by Kathryn Shay
“In the ninth card the man and woman are fleeing, but it’s upside down, so it means you have to confess. The tenth card” —a heart with three swords through it— “says otherwise the relationship will be permanently damaged.” Morgan’s voice was grave.
The room was still. Luke couldn’t have come up with a funny quip if Jerry Seinfeld had written it for him.
“So,” Ben asked, “who you deceiving, Ludzecky?”
Sidling closer to Ben, Morgan followed up with “And what are you hiding?”
Luke looked down at the cards, stunned at what they revealed.
o0o
The .22 caliber shotgun was as familiar to Luke as his own Beretta. Lifting it, he aimed at the target, got the site where he wanted it, and pulled the trigger. No one at the Fairholm Gun Club knew he did this regularly.
However, he pretended to buck a bit with the recoil. At the station next to him, Max Duchamp Senior—the colonel—shot off his twelve gauge with the ease of a lion hunter in Africa. He even looked a little like Ernest Hemingway at fifty—gray hair and beard, but he didn’t have the writer’s paunch.
He had old Papa Hemingway’s way with women, though, the younger Max had told Luke. Max laughed, saying he came from good stock. Even fighting a war couldn’t beat down his father, who’d been decorated as a colonel and earned several medals. Luke had known all this, of course, and suspected that was why Max wore army clothes and took a somewhat rabid interest in guns.
Nodding to Luke, then to his son, who was on his left, the colonel indicated they should leave. Amid the acrid smell of discharged firearms—Max said he’d been weaned on the scent—they exited the firing range, removed their earplugs, and signed out. The gun club was strict in its policies; the colonel, who was the current president, made sure of that.
“Let’s go get something to drink,” the older man said, clapping Max on the back.
They wended their way down the corridor. The walls were white and freshly painted. NRA advertisements lined the hall, as did diagrams of various weapons. They reached the bar and took stools.
“Like the new sign over the bar, guys?” the colonel asked.
Luke scanned the display. The heading read, Myths vs. Facts. Guns are not the problem! Typed in big letters so they could be read from the stools were several supposed myths people held about guns, and then the facts were there in boldface. Luke read a couple: Myth: Assault weapons are a serious problem in the U.S. Fact: A person was eleven times more likely to be beaten to death than to be killed by an assault weapon. Myth: Thirteen children are killed each day by guns. Fact: The stats cited here include children up to age 19 or 24, depending on the source. Myth: School shootings are an epidemic. Fact: In states without the “right to carry” laws, there have been fifteen school shootings. In states that allow citizens to carry guns, there has been only one.
Luke wanted to puke. This was bullshit.
“It’s super cool, Dad. Your idea?” Max asked.
“Yeah, I went on the Internet and got the figures. They make a point.” The colonel scowled and sipped the beer that he’d ordered with the boys’ sodas. “Goddamn liberals want to take everything away from us.”
Luke wondered if Max agreed with his father philosophically, or if he was simply after parental approval. The kid had dropped a few hints that being with his dad was important to him. Kelsey had talked to Max about the issue when he’d written an essay on gun control. Luke knew what it was like to want to please the man who gave you life.
And Kelsey, whom Luke was trying like hell not to think about—especially the look of disappointment in her eyes when he’d played the adolescent bad boy the other day.
“Colonel. Good to see you. Where you been keeping yourself?”
Luke came out of his fantasies to see a huge, completely bald man behind them.
The colonel said, “Just got back from Hong Kong. God, it was hot there.” Max’s father was a software salesman for a local computer company. “How are you, Jackson?”
“Fine. Big bucks keepin’ ya on the road?” Jackson asked.
“Yeah.” The colonel reached out and squeezed Max’s shoulder. Luke remembered wishing his father would show that kind of affection. “You know my son, right?”
“Yeah. Hi, Max, Jr.” Jackson smiled.
They introduced Luke. “You two go to Fairholm High?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll be over there Monday.”
“Really?” This from the colonel. “Why?”
“We’re trying to get a Young Guns Club started in the high school. It’s a nationwide movement.” Jackson zeroed in on Max. “What do you think, Max? We got a chance at getting it in?”
“The principal’s pretty liberal; my guess is she’ll be as excited about a gun club in the school as she’d be about an epidemic of herpes.”
Max’s father laughed at his joke.
“What do you think, Luke?” the colonel asked.
“I think it’s a great idea. But I agree with Max—Mrs. Q. won’t like it.”
“Female principals. What’s this world coming to?” Jackson shook his head, and Luke wanted to tell him to join the twenty-first century. The man continued, “NRA lawyers say the school can’t deny meetings of any groups—religious based, cooking clubs, et cetera. As long as we don’t advertise as a school club, and have a teacher supervisor, we can meet.” He rolled his eyes. “In my son’s school, they got a Christian group that gets together every Thursday and the bigwigs can’t do anything about it.”
Max shrugged. Luke followed suit.
“You know any teachers who might supervise?” Jackson asked.
“I dunno.” Max’s gaze darted from his father’s friend. “I’d have to think about it.”
“Good.” He smiled at the colonel. “Great kid you got here.”
“I know that,” the colonel commented.
Jackson started to turn away. “Well, I’m off.” Then he hit his head, as if he’d committed a first-class faux pas. “Jesus H. Christ, here I am going on about the club, and I haven’t even congratulated you on your upcoming wedding. You sure you want to tie the knot after all these years?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m sure.” The colonel glanced worriedly at his son.
Jackson must have picked up on the vibes. “Yes, well, as I said, congratulations. See you around, Colonel.” He left.
Max’s face had flushed. “You could have told me.”
Oh, hell. The kid didn’t know!
Drawing in a deep breath, the colonel said, “Son, it’s been a long time since your mother died.”
Though he was dying to hear this play out, Luke felt bad for Max. “Look, I’m outta here. You two—”
Max slid off the stool. “I’m coming with you.”
“Max...” his father said. “I’ve been lonely. For a long time.”
Max’s face said, You got me, Dad.
Shit, what was wrong with parents today?
The older Duchamp said nothing.
“Come on, Luke. I’m riding home with you.” With that Max stomped off.
“Talk to him,” the colonel said to Luke.
No, asshole, you talk to him. Instead of saying it, Luke followed Max out.
Chapter Twenty
The screech of the plane overhead made Suzanna’s teeth hurt. Returning from the rest room, she winced as yet another flight took off. In a half-hour, one of Alitalia’s finest would fly her son across the ocean.
She was happy for him. Josh would be safe, far away from the Websters and Duchamps of Fairholm. Suzanna had hoped she was making progress with Max until this past week. As she headed to the gate, she shuddered, thinking of Max’s proposal and his belligerent insistence that they allow a Young Guns group into the high school. She was meeting with him and his father over spring break to discuss her objections.
As she neared the Fairholm parents and kids, she saw Heather talking with her mother. Suzanna liked the Haywoods, knew they adored Josh, and hoped the t
wo kids were being sensible. But they were eighteen and in love; if things already hadn’t progressed to what she knew was their natural conclusion, she was sure they would soon. She just hoped Joe had been able to discuss this with Josh. Joe wouldn’t tell her, of course.
I met with him, Suzanna. And he’s talking. But don’t ask me what he says.
I won’t. I’m just worried about him.
Trust me. I’m helping him.
She found Josh and Joe by one of the huge windows, both leaning against the glass. Josh nodded and shrugged. Joe spoke earnestly.
Things had gone well between Joe and her son, despite the ruse of Joe and Suzanna dating. They’d spent some good time together this past week before Josh left for Italy.
She quickly made her way to them.
“Uh-huh. I remember.” Josh smiled at Joe.
“You remember what?” she said, coming up to her son.
“Nothing. Just guy stuff.” Josh hugged her close.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you, honey.”
“I know, Mom. I’ll miss you, too.” He kissed her hair. He had to bend down to reach her. When had he gotten so tall? She recalled vividly when he started to walk, when he learned to ride a bike, when he didn’t come up to her shoulder.
Static from the PA system. “Attention all passengers on flight 861, Alitalia. This is the first call...”
“That’s me,” Josh said cheerfully, and gave her a bear hug.
Suzanna groaned. She didn’t want to let go.
“Mom, don’t.”
Joe reached over and drew her away from her son, and next to his own big frame. “Go on, kid.”
With an assessing look, Josh picked up his backpack. “Watch out for her, will you?” he said to Joe.
Joe slid his arm around Suzanna. “I will. I promise. Be careful. And have fun.”
Before he left, Josh kissed Suzanna’s cheek again. With one last look over his shoulder, he headed toward the boarding area.
Suzanna’s eyes blurred. These days, she was uncharacteristically weepy.
“He’ll be all right, Mom.” Joe’s arm tightened around her.
She leaned into him. “I know.”
Thinking, he waited a moment. “Let’s go do some self-defense training. It’ll work off some of your anxiety.”
“All right.”
After they saw the plane take leave, the drive home was made in companionable silence. That had happened a lot since Connecticut. They were comfortable with each other, especially when they were alone.
When he steered toward Jordace Avenue, she asked, “We’re going to my house?”
“I’ve got workout clothes in my car. You have to change anyway, so I thought we’d practice here.” He swerved into the driveway. “Besides, Luke’s got buddies over today.”
“Who?”
“Smurf. I think Franzi’s coming later.”
“I’m worried about Ben.”
“I’m worried about all of them.”
Suzanna sighed.
“Let’s forget it for today,” Joe suggested.
Inside, they went in opposite directions to change. Suzanna trekked upstairs. Joe watched her go with resignation, feeling like he was walking an emotional tightrope. Already he was in deep with her, and now he had another attachment to shake.
Her son.
He could still hear Josh talking frankly about his plans with Heather. Joe had forced himself to remember the boy was eighteen and almost a man. He’d given his opinions, some warnings about safe sex, but refrained from preaching.
Crossing to the downstairs bathroom, he worried about the kid as a father would. Don’t go there, Stonehouse. You’ll never be his father. But as he passed the den where they’d watched a ball game, he thought about the other things they’d done together, as a family might.
One night, he, Suzanna, and Josh had seen a movie; on a cold afternoon, they’d gone cross-country skiing with Heather. When the women begged off after an hour, he and Josh had stayed out, trading sports talk, college plans, girl concerns. The boy was a deep thinker, had ambition, and really cared about the world. Joe had talked to him the way he used to talk to Josie. Today, that realization stunned him. He couldn’t allow himself to care about Josh that much.
Or Josh’s mother.
Staring in the bathroom mirror, he gave himself a stern lecture. You are a government agent. You cannot get involved with this woman and her son. You will leave Fairholm, alone, and never see them again. Got it?
He got it.
He was in a black mood, moving den furniture, when Suzanna came down. She was dressed in clingy Spandex leggings and a peach T-shirt. Her hair was tied up on her head, with little tendrils escaping. Suddenly, he wished they had Luke to chaperone.
Sternly, he told himself he was strong enough to handle this. He was disciplined. He’d had to be, from the time he was ten years old. In his head, he knew he could resist this woman, but he had to be more sensible about the time he spent with her.
Gruffly, he said, “Ready?”
“Is something wrong?” she asked innocently.
“No. Let’s get started.”
Twenty minutes later, he wasn’t so sure of his resolve. She felt soft, yet supple, under his hands. She smelled like black-market French perfume. And he wanted her so badly, he ached.
So he tried harder. “You’re not concentrating, Suzanna. I’ve taken you down several times.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Your safety should be on your mind,” he said tightly.
“Let’s try again.”
“Fine.” He moved back. “I’m coming up from behind you. I get you in a neck clasp like this. What do you do?”
Swinging her hips out of the way, she brought her fist back but stopped short of smashing his crown jewels to kingdom come. He jumped back instantaneously. “That good enough for you?” she asked over her shoulder. “You’d be doubled over, Stonehouse.”
Without responding, he grabbed her from behind again. She didn’t react quickly enough, and he had her locked to him. He felt the heaviness of her breasts against his forearms. “Damn it, you have to react faster, Suzanna.”
“I was surprised.”
“A damned attacker isn’t going to announce himself.”
Still in his arms, she circled around. “Why are you so grumpy all of a sudden? You’re like Jekyll and Hyde since Josh left.”
“I’d rather not be analyzed. Turn around.”
“Yes, sir.”
This time, she was ready when he went for her. She swiveled her hips. He parried her groin attack. Surprising him, she hooked her foot around his leg, and his arms flew out to balance himself. Her elbow dug sharply into his chest and he fell to the floor.
“That ready enough for you, Agent Stonehouse?” she asked sweetly, plopping her hands on her hips and peering down at him with the haughtiness of a queen.
Glaring up at her, he snaked his hand around her ankle, toppling her down next to him.
Quickly, he rolled over her. “Major lesson in self-defense, sweetheart. Never get too caught up in your successes.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she watched him with something dangerous in her eyes. Suddenly he realized the folly of his maneuver. His body pressed into hers, and he could feel every curve and indentation. Her face was rosy from exertion, but she was breathing hard from his nearness.
He swallowed convulsively. Reaching up, he brushed a tendril of hair from her eyes.
“Joe,” she whispered, lifting her hands to his shoulders. Her voice was after-sex hoarse, and it zinged through him.
Bracing his arms on the floor, he drew in a deep breath; he knew he was about to make the most momentous decision of his life. He’d never kissed her. If he did, it would be all over.
Honor warred with desire.
She felt so good beneath him. And she was looking at him like a woman who wanted...only him. His h
eart thrummed in his chest.
But he’d trained too long in the art of discipline. Not just in the Secret Service but before, when he was trying to support both himself and Ruthie. And those long weeks, months, years of forcing himself to be strong came to his aid.
Swiftly, he rolled off her and stood. Reaching out, he said, “Come on, get up.”
Suzanna’s hand shook as she put it in his. On her feet, she turned away from Joe. It had been building for weeks, layering over itself feverishly. A flush crept up her neck just thinking about the hot brush of his hands on her when they worked out, the clean scent of his soap and shampoo, which now mingled with the smell of sweat. But mostly, it was that smoldering look in his eyes that said eloquently, I want you.
“You’re trembling.” He was behind her, close. Too close. God, she craved that nearness, like an emotional junkie needing him for a fix.
“Yes.”
“We went too far,” he said meaningfully.
She didn’t look at him. “Did we?”
When he said no more, she pivoted. Anger, just as potent as desire, swelled inside her. He’d turned his back, bent over now, and got a towel from his bag. Casually, he wiped his face. She could see he’d just gotten a haircut. His black ragged-sleeved T-shirt with the Stanford logo clung to his wet back.
“How do you do it?” she asked, struggling to calm her voice and the rush of hunger in her blood.
“Do what?” He didn’t face her.
“How do you turn it off?”
“Turn what off?”
Without allowing rational thought to stop her, Suzanna grabbed his arm and dragged him around. His eyes were a cold, flat green. The agent was back.
“You know what. We talked about what.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Don’t say anything more, Suzanna.”
“Joe...” His name came out soft, full of the craving she felt for him.
The twitch became a throb in his neck, telling her it wasn’t so easy for him to resist her. “This would compromise my job, damn it. And that would be dangerous to you.”
She bit her lip to keep from begging. Her stomach clenched and her head spun, she wanted this man so much. “Then don’t.”