Don't Let Go (12 page)

This,
thought Ellie,
is bound to be the longest night of my life.

Awakened by a silvering sky, Solomon opened his eyes to the vision of a woman in his bed.

An extraordinary woman.

Jordan’s hair lay like a russet scarf across his arm. Her full, pale breasts brushed his chest with every rise and fall of her chest. His gaze lingered on the curve of her jaw, the soft fullness of her lower lip, and memories of her passionate nature had an immediate, physical effect on him.

What if it was more than physical?

He tried to dislodge the uncomfortable question from his mind. But from last night to this morning, with each shared word, each tender caress, Jordan seemed to sink inside of him to a place where no woman but Candace had ever been. How had she done it, breaching the cold fortress he’d built to protect himself?

It wasn’t as if she’d set about seducing him. She, more than he, had resisted their magnetic attraction, only it had overpowered them both. And now it was steamrolling his defenses; he could feel the walls crumbling just looking at her.

He had to protect himself, but how?

What did he fear most about Jordan? It was her fierce independence, her private determination to adopt Miguel in the face of ever-growing odds. She was keeping secrets from him; he could sense it. She had plans, plans that would put her in danger; plans that might ultimately destroy this beautiful intimacy they enjoyed.

The only way for Solomon to ease his fears was to address them. Today he would find someone, a third party, to retrieve Miguel, so that Jordan could remain safely here, in his bed, in his life where she belonged.

Until, of course, he was done with her.

Jordan plucked a gallon of milk off the shelf in the grocery store and froze in alarm. The milk expired on August 8, Jillian’s birthday. She, Jordan, would be three days out of the country by then. She would miss Jillian’s thirty-fifth birthday.

Oh, dear. And Jillian had hinted heavily that she would enjoy a dinner at Waterside, Norfolk’s waterfront. Graham’s gift to his mother was to babysit his little sister.

I’ll be in the doghouse forever,
thought Jordan, placing the milk in her grocery cart. Silas seized her momentary distraction to slip a box of Popsicles in beside it. Would Jillian ever forgive her?

She would have to do something to make it up to her.

Half an hour later as she stocked Solomon’s refrigerator with nutritious snacks and meals appealing to a six-year-old, the answer came to her. If she could convince Rafael Valentino to take her sister out to dinner, then Jillian would surely forgive her.

And it was just Jordan’s luck that the agent had handed her his business card the day he’d retrieved her in Curaçao. She’d stuck it in her passport, which she kept in her purse.

With one eye trained on Silas, who sat on the pier licking his Popsicle, Jordan dialed the agent’s number.

He answered the phone after three rings. “Special Agent Valentino.”

“Rafael?”

Silence.

“This is Jordan. Jordan Bliss.”

“Oh, Jordan. How are you? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I found your business card in my passport,” she explained. “I’m heading out of the country soon, and I realized that I won’t be here for Jillian’s birthday. I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” he inquired warily.

“Well, I was supposed to take Jillian to Waterside for dinner to celebrate. I don’t suppose I could talk you into doing that for me?”

“What does your sister say?”

“She has no idea. I don’t want her to know, actually. She would try to talk me out of leaving.”

“I see.” A long, thoughtful silence ensued. “It really isn’t safe for you to return to Venezuela,” the agent warned, guessing her destination with accuracy.

“I know. I’ll only be there five days. Please?” She went straight to groveling. “This is something that I have to do, for myself and for Miguel. But I love Jillian, too, and I don’t want her to be sad on her birthday.”

He heaved a long sigh. “What time should I pick her up?” he asked, sounding resigned.

“Oh, thank you! Like six o’clock?” she answered. “It won’t take her long to guess why you’re there instead of me, so . . . try to cheer her up, okay?”

He whispered something in Italian.

“I know,” she commiserated, though she had no idea what he’d just said. “I’m going to owe you for the rest of my life. And just for the record, I hope I know you that long.”

She hung up quickly before he could change his mind.
Oh, please, let that situation work out for the best,
she prayed, slipping his business card into her pocket.

Grabbing a Popsicle out of the freezer, she stepped outside to join Silas on the pier.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Solomon commented the following night as they lay back to front in his bed, a waning moon visible through one octagonal window. Jordan’s body felt sated and content, yet the reality of her impending departure kept her eyes open, her mouth shut. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She looked over her shoulder to send him a forced smile.

His eyes narrowed. He shifted, rolling her onto her back and leaning over her. “Jordan,” he growled, lowering his forehead till they were eye to eye. “I hope you’re not making plans and keeping them to yourself,” he warned.

Her heart beat faster. She was certain he could tell, too. He knew her body all too well.

“The atmosphere in Venezuela is volatile,” he explained, his voice flat and gravely serious. “The Populists are marching toward Caracas as we speak. You’re an American, the enemy. You’re also a woman. That makes you doubly vulnerable. Now swear to me, you’re not planning anything behind my back.”

Behind my back.
Words like that made her sound like Candace. They also conveyed the full fragility of his trust.

She swallowed against a dry throat, stricken by both guilt and fear. “I’m sorry, Solomon, but I can’t promise you that,” she whispered.

He seized her shoulders, his grip tight as he all but shook her. “Jordan,” he thundered quietly. “Why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?”

“I have to go back for my child,” she retorted, tears overflowing her eyes.

“No, you don’t,” he insisted, his tone gentling. “Sweetheart, I’ve looked into this. As long as Miguel’s paperwork is complete, any U.S. citizen can bring him home. I’ve made inquiries, Jordan. I’ll find someone there to bring him back. All you would need to do is to pay for his ticket.”

Both the offer and the unexpected endearment sounded too good to be true. It couldn’t be that easy for a stranger to bring Miguel home, not when she possessed the dossier, when a lawyer named Lorenzo was expecting her check. “Miguel would be terrified to have a stranger pick him up,” she argued, tucking the word
sweetheart
away, to be pondered later. “You don’t know how traumatized he is already. He needs
me,
not a stranger.”

“But what if he was told that he was being brought to you?” Solomon persisted.

Jordan shook her head, wishing with all her heart it was as simple as he made it sound. But it wasn’t. Her tickets were nonrefundable. She’d gone into debt to secure them. And more than that, with mere days remaining on her visa, she couldn’t afford to delay her departure in the hopes that someone else might take her place. “You can try, Solomon,” was all she could tell him.

He closed his eyes and put his forehead to hers with a long, heartfelt sigh. “Jordan,” he rasped. She sensed him struggling for words. “I’m going to find someone,” he finally swore. “Just, please, don’t go.”

Guilt and regret strangled her vocal cords. How she wished she could tell him the truth—that she was leaving in just three days. Only, she feared he would try to stop her, abduct her and carry her out to sea—anything to keep her from getting on her flight.

No. She couldn’t say anything.

With a gentle kiss, Solomon shifted over to settle in beside her. He kept one arm securely about her waist, as if that would keep her bound to him. Within seconds, his soft snores sounded in Jordan’s ear.

With fear and guilt chasing each other’s tails about her brain, Jordan knew her own sleep would remain elusive.

Chapter Twelve

The sound of footsteps on the pier and a woman’s voice issuing a firm command drew Jordan and Silas’s noses out of the comic book they were reading. “Who could that be?” Jordan wondered aloud.

Silas shot to his knees to peer out the window. His jaw dropped open as he gasped in delight. “It’s Aunt Ellie, an’ Chris’pher, an’ Caleb, an’ Baby Colton!” he shouted, stepping across her lap to get out of his seat.

“Easy,” Jordan cautioned, following his breakneck sprint to the door.

Silas unlocked it and threw it open, startling the woman who was about to knock. With a baby on one hip and her knuckles raised, she looked down and smiled, visibly wilting with relief. “Silas!” she cried.

Silas rushed into her arms, and she nearly toppled over at his fervent embrace, covering up her collapse by kissing the top of his head.

“You came!” Silas marveled, grinning up at her. “I wished it on a falling star, and it came true!” He squirmed out of her embrace to hurdle the gangplank, racing up the pier toward Christopher and Caleb, who’d been instructed, apparently, to wait.

“Careful!” called Ellie, gripping the doorframe as she called out with worry.

“He can swim now,” Jordan reassured her.

She found herself the focus of wary, gray-blue eyes and the baby’s sparkling blue ones. The young mother didn’t look a day over twenty-five, but the furrow on her forehead and the wisps of hair escaping her long braids made her look careworn and weary. The smudges under her eyes and wilting posture bespoke of exhaustion.

“You must be Ellie,” Jordan surmised, with a warm smile. “Silas talks about you and his cousins all the time. I’m Jordan,” she added, “his tutor.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ellie spared a glance for the boys, who were already tussling and rolling like puppies on the hill. “I was hoping to speak to Solomon,” she added, with a hint of strain in her voice and a blush of what looked like humiliation.

Jordan had never heard another woman call Solomon by his first name. “He’s at work until five o’clock or so,” she said, surprised to feel a pinch of jealousy.

“Of course.” Ellie hitched the baby higher. Given her exhaustion, his weight was probably too much for her.

“Would you like to come in?” Jordan offered, sympathetically. “Silas could show the boys around.”

The furrow on Ellie’s brow deepened. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” she said.

“Please.” Jordan opened the door wider. “You came all this way; you can’t leave now. I was just about to warm up some chicken noodle soup. I have plenty, and I’m sure your boys would like something to eat.”

At the mention of soup, Ellie’s brow cleared. “Thank you,” she decided, shifting the baby to her other hip. “Boys!” she called. “Come on down here, but stay in the middle of the dock and don’t fall in.”

With a noisy tromping of feet, the trio stampeded toward the boat, grinning ear to ear, grass in their hair, talking excitedly.

Jordan and Ellie shared a wry smile. “Boys will be boys,” Jordan murmured.

“Ain’t that the truth,” said Ellie, wearily.

By the time Solomon arrived from work, Jordan had convinced Ellie to nap with Colton in one of the bunks downstairs while she watched the boys. It took some heavy-handed persuasion as Ellie initially refused, but Jordan, who recognized mental and emotional fatigue when she saw it, persisted. At last, with the boys settled down watching a video of Dragon Ball Z, Ellie took the baby belowdecks for some badly needed rest.

Solomon stepped aboard soon after. Jordan had called his cell phone, giving him advance warning of their guests. As was his custom, he sought Silas out first, ruffling the hair on his head, asking him about his day. He then cornered Jordan, kissing her long and leisurely. Today he didn’t have the luxury to get carried away.

“Where is Ellie?” he asked, his lips lingering over hers.

“Resting downstairs,” Jordan answered. “She’s exhausted. I think she might have driven all the way here without stopping.”

“I’m surprised that old clunker even made it,” Solomon marveled. “Did she tell you what she wants?”

“Not a handout,” Jordan surmised, quietly. “But I think her situation’s pretty bleak.”

As if on cue, the door to the steps yawned open, and Ellie stood there, her braids even more disheveled, her eyes now bloodshot. Baby Colton, on the other hand, looked entirely alert. “I thought I heard you,” she said, directing her gaze at Solomon.

With a sweeping look that saw everything, he stepped closer and plucked the baby out of her arms. “Good to see you again,” he said, concern evident on his handsome face. “I’m glad you came.”

In that instant, Jordan was struck by a feeling of pride. Solomon was a good man.

Ellie drew a shaky breath and looked down at the carpet. “The boys and I missed Silas,” she admitted huskily. “Here’s your check,” she added, pulling it from the pocket of her shorts. She held it out until he took it. “I don’t want charity, just a little help.”

Reading pride and defeat in the lines of Ellie’s willowy frame, Jordan felt an instant kinship with her.

“Well,” said Solomon, gruffly, as he patted the baby’s back. “You’ve come to the right place.”

Ellie dragged a comb through the wet snarls of her freshly washed hair and pricked an ear to the conversation in the houseboat’s living area. The stranger’s voice was like dark molasses, especially when he laughed. He had to be Solomon’s SEAL buddy, the one who fixed up houses and rented them out. He’d helped Solomon build this boat.

Gazing at her dazed reflection, Ellie had to admit she looked as old and tired as she felt. Carl’s last words to her still echoed in her head.
Go ahead,
he’d taunted when she’d told him she was leaving.
Make yourself someone else’s problem.

With a sharp breath, she put the comb down.

She would never burden Solomon or any man with her situation.
She
was the one who’d made mistakes, marrying young, thinking Carl was her ticket out of foster care. Whatever it took to get a fresh start, to give her children what they deserved, she would do, even if it meant working her fingers down to nubs to pay back Solomon for the first month’s rent.

With her heart pumping fast, Ellie eased from the bathroom, flinching as three boys thundered past her, down into the bunk area. Solomon, who held Colton in one arm, swung around at her approach, and Ellie’s gaze flew to his guest, a bald, muscular man in his early thirties. He rolled respectfully to his feet.

“Here she is,” said Solomon, waving her forward. “Ellie Stuart, this is Chief Sean Harlan. Harley, meet Ellie.”

The impact of Harley’s smile combined with his frank, blue gaze caught Ellie off guard. He reminded her of Mr. Clean—not quite as tall but every bit as muscular. Thrusting out a hand, he left her with no choice but to take it.

“Nice to meet you,” she murmured, shocked by the warmth and pressure of his fingertips.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he drawled, sliding an appreciative gaze down her body.

Ellie snatched the baby from Solomon and used him as a shield.

“Sean says he’s got a house for you,” Solomon announced.

“Well, if you don’t mind the fact that it’s not quite finished,” the younger SEAL apologized in his easy drawl. “I still have to put a deck on the back and steps up to the front door. The interior isn’t even painted yet.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Ellie, whose head spun at the thought of living in a real home and not a trailer. “How much is the rent?” she asked, bracing herself.

“How about five hundred a month?” he offered, his blue eyes watchful.

She tried not to blanch. Five hundred was a lot more money than she’d seen in a long time. Still, for a house, it was a mighty fine deal. “How many bedrooms?” she asked, like she was in any position to turn it down.

“Two and a half,” the SEAL answered. “Third bedroom’s more like a closet,” he admitted, shifting closer to stroke the baby’s cheek. “But you don’t care, do you, little fella?” he asked Colton.

A citruslike scent wafted into Ellie’s nostrils. The man not only looked incredible, he smelled delicious. She stepped back, wary of her attraction.

“You want to see it?” he added unexpectedly. “I got nothin’ else to do right now. I could drive you over, let you take a look.”

His enthusiasm stole over her, chasing away her exhaustion. The offer, like the man, looked and sounded too good to be true.
Better watch this one,
she thought. She looked at Solomon and Jordan to gauge their opinion.

“We’ll watch the boys for you,” Jordan offered.

“Oh, no,” Harley protested. “They’ll want to see it, too. Bring ’em all. I got plenty of room in my truck, even for a car seat.”

There had to be catch. “If you’re sure,” Ellie hedged, alarmed by his mounting appeal. He even liked kids.

“Sure I’m sure,” he answered with a grin. “Bring ’em on.”

Jordan had already crossed the stairs to call the boys up.

“I hear you’re from Mississippi,” Harley said to Ellie, his smile drawing her attention to his mouth. “I grew up on the Mississippi River, myself, in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Ever heard of it?”

She was ashamed to admit she hadn’t.

She dragged her attention to the boys who tumbled out of the stairwell. Putting a hand on Christopher’s shoulder, she informed them all that they were going to look at a house. “And you’ll be on your best behavior,” she warned, raking them with a firm look, “or else.”

“Yes, ma’am!” they chorused, a squirming mass of expectancy.

The SEAL quirked his reddish blond eyebrows. “Well, all right,” he said, his tone redolent with respect. “Let’s git ’r done.”

As they marched for the door, Ellie sent Solomon a grateful grimace. She accepted the bottle of apple juice Jordan had poured into the baby’s bottle. With fullness pressuring her chest, she managed to choke out a word of thanks.

Either she’d died and gone to heaven, or life was finally taking a turn for the better.

A light tap on his office door drew Solomon’s gaze up.

Second Lieutenant James Augustus Atwater III, who had come from Afghanistan three months ago, hovered at the open door.

“Come on in, sir,” said Solomon, giving the young officer the respect due to him but not bothering to stand. He jotted a final note in the training plans he was working on, making the junior SEAL wait. “How can I help you?” he asked, at last, putting his pencil down.

Gus’s caramel brown eyes were inscrutable. He didn’t speak much, just watched how things were done and imitated with competence. He came from wealthy Rhode Island stock and held a master’s degree from MIT, but other than that, Solomon didn’t know much about him.

“I’m here about the Interteam memo you put out yesterday asking if anyone had contacts still remaining in Caracas.”

Solomon sat up straighter. “You have a contact?” he asked hopefully.

“I might,” the younger man conceded. “I went to college with a Lucy Donovan. She’s a secretary at the embassy in Caracas, I believe.”

Solomon’s heart sank. “No, I need a man for this job. It’s too dangerous for a woman.”

“You don’t know Lucy Donovan,” Gus said without blinking.

Solomon tapped his fingertips on the surface of his desk. “You think she could pick up a young child in Puerto Ayacucho, which is currently occupied by the Populists, and escort him stateside?” he inquired, dubiously.

“Certainly,” said Gus.

Solomon liked his succinct and articulate use of language.

“I looked up her e-mail address,” the lieutenant added, handing him a square of paper with an address jotted down.

Solomon took the note and glanced down at it, praying he’d stumbled on the solution to keeping Jordan from leaving the country. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured to the young officer.

“You’re welcome, Senior Chief.” Swiveling on the heels of his polished boots, Gus Atwater walked soundlessly out of the room.

Silas squirmed with anticipation and craned his neck to see over the backseat and out the front window, thrilled to be visiting his cousins in their new house. It was, in reality, an older home, built in the 1950s, gutted and restored by the fabulously talented Chief Harlan.

“Here we are,” said Jordan, turning into the third driveway on the right. Silas had been here before, but this was Jordan’s first time. The little white bungalow was set in a deep yard backed by oaks and flanked by houses identical in size and vintage. Unlike the neighboring houses, it boasted vinyl siding, new windows, and a brand-new door. The steps to that door were only partially finished though, with boards laid in a makeshift ramp to provide access.

Silas was out of the car and up that ramp, pounding on the door, before Jordan could call him back. She rounded her Nissan to pop the trunk, which was filled with household goods. Sean had mentioned to Solomon that Ellie had nothing, save for a few personal items, to put in her house.

Jordan grabbed the box of chinaware, purchased at a secondhand store, and followed Silas to the door. He was already inside, greeting his aunt, who hushed him with a warning that the baby was sleeping.

Jordan noted that Ellie looked slightly more rested than yesterday, her hair loose and tumbling down her back as she held the door open. Eyeing the box in Jordan’s arms, she stiffened suspiciously.

“This comes with a price,” Jordan quickly emphasized, not wanting to offend her. “I have to ask you a favor.”

“Come on in,” Ellie offered. “What’s in it?”

“Dishes,” said Jordan.

“Kitchen’s back here.” Ellie preceded Jordan through a big, empty living area toward a small kitchen, updated with new appliances.

As Jordan slid the box on the brand-new counter, she breathed the smell of fresh-cut lumber and new linoleum. “This place is perfect,” she offered, taking it in.

“Sure is,” Ellie agreed with a fervent nod. “So what’s the favor?” she prompted.

Jordan stepped closer and pitched her voice low. “I need you to watch Silas for me,” she admitted, swallowing down her jitters. “But you can’t tell Solomon or even Silas. I’m leaving for Venezuela tomorrow to pick up the little boy I’m adopting.”

Ellie gave her a long, searching look. “He’s going to be mad at both of us,” she guessed, referring to Solomon.