third time, he realized someone was beating on his door. "Coming!"
He thought he yelled the response. But the wad of stuffing that filled his head after last night's dive into self-pity--with the help of Jack Daniels and a few beers—might just have reflected the sound back into his own ears.
His visitor knocked one more time before Drew could find his glasses and climb out of bed. He opened the door without thinking, without putting anything on besides his pants, without a care for who might be on the other side.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Gallagher." Hawk Echohawk's imposing silhouette blended with the shadows of the hallway. But Drew could see he wore a sheepskin coat over his jeans, and he could sense that the mysterious Indian meant business. "You look like hell, my friend."
Drew shook his head and started to shut the door. "I don't believe I'm your friend."
A big, camo and khaki military boot prevented the door from closing. Drew wasn't in the best of shape to defend himself, so he shrugged and opened the door wide. He supposed he had this reckoning at the hands of Jonathan Ramsey's friends coming to him, anyway. He just wished he had a clearer mind to deal with it. He stepped back. "Come in if you feel the need to."
He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and plopped down in it. He heard the click of the door lock behind him like the punch of a gavel pronouncing a guilty verdict.
Hawk moved silently, and he moved fast. By the time Drew knew he was behind him, he'd circled the table and sat on the opposite side. Drew squinted, trying to read the intention in those fathomless dark eyes.
"I don't have time to do much explaining," said Hawk. "But it's enough to know that I sense things about people. When I read your aura at the LadyTech building, and again on Moriarty's island, I sensed that you are not who you claim to be."