“What time is the meeting with the lawyer tomorrow?” Ben asked.
“Nine a.m.”
“Paul Montoya, right?”
“Right.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You don’t need to come. I can take him the copy of the initial report and brief him on what happened.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
Ben’s prediction of an all-nighter proved correct. He still hadn’t come home by the time Alex walked Maria to school. When the girl scampered off with her friends, Alex asked for a meeting with her teacher and the school’s vice principal and brought them up to speed on Saturday’s incident.
“The FBI has classified it as a parental kidnapping. At this point, though, Maria doesn’t know her father demanded a ransom for her return. She thinks they were just on an outing to the park.”
“You’re going to tell her the truth, aren’t you?” the teacher asked with a frown.
“We’ve got a follow-up appointment with the FBI psychologist tomorrow afternoon. He’s going to help us explain it in a way that won’t traumatize her.”
“Is the father in custody?” the vice principal wanted to know.
“As of yesterday evening, he was being held without bail pending arraignment. I’m on my way to see my lawyer now. Hopefully, he’ll give me an outline of what happens next.”
“Please keep us posted.”
“Of course.”
* * *
Back at the casita, she backed her car out of the garage and battled rush hour traffic north to Menaul Boulevard. Mere moments before nine, she pulled in to the parking lot of the complex that housed the offices of Montoya and Associates. The complex was a warren of single-story, Territorial-style buildings in chocolate-brown adobe and gleaming white trim. The receptionist welcomed her with a smile and an offer of coffee. Alex snatched at it gratefully.
“Yes, please. Cream, no sugar. But first, could you make copies of some reports for me?”
“Sure, no problem.”
When Alex fished the initial police report and interim FBI report out of her purse, the woman fed the pages into a printer/copier/scanner and whirred them right out.
“I’ll bring your coffee. Just go on back. Mr. Montoya’s waiting for you.”
As befitting the senior partner, Montoya occupied the suite of offices at the end of a long corridor paneled in pale oak accented with framed prints by Native American artists. Alex had walked this hallway often enough that the barefoot women in the R. C. Gorman prints and mounted horsemen by Amado Peña felt like old friends.
The thought humbled her, and made her so grateful for the people who’d gone out of their way to help her since she’d moved to Albuquerque. The oncologist and nurses who treated her sister. The hospice workers who eased her pain those last, agonizing days. The counselors who helped both Alex and Maria adjust to their new relationship. The officer at the bank who walked her through the bewildering process to obtain a woman-owned, small business start-up loan.
And the man who now stepped out from behind his desk to greet her. Short and stocky, with a mane of blue-black hair and caterpillar-thick eyebrows to match, Paul Montoya was one of the most respected family law attorneys in the city. Alex could never have afforded him if he hadn’t expressed such genuine sympathy for the losses Maria had suffered in her young life and agreed to handle the adoption petition at what Alex knew was a bargain-basement fee.
He met her with a firm handshake and a lift of one of those expressive eyebrows. “What’s going on? The message you left requesting a meeting sounded urgent.”
“We had a pretty scary weekend.”
Frowning, he waved her to one of the chairs encircling a round marble-topped corner table. “How so?”
“Maria’s dad was released early and tried to kidnap her.”
“Sunnuva...!” Brows bristling, Montoya bit off the expletive. “He wasn’t supposed to meet the parole board until next month. And the prison was instructed to notify us if and when he walked out the gate.”
“Well, he did and they didn’t.”
She gave him a succinct recap and passed him the copies of the police and FBI reports. He was skimming through the pages when the receptionist came in with her coffee.
“Major Kincaid just arrived,” she told them. “He said he’s part of this meeting. Shall I bring him back?”
Montoya looked to Alex, who nodded. “Yes, please!”
Ben obviously had come straight from the base. He was still in his flight suit and overnight bristles shadowed his cheeks and chin. But he wasn’t leaning as heavily on his cane and his grip was sure and strong as it met Montoya’s.
“Sorry I’m late. Good to meet you, Mr. Montoya. Alex has told me a lot about you.”
“More than she told me about you,” the lawyer said drily. “But the pleasure’s mine. And, please, call me Paul.”
He waved Ben to a seat and resumed his own. When they were settled, he got right down to business.
“Alex has filled me in on the basics. I’ll have my people get a copy of these interim reports to Judge Hendricks’s clerk right away. I’ll also have them check Musgrove’s status and text you an update. But we’re not going to wait for the disposition of the charges against that bum. I’ll call the judge personally and press him to proceed with the adoption hearing ASAP.”
“Do you think he’ll do it?” Alex asked, almost afraid to hope.
“He will, or I’ll file a motion for him to recuse himself and ask the court to appoint a new judge.”
“On what grounds?” Ben wanted to know.
“One, he’s dragged his feet too long on this case. Two, we have him on record voicing his prejudice against single working moms.”
“Except Alex isn’t a single working mom,” Ben pointed out. “Not anymore.”
“Exactly.”
Ben leaned forward, his gazed leveled on the attorney. “Before you make that call, you need to amend the adoption petition.”
“How?”
“I want my name on it. Alex’s and mine, both.”
His brows working, Montoya looked to Alex but she was too startled for an instant reply. She stared at Ben for several seconds, her expression moving swiftly from surprise to dismay.
“Ben,” she said hesitantly, “we need to talk about this.”
“What’s to talk about?” His tilted his head, a frown forming. “We’re a family, aren’t we?”
Alex threw a quick look at her lawyer. No dummy, he took the hint and pushed away from the table.
“I need to make some calls. You folks wait here. Major, would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks,” he said, his eyes still on his wife. “I’m good. Or thought I was,” he added as the door closed behind Montoya.
The silence that gripped the room was swift and smothering. Alex forced herself to meet his now narrowed eyes. It took just about everything she had.
“I don’t... I don’t think we should add your name to the adoption petition.”
“Is that right?”
The ice in the tight-lipped reply sliced into her like a serrated blade. Nausea rolled in her stomach.
“Care to tell me why?” he asked softly, too softly.
“Why don’t we wait and discuss this at home?”
“Why don’t we not.”
She could see he wasn’t going anywhere until he got some answers. But providing them was so much harder than she’d anticipated it would be. Floundering, she latched on to the same feeble explanation she’d offered Chelsea.
“Did you ever see the movie Jerry Maguire?”
“What?”
“The movie with Tom Cruise and Renée Zellweger? About the sports agent who goes all self-righteous and loses his clients?”
His frown s
lashed deeper. “No, and what the hell does a self-righteous sports agent have to do with us?”
“It’s just...never mind. It doesn’t make sense if you haven’t seen the movie.”
“What doesn’t, dammit?”
“Our marriage.”
That rocked him back. Knowing she was making a mess of it, Alex had no choice but to plunge ahead. “These past weeks with you have made me realize you deserve more than a marriage of convenience. So do I.”
“I thought we were past the ‘convenient’ stage.”
“We are but... Oh, God! This is coming out all wrong!”
“You think?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them and bared her heart. “Okay, here’s the deal. I told you I didn’t want hearts and flowers but it turns out I do. I want the romance. The mush. The silly kind of stupid that lasts a lifetime. And...and I want you to have that, too.”
He went still. Absolutely still. Then he shoved out of his seat with a violence that sent his chair crashing against the wall. His face twisted in disgust, he planted both hands of the arms of Alex’s chair and pinned her in place. She cringed back, alarmed by the fierceness in his face but not afraid. Nothing, she realized in that explosive half second, could ever make her afraid of Ben.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” he ground out. “You’re saying you want some Prince Charming to come prancing along, kiss you awake every morning and roll you in rose petals?”
“No! That’s not even close to—”
“Good,” he snarled, cutting her off. “Because you’re stuck with me, sweetheart. And I’m not letting you go. Not without one helluva fight, anyway.”
Alex’s jaw sagged. “But—”
“But nothing.”
He leaned closer, blocking her view of anything but his bristly cheeks and hard eyes. He was still furious, still disgusted, still breathing fire in her face.
“You’re right about one thing, though. We need to finish this discussion at home. I’ll meet you there.”
Her mouth still hanging open, Alex watched him grab his cane, wrap his fist around the handle and stomp out of the office.
* * *
With every angry step down the hall, Ben felt his temper boil higher and hotter. Dammit all to hell! Where did Alex get off trying to cut him out of Maria’s life? Out of her life!
She’d set the ground rules. Right from the start. First, all she wanted was his name on a license. No cohabitation. No sex. No plans to claim her rights as a military spouse.
Then, after Ben crunched his foot, she mandated separate beds and only limited exposure to Maria. All it took was one steamy session in the shower and a few days with the kid for both of those idiotic notions to go up in flames.
Now, after nearly a month sharing a bed and home and a life, she wanted to rewrite the script yet again. Well, too damned bad. He wasn’t...
“Major Kincaid?”
Feeling as though he had smoke coming from both ears, Ben pulled up short and glared at the attorney. “Yeah?”
“Is everything all right?”
“Just dandy. Amend the adoption petition.”
“Ms. Scott is my client. I have to accede to her wishes.”
“Ms. Kincaid.” He jerked his chin toward the office behind him. “That’s Ms. Kincaid in there.”
“Yes, well...”
“Amend the petition.”
* * *
It took most of the drive home for Ben to rein in his temper. Even then, anger still simmered just under the surface, most of it stemming from the fact that Alex had completely blindsided him. He’d known something was bothering her. She’d wanted to talk about it in Santa Fe. Then the call from Chelsea pushed everything else off the table.
Even now the gut-twisting fear that call had generated could still spook him. Saturday it had damned near blinded him to anything and everything except getting Maria back safe. He hadn’t pulled in a whole breath during that wild ride from Santa Fe back to Albuquerque. How could Alex not know he’d take a bullet for her and Maria?
The question honestly baffled him. So much that he stabbed a connect button and issued a curt voice command to the Tahoe’s built-in communications center to contact Chelsea via FaceTime. He caught the dancer in full mermaid costume, complete with iridescent scales, inch-long spangled eyelashes and gold glitter dusted across the swell of her generous breasts.
“Talk fast, Kincaid. I go in the tank in ten minutes.”
When he gave a quick recap of his frustrating session at the lawyer’s office, she snorted. “And you can’t figure it out?”
“Figure what out?”
“I’ll let Alex enlighten you. But before she does, I suggest you channel your inner Tom Cruise.”
“Like I know how the hell to...? Chelsea? Hello? Dammit!”
His lip curling, he cut the connection. Tom Cruise? Christ! Desperate now, he instructed the system to pull up another number. It rang six times before Swish’s sleep-drugged voice answered.
“For God’s sake, Cowboy. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Where are you?”
Stupid question.
“Never mind. I don’t need to know. Just answer me one thing.”
“Shoot,” she muttered, her voice still thick and raspy.
“Did you ever see the movie Jerry Maguire?”
“Are you drunk?”
“It’s ten a.m. here.”
“Yeah, so?”
“No, I am not drunk. Answer the question.”
“About Jerry Maguire? Yeah, I saw it. Five, maybe twenty, times.”
“Jesus! What’s the deal with that movie?”
“The deal,” she said on a jaw-cracking yawn, “is that Tom had to take a two-by-four up alongside his thick skull before he realized he was in love with his wife.” She paused, letting her silence roll like thunder through the Tahoe. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Oh, for...!” The comm officer let loose with a string of colorful expletives. “Have you told your wife you’re ass over heels in love with her?”
“Yes!” The scene in the lawyer’s office pinwheeled through his mind. “Okay, maybe not in so many words.”
“You strong, silent types kill me. Later, dude.”
She hung up, leaving Ben frustrated and debating between sitting Alex down for a serious talk and pinning her against the wall the moment she walked through the front door. He was still debating the two options when he pulled up at a stoplight and caught sight of a colorful shop window from the corner of one eye.
Hooking his wrists over the steering wheel, he stared at the busy display until an impatient honk from the car behind jerked his foot off the brake. Swearing, he hit the gas and cut a sharp right turn. Moments later, he strode into the shop and slapped his credit card down on the counter.
* * *
Alex couldn’t quite meet Paul Montoya’s eye when he’d relayed Ben’s order to amend the adoption petition to include Mr. and Ms. Kincaid. Hands folded, he’d then waited for her instruction.
She’d squirmed in her seat. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Ben’s fierce assertion that he wouldn’t let her go still hammered on her heart. For several moments she’d swung wildly between uncertainty and an irrational, irrepressible hope. Finally, she’d promised to get back to the attorney on that. He acquiesced with only a small lift of those bushy brows and spent the rest of their hour together strategizing how best to present the latest developments to the judge. Alex’s main concern was making sure whatever happened in court wouldn’t traumatize Maria.
“That has to be our main concern,” Montoya agreed. “I’ll wait until after her appointment with this Dr. Jim tomorrow before scheduling a face-to-face with the judge.”
“I’m scared to death he’ll hold me responsible for what h
appened.”
“Not a chance. Hendricks may be a misogynistic old coot but he hasn’t completely lost touch with reality. Yet. I’ll make sure he gets the full picture.”
* * *
Relieved, Alex walked out into the bright, sunlit morning and beeped the locks on her car. She had to wait beside the driver’s side door for several minutes before the trapped heat dissipated. While she did, her thoughts kept circling back to Ben.
He’d been so angry when he’d left. So disgusted with her. No surprise, considering how badly she’d mangled her explanation. She’d do better when she got home, she swore as she slid behind the wheel.
The Tahoe was parked in the driveway when she turned onto the street leading to the casita, and a white panel van was just pulling away from the curb. Alex was too far off to catch the lettering on the rear of the van but the mere sight of it generated a dozen wild possibilities, none of them good.
Was that a forensics team from the FBI? From the Albuquerque Police Department? Had they been to the house to dust for fingerprints or confiscate the electronic equipment Maria used? Or...
Oh, God! Was it some kind of an emergency response team? She squinted at the now disappearing van but didn’t see a red cross or a caduceus or any symbol indicating a medical emergency. Still, her pulse skittered as she pulled up beside the Tahoe and jumped out of the car. Rushing up the walk, she fumbled her key into the lock. She yanked open the door, took one step inside...and got smacked in the face.
Startled, she jumped back and batted at the object that whopped her. It was a balloon, she discovered in surprise. A heart-shaped Mylar balloon.
One of what looked like a dozen or more heart-shaped balloons, she saw with a swift intake of breath. Bobbing alongside others in round and triangular and square shapes. All floating at varying heights and tethered by colorful ribbons anchored at the bottom with little weights. They filled the entryway. Spilled into the living room. Sprouted from the hooks on her hand-painted hall tree.
“What in the world...?”
Feeling as though she’d just tumbled down the rabbit hole, she grabbed the ribbons of the closest balloons and tugged them inside so she could close the door. Still dazed, she skimmed the legends on the objects floating all around her.
Marry Me, Major Page 17