The Secret Son

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  JEFFERSON TOLD ERICA to use his office to speak with Jack. He’d buzz his private line if Jack’s call to move came through. And as he watched them leave the room, her beautiful body supported by an arm bigger, stronger, younger than his own, he was able to do what he’d been trying to do for the better part of a year, something he should’ve done years before. He said goodbye.

  He wished he could have done so without regret. Without second guesses and if onlys.

  Ruefully acknowledging that a small part of him would probably always hate Jack Shaw, he also felt intensely grateful and beholden to the other man. Erica would be well loved.

  If they could get through these next hours.

  As the door closed behind them, Jefferson knew that one phase of his life had truly ended. And then, just as naturally as his heart mourned the wife he’d loved so completely, he sought out the woman who’d become his lover in every sense of the word.

  Her back to him, Pamela was standing by the window, looking out into the night, a cup of coffee cradled between her palms. She saw his reflection in the dark glass and turned toward him. Her smile held not only welcome, but compassion and acceptance.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “With that?” He pointed at the door through which Erica and Jack had just disappeared.

  Pamela nodded, her gray hair and lively blue eyes such a contrast. One that fascinated him.

  “Yes,” he said. And with that one simple word, a heavy and very old weight left his shoulders. “I’m fine.” Never had he been more grateful to speak the truth.

  “I don’t know how she’s managed to hold it together so well.”

  “She’s an impressive woman.”

  “And one who loves you very much,” Pamela said gently, and only then did Jefferson hear a note of insecurity in her voice.

  “As she loved her father, maybe.” He said, an arm around the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. “You know, this terrible situation has brought home to me how little control we have over the time left to us,” he said. “I don’t want to waste a second of whatever allotment that is.”

  Chuckling, Pamela leaned into him and said, “Senator, I don’t think you have a single thing to worry about there. There isn’t a man anywhere in the world who can cram more into a day than you do.”

  “And every minute of that cramming is a waste if I’m not sharing those days with someone I love.”

  He felt, more than heard, her intake of breath. That, and the fact that she was staring stiffly out into the night, was Jefferson’s only indication that his words were having an impact. Pamela always stiffened when things mattered to her.

  Jefferson had teased her many times about that reaction, telling her she’d make a terrible poker player. For a brief second he remembered the night she’d allowed him to prove his theory. With her clothes as the ante, he’d very much enjoyed winning that one….

  “I’m ashamed it’s taken something like this to make me realize it,” he said. “Whatever happens here, I want you to know that, for me, you’re that someone.”

  Investigation activity in the room behind them faded, and it sounded to Jefferson as if his words had been shouted through a megaphone. He swallowed, unusually shaky inside. Erica’s inability to fall in love with him had done more damage than he’d realized.

  He couldn’t, in those seconds that he stood there with his confession hanging between them, figure out one single reason Pamela would be pleased to hear it. Or why he’d ever thought she might love him back.

  “Did you just tell me that you love me?” Her confident lawyer’s voice had disappeared, leaving in its stead a tentative plea.

  Her vulnerability gave Jefferson a confidence he hadn’t had in many years. “Yes, and,” he added, his arm around her, “I want you to marry me.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned again to look at him, insecurity clouding her lovely expressive eyes. “Because Erica just walked out that door?”

  Jefferson shook his head and pulled her close again, facing her this time. “No,” he said, feeling as much conviction in what he was about to say to Pamela as he’d felt in speaking with Erica. “Because I need you with me. Tonight. Right now. Because when I heard about Kevin—” he stopped, swallowed as tears rose to the surface “—I needed you. And the minute you walked in that door, today, I had more strength, more courage, than I’d had before you arrived. Because I’m a sixty-five-year-old man facing what might be the worst night of my life and I can’t imagine getting through it without you.”

  Pamela’s lips trembled and tears filled her eyes. It wasn’t something he’d seen before. She was always so capable, so in control.

  “Thank God,” she whispered.

  “Does that mean you’ll marry me?” Some said he was one of the most powerful men in the country, but at that moment he was completely defenseless.

  “Yes.”

  The tension seeped out of him. His arm still around the woman who’d saved him, Jefferson turned with her to look out into the darkness that was concealing his son. There would be time for celebrating later. Time for passion.

  Tonight, it was enough that they had each other.

  And the ability to pray.

  AS HE WALKED beside Erica through the building in which she spent so much of her life, Jack could only imagine the hell she must be going through. She held herself rigidly, unnaturally. It almost seemed to him that if he brushed against her, she’d attack. Her steps were deliberate. Staccato.

  Concentrating on her kept his thoughts away from the boy who was counting on them to save him.

  “Is there some reason in particular that we need to go to Jefferson’s office?” he asked.

  “No,” she said without slowing her stride. Then she shrugged helplessly. “Yes…I don’t know. Let’s hurry. If they need to reach us, they’re going to call on Jeff’s private line.”

  “They also have my cell-phone number,” he told her. Jack wouldn’t have moved five feet away from the phones all night if he hadn’t had that connection.

  Pushing the elevator button, Erica stood, neck craned at an uncomfortable angle as she waited for their floor to light up. She stomped her foot once. And then again.

  “Come on!” she muttered.

  If they didn’t find a way to ease her tension soon, she was going to explode. Or fall apart.

  Jack didn’t like either option.

  So he went to work. “Tell me about Kevin.”

  Avoiding talk of the boy seemed pointless. She’d be torturing herself with thoughts of him, anyway.

  Erica’s head jerked toward him, her gaze burning him as though he’d lost his mind. “What do you want to know?” she asked sharply, stepping into the open elevator and pushing the button for the right floor.

  “Anything that’ll help me calm him when I get within speaking distance.”

  “Until six months ago his favorite things were Power Rangers and baseball. He loved video games—Mario Kart was his favorite. And chocolate milk.” Her shoulders started to shake. “He loves chocolate milk.”

  She broke off, taking long heavy breaths.

  It wasn’t until they were in Jefferson’s office—until he saw the resolute, determined and pitying look on Erica’s face—that he realized there was something going on that he knew absolutely nothing about.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ERICA SEEMED very determined to have everything just right as they entered the room. She checked first for messages. When there were none on Jefferson’s voice mail, she phoned downstairs to see if they’d missed any news.

  He knew they hadn’t when her face fell. Moving the phone within reach of the couch, she flicked off the overhead light, turned on some lamps, adjusting their positions on the tables. She closed the curtains. Removed a stack of magazines from the coffee table. Got them both bottles of water from the small refrigerator at the far end of Jefferson’s office.

  Finally, when Jack was
ready to grab her and pin her down, she motioned for him to sit on the maroon leather couch and joined him there.

  “We have something we need to discuss.” Her preamble did nothing to calm the dread slowly building within him.

  She was reconciling with her ex-husband. He’d seen it happen many times. A traumatic event healed rifts in families. In marriages.

  Jack knew he and Erica hadn’t promised forever. He’d wanted it that way. He didn’t want it that way anymore. Not if it meant he had to lose her.

  Yet, wasn’t he supposed to have maintained a measure of control here by not allowing himself to make—or accept—any promises?

  Head bowed, Erica clasped both hands between her legs. “I…Jefferson said I had to…” She glanced up.

  What? Just say it. His inherent patience seemed to have deserted him.

  “I can’t do this.”

  Bracing himself, Jack practiced the calming exercises he’d honed to perfection over the years. “When you have something to say, the best way is just to say it.”

  Jack almost groaned in disgust at the inane remark. He, who was a master at saying the right thing at the right time, talking people down in the most extreme circumstances, sat there sputtering clichés.

  He began to hope the phone would ring before Erica had a chance to impart her news. He could get out of there. Get her son back. And get on with his life. The solo life he’d mapped out when—

  “Six years ago,” she said abruptly, “when we were together in New York…”

  “Yeah?”

  “We…there were repercussions.”

  “Jefferson finding out, you mean.”

  “Well, yeah, but no.”

  Jack wanted to touch her, needed to, but was afraid to try. From the moment they’d come to this room, the territory had been foreign, not just the physical space, but the energy between them. Erica was shutting him out.

  With no idea where this was going, Jack was forced to sit and wait. No matter how much practice he had at that particular skill, it never seemed to get any easier.

  “Jack, Kevin isn’t Jefferson’s son.”

  Confused, not sure what Kevin had to do with her and Jefferson getting back together, Jack waited some more.

  Erica wrung her hands, clearly not feeling any better after that disjointed statement.

  “He thought, in light of the fact that the reason these assholes have my son is because they think he’s Jefferson’s son, too, I should tell you the truth.” She was talking too fast. “We thought the information might make a difference when you go talk to them….”

  Jack frowned, his face cold while the rest of his body felt too hot. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me the senator isn’t Kevin’s father so that I have something to use with the kidnappers. This is a strategy the two of you came up with?”

  “Yes,” she said. Her eyes were brimming with the oddest combination of emotions. Vulnerability. Stark fear. And pity. “I mean no.”

  Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. He didn’t. Which was it?

  “Yes, we wanted you to know because it might make a difference, but no, it’s not just a strategy. It’s true. Jeff isn’t Kevin’s father.”

  “Then who is?” It was the next logical question.

  The look on Erica’s face was enough to send Jack running from the room. He paled. Thought he’d jumped up from the couch until he found himself still sitting there.

  “Who is?” The question was clipped. Cold. She’d better not say what he was deathly afraid she was going to say.

  If she did, it would kill him. All he could see was her son’s dark-blond hair. And, in his mind’s eye, a photo of himself on his fourth birthday…

  “I’m sorry,” she said, eyes glistening with tears that didn’t fall.

  So was Jack. “Who is his father?” he repeated the question, speaking very slowly. He couldn’t feel her closeness. Didn’t think he could feel anything.

  “You.”

  Until he heard that word. Then he felt far too much. Terror. Rage.

  Sick.

  Standing, Jack strode to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Erica’s tearful cry stopped him. But only briefly. “To get those bastards,” he said. And then he left.

  ERICA LOST TRACK of time. She sat on the couch, just staring, all systems on indefinite hold.

  She might have stayed that way for hours if Pamela hadn’t come and found her. “Jack ran in a little while ago as though the hounds of hell were at his heels,” she said, sitting down and pulling Erica’s head to her shoulder, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to offer such intimate comfort. As Pamela slowly stroked her hair, Erica turned her face, soaking up the soft warmth of the other woman’s palm.

  This was real. Soft. Good. She was surprised she could still feel such things.

  “When he left again just as quickly, Jefferson told me that Jack is Kevin’s father,” the older woman continued gently. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  With Pamela offering her the only salvation around, how could she mind? What did it really matter, anyway? What did anything matter?

  In the space of a single day, she’d lost everyone in the world who meant anything to her. Kevin. Jefferson. And now, Jack.

  “Give him time, sweetie,” Pamela was saying.

  “He left.”

  “He’ll be back.”

  He wouldn’t. Because he couldn’t. She knew Jack. He’d save Kevin if he could. And then she’d never see him again.

  “Men are strange creatures,” Pamela offered, still running her fingers through Erica’s hair. “Sometimes, when their emotions get intense, the only way they can deal with them is through aggression. And when that happens to a good man, he takes himself off so that no one gets hurt. Or he finds a way to channel it. I suspect, based on the questions he asked and orders he barked before he took off, that’s what Jack’s doing. He’s gone to find Kevin. And bring him back.”

  The words were nothing more than an attempt at comfort, Erica realized. It was a testimony to her extreme desperation that Erica latched on to them, anyway. Finding in them strength to sit up. To give Pamela a hug. And then, hand in hand with the woman who’d done for Jefferson what Erica had never been able to do, she went back downstairs to face her life.

  IT WAS ALMOST one o’clock in the morning when the call came. Kevin was being held inside a boarded-up gas station on the outskirts of the city. Jack was already there. He’d been riding with Rick Charles, the investigative officer in charge, when they’d found him. He was already at work.

  It only took Erica a couple of minutes to convince everyone around her that she was going to that gas station. She’d stay out of the way. She wouldn’t do anything to hinder Jack or the various officers. But she was going there. No matter what.

  Jack was at the back of the garage when the FBI agent pulled up and let Erica and Jefferson out of his car. The front of the station was teeming with men—several in full body suits with masks. Most of them were standing around, waiting.

  As badly as she wanted to be with Jack, to know what was happening, Erica joined the waiting throng. It was a cold night for the beginning of October, and she wasn’t dressed for it—especially with her legs bare. She wished she had more than her suit jacket to cover her. But she didn’t think anything would really be able to chase away the chill that had settled inside and around her.

  The report came that Kevin was alive. His captors had made him speak to Jack to prove it, since he was, after all, their ace.

  “Quite a little guy you have there, sir, ma’am,” the officer who’d hurried over with the report said to her as she stood with Jefferson. “Apparently no tears at all. He just asked Shaw to do a good job.”

  Emotion welled up inside Erica, consuming her. With barely a nod, she stared at the station—dry-eyed.

  She stood there on the gravel for an hour, her feet swollen and numb in their high-heeled shoes, listening, watching every mo
vement, trying to determine what was going on by the body language of the men poised for action. Though she and Jeff spoke—an occasional observation or question—his presence was a great comfort to her. Much of the time he held her hand.

  He and Pamela had told her earlier in the evening that they were getting married.

  Had Erica been able to feel anything at all, she’d have been genuinely happy for them. She knew, too, that if her heart survived, she was going to be incredibly relieved. Jefferson deserved to be passionately and completely loved. She’d tried and hadn’t been able to feel what she’d wanted to feel.

  She’d been standing there so long she almost missed the flurry of activity that started in the corner of the yard. Men were closing in on the building, righting masks that had been shoved back on their heads, raising guns and aiming them at the front door of the station.

  They were all watching the corner of the building, and stiffened in readiness when a figure came into view.

  Jack.

  Crushing disappointment nearly knocked Erica over when she saw he was alone. His eyes scanned the crowd, seemed to settle on her, and then he turned away, speaking with one of the uniformed officers closest to him.

  “He wouldn’t just be standing there like that if something had happened to Kevin, would he?” she asked Jeff, her teeth chattering.

  “Nothing’s happened to Kevin.” Jeff’s voice was strong and sure. “Otherwise those guys would be all over that place.”

  “Ma’am?” Erica turned to see the officer Jack had been speaking to a moment ago now standing beside her.

  “Mr. Shaw has asked if you can come over.”

  Seeing Jefferson nod, Erica went immediately, her frozen feet carrying her across the gravel at a run.

  She didn’t know what to expect as she approached Jack. In that setting, as the boss all the officers and agents were looking to for direction, he was intimidating. Frightening in his strength and confidence.

  And judging from the way he’d left her that evening, he was furious with her.

  As soon as he saw her, he pulled her into his arms. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said in her ear. The embrace was so quick she could easily have been convinced that she’d imagined the whole thing.