Danger Close (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 1) (37 page)

He drew a steadying breath. The bite of damp, winter air chased the fog of tequila out of his brain. He'd better do this while he still had the courage. Teasing his cell phone out of his pocket, he accessed his contact list and dialed Lyle Scott directly.

A bolt of lightning, unusual at this time of year, jagged out over the ocean, forking into half a dozen branches that sizzled across the sky.

He shouldn't have let the past dictate the present. Life without Maddy was meaningless. He hadn't needed any lectures or another sleepless night to know that that was true. Nothing had tasted, smelled, or felt like it did when she was with him. He'd never find another woman like her—didn't even want to try.

A chill breeze dried the sweat on his palm as the phone rang and rang in his ear. He was just about to hang up when Lyle Scott answered.

"Sam?" he said. The friendly tenor and the hopeful quality in his voice was all it took to banish Sam's apprehension. "Is that you, son?"

Son.
The word warmed him. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry it took so long for me to call you back."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Can't blame you for not wanting to talk to me."

"No, it's my fault. I took your offer completely wrong. I overreacted, and I ruined the best thing that's ever happened to me. How's it going on your end?" he asked before Lyle could comment. "What's the latest with Van Slyke?"

"Well, Maddy's idea to get him on the poisoning worked, thank God. That's exactly how Elliot Koch died—he'd been poisoned, same as Maddy. Paul was charged, extradited from Switzerland, and taken into custody. His trial is set at the end of this month. I'm hoping you can testify."

Sam thought about the next op, which wasn't until the end of March. "I'd be happy to, sir. How's, uh, how's Maddy doing?"

"Oh, well enough."

The hesitation in Lyle's voice filled Sam with dread. "Where is she these days?" he dared to ask.

"She's right here in McLean," the Senator said unexpectedly, "taking some time off before her next assignment."

Sam's spirits rose and then plummeted. She was already headed on a new assignment. "How much time do I have?"

"Hmm, well, it's hard to say. I wouldn't dawdle if you'd like to see her," Lyle suggested.

Sam's mouth went dry. "You think she's open to seeing me again?"

"It might take some persuasion on your part, but you're not the type to walk away from a challenge now, are you, Sam?"

Maddy was going to take some convincing, then. "No, sir," he agreed. "I'd like to show up tomorrow morning." The next day was a Thursday, with Christmas Eve on Friday. "Is that too soon? Will she be there?"

"I'll make sure of it," Lyle countered. "By the way, did I get your vote on election day?"

"No, sir. I'm a resident of Florida, not Texas."

Lyle laughed. "I'm just joshing you, Sam. Doesn't matter to me if you're a Democrat or a Republican, Communist or Libertarian. You saved my life and you're the man my daughter loves. I'll make sure Maddy's here tomorrow. 'Bout what time do you plan to show up?"

"Say ten hundred hours?"

"I'll expect you at 10 A.M. sharp, then. And Sam?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Next time I overstep my bounds, you just tell me to back off, you hear?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Nice guy
, Sam thought, putting his phone away. Jumping to his feet, he resisted the urge to pump his fists into the sky and holler, "Yeah!" Instead, he bounded down the steps at the side of the building and hurried toward his parked car.

Maddy was back in the states, within driving distance. He knew an urge to drive straight to her house, only first he needed to rehearse the words required to win her back and to keep her there, safe in his heart, where she belonged.

* * *

"Where've you been?"

Looking harried, Maddy's father greeted Maddy at the front door. It was quarter to ten in the morning. Her appointment hadn't lasted any longer than she'd expected.

"What do you mean? I had the follow-up on the amniocentesis, remember? You wanted to come, but you had a video conference?"

"Oh, that's right." His confusion cleared, giving way to immediate concern. "What's the news, sweetheart?" he asked, drawing her into the foyer and holding both her hands. "How's the baby?"

She managed to drum up a smile for him. "So far, everything looks great."

"Really? No genetic disorders, no spina bifida? Nothing?"

"Nope. The baby looks healthy."

"Thank God!" Relief shone in her father's damp eyes, filling her with shame for not being overcome with joy herself. Of course, she'd been relieved to find out that Dr. Troost's concerns hadn't manifested. She didn't have to make the awful choice to abort her baby, which was all she had left of Sam and the hope of a life together. But an equally big decision now loomed over her.

Her father engulfed her in a hug that enveloped her in smells of ironing starch and aftershave. After a silent moment, he set her at arm's length and frowned down at her. "Why aren't you smiling? Something else is bothering you," he guessed. But then he answered his own question. "You're thinking it's time to tell Sam, aren't you?"

Just the sound of Sam's name had her squirming out of her father's hold and heading for the hall closet. "It's not an easy decision," she mumbled, hanging her purse on a hook and tackling the buttons on her wool coat. "Maybe if he'd shown some interest in me these last few months," she added with anguish.

She felt a sudden need for fresh air. Changing her mind, she buttoned her coat back up. "You know what? I'll be in the back yard. I need some time to think."

Turning away from her father's torn expression, she hurried through the great room at the rear of the house and out the French doors that led to the veranda.

The flagstone path, edged with flowerbeds of purple and white cabbage, conveyed her toward the tree line and the little bridge she hadn't visited since the night Elliot Koch had targeted her father. Thoughts of Uncle Paul's upcoming trial flitted into her head, but she pushed them aside. Justice would prevail. The path ended at a fountain, drained for the winter. She crossed a bit of bristle lawn to enter the woods. Pine needles crackled underfoot. The crisp December air of winter seared her nostrils.

Sam.
The memory of the last time she'd been here assailed her without warning. She could still recall the thrill of holding his hand, of guiding him toward the bridge arching over the creek ahead. She'd wanted so badly for him to admit she had as much right to pursue her calling as he had to pursue his, to realize that they were more alike than different.

She'd wanted him to kiss her and have that kiss transform his life. And it almost had.

He'd finally admitted—not then, but many weeks later on the night that the Cessna had crashed—that they were like a tag team. A dynamic duo working to make the world a better place. A sentimental smile touched the edges of her cold lips.

But then he'd left her because of what her father had offered. Because her father had ground his pride beneath the heel of his polished, patent leather shoes.

She didn't blame Sam for that. She didn't even blame him for not loving her enough to forgive her father, for not loving her the way that she loved him. You couldn't chose whom you gave your heart to or how much you loved someone. She'd learned that the hard way. She knew he'd felt something for her but, in the end, it wasn't enough.

Her heeled boots struck musical tones on the wooden planks as she climbed to the height of the bridge. Pausing at the railing, she studied the creek rippling below her. The rocks at the bottom glinted like multi-colored eggs.

For the longest time, she stared hypnotically at the sinuous rush of water, her thoughts empty. A peaceful hush, filled only by the distant sound of the beltway and the wind stirring the naked branches overhead filled her ears. Loneliness swelled her empty heart as she remembered how it felt to have Sam standing next to her.

The time had come to make the next big decision. Now that she was fairly certain the baby was okay, she was obligated to tell Sam about it. And while the prospect of having him back in her life made her pulse quicken, it also filled her with dismay.

He would want to marry her out of a sense of obligation, so as not to leave her the way his biological father had left him. She had no doubt about that. But she didn't want him marrying her because he had to. She wanted him to love her, as completely and purely as she loved him. Yet considering he hadn't attempted even once to reach out in the weeks they'd been apart, that wasn't likely ever to happen.

I don't want him this way.

Feeling a splinter gouge her palm, Maddy looked down at the railing she was gripping. But then a fluttering in her womb tugged her attention lower to the baby whose happiness came before her own, who seemed to be demanding that she make her decision already.

"I know," she crooned, rubbing the bump of her belly absently. "I'll call him today."

* * *

Sam's stride faltered as he caught sight of Maddy through the dark tree trunks ahead of him. Her father, ecstatic to see him, had immediately shooed him out the back door with directions to look for Maddy in the yard. Something had told Sam that he would find her on the bridge where she'd led him the night of the soirée. Sure enough, there she was, swathed in a periwinkle town coat that made her look breastier than usual.

The sad, resolved look on her face as she absently rubbed her stomach plucked at his heartstrings. He slowed to a stop for a moment drinking in the sight of her. Then he scrounged up the courage to announce his presence.

"Maddy." He started forward again.

Her eyebrows quirked with bafflement as she looked over at him. Through wide, wondering eyes, she studied his approach. Sam's step slowed. She hadn't said a word by the time he reached the bottom of the bridge. He'd clearly caught her off guard.

"Hey," he said, offering a tentative smile.

Her answering smile was more of a grimace. "What are you doing here?"

It was not the warm welcome he was hoping for, but then what did he expect? Before he even got the chance to speak she proposed an answer.

"My father called you, didn't he?" Her eyes flashed with indignation and her hands flew to her hips.

The accusation reminded him so much of the words tossed at him in Paraguay—
My father sent you here again?—
that he issued a bitter laugh. "No." He shook his head. "I came because I wanted to. Because I should have come a long time ago."

The fury seemed to drain out of her. "Oh."

He took a step forward, then another one, until they both stood where they'd been that late summer night before they'd been so rudely interrupted. A mere six inches separated them now. It felt like six miles.

Maddy's eyes had locked on his face. The cold teased a vapor from her slightly parted mouth and painted her cheeks pink. She was the prettiest woman he'd seen in his entire life.

"Did he tell you about—?" She stopped talking abruptly.

He cocked his head wondering where she was headed with her words. "Winning a Senate seat?" He nodded. "Actually, I heard it on the news. I always knew he'd win."

She sent him a faint nod.

"How've you been,
querida
?" he asked, unable to withhold the endearment any longer. One look at her and he couldn't fathom what had kept him away this long. For the first time in three months, he felt
alive, hopeful
. "Did you get the samples you wanted to take?"

The endearment softened her brittle façade only slightly "Yes. And Salim was right. The pollution there was awful. My uncle wouldn't have done anything about it, but the board of directors is implementing a cleanup and repairing the faulty containment wall." She blew out a breath and added quickly, "Daddy's got them abiding by the initial trade agreement so Paraguayan investors can weigh in on the company's decisions."

"That's great. It wouldn't have happened without you," he praised, meaning every word.

"Thanks," she said more remotely than he would have wanted. "So, how've you been? How are the guys, Bronco and Bullfrog?"

"They're good."

"You never told me how they got their names."

This was how it was going to be, he thought with an inward sigh. They would dance around the subject until they couldn't avoid it any longer. Fine, he could play this game if that was what it took.

"Brantley's a champion rodeo rider and Jeremiah swims like a fish," he explained with a shrug. "Only that's not how the song goes."

Comprehension flickered in her eyes and she promptly supplied the familiar chorus by Three Dog Night about the wine-drinking Bullfrog named Jeremiah. Her sweet voice was exactly as he remembered.

"Nah, nah." He tacked on the electrical guitar portion, strumming the air in lieu of a guitar.

A brief smile touched the edges of her lips, but then it faded, and all he saw in her face was a reflection of the pain he'd caused her by walking out on what they had.

"Maddy, I have a story to tell you," he said cutting straight to the point of his being here.