Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (10 page)

He looked good. He always had.

Sydney’s stomach twisted as Max entered the conference room with his attorney and a man in dark jeans and a white button-down, a black Stetson clutched in one hand. Dressed in his typical black leather jacket and jeans, Max hung back, his gaze never meeting hers. But she could tell he wasn’t the vibrant man she’d fallen in love with seven years ago. The downturned lips and dark rings under his eyes bore witness to the many nights he’d had bad dreams. Nightmares. Ones he refused to talk about or get help with. How she ached to know what ate her husband up from the inside out.

She lowered her head. Should she offer him another chance?

“You okay?” Bryce’s whispered words skated into her indecisiveness as he wrapped an arm around her.

Sydney nodded and cleared her throat. Her brother had insisted on coming for “moral support.” Really, she knew he wanted to pummel Max. But in her grapple for courage and strength, she’d relented.

“Mr. Fielding, thank you for coming and bringing your client,” her attorney, Jonas Whittier, said as he shook hands with Max’s lawyer.

Seated on one side of the long conference table, Sydney smoothed her hands down her slacks and watched as her husband and the other two men took their seats. She twisted the ring on her finger. Her wedding ring. By the laws of the state of Virginia, she was still married to Max and would be for another ten months. Unlike some states, the divorce petition wouldn’t be filed until after a year’s separation.

“As we’re all aware, we are here to work out the details of the marital separation agreement.” Jonas drew out two copies of the trial MSA they’d drafted yesterday and slid them to Max and his lawyer.

Mr. Fielding snatched it from the table, his eyes darting over the information as if greedily devouring the requests.

Would they fight her over the alimony and other financial points? Money had always been a sore point with Max.

“I think my client and I will need time to discuss this,” Mr. Fielding said as he flipped to the second page, then the third. Finally, he glanced at Mr. White over the paper. “You sincerely expect my client to pay all of this?”

Sydney glanced toward Max—and their gazes collided. Unyielding. Strong. Warmth swished through her stomach.

Her lawyer removed his glasses. “What we’ve asked for is reasonable and—”

“I’ll sign it,” Max said without breaking eye contact. Sitting to the left and leaning toward his friend, he roughed a hand over his jaw then let his gaze drop.

Silence devoured the room. Sydney looked from one attorney to another.

His attorney argued. “Now, Mr. Jacobs, I don’t think—”

“I said I’ll sign it.” Max grabbed a pen and dragged the MSA closer.

Mr. Fielding yanked the papers up before ink met paper. “I’d like a moment with my client.”

Tension flooded Max’s face.

Sydney swallowed. Would he fight his own lawyer?

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Max groused. For a moment, he held her gaze. “Sydney’s never done me wrong. If she thinks this is fair, then it’s done. I want her taken care of.”

“Then why didn’t you do something sooner?” Bryce asked.

Max glared at her brother. “I see you’re speaking for her again.”

Bryce was on his feet.

So was Max.

Heart in her throat, Sydney yanked her brother’s arm. “Bryce, sit down!”

The cowboy rose, bent toward Max, and whispered something in his ear. Almost instantly, Max’s clouded expression lightened, and he returned to his chair. Attention back on the MSA, he scribbled his signature then slapped the pen down. He looked to Mr. Whittier. “Anything else I need to sign?”

How like Max to walk in and take control. Yet she wondered at this turn. He wanted her taken care of—sure, he’d always taken care of her.
The best for my girl
, he’d said time and again. But was it that, or was he so anxious to be divorced from her? Did he already have a girlfriend ready to take her place?

Maybe it was good that she hadn’t told him about the baby. Their baby.

“Uh …” Mr. Whittier paused as he perused his files. “No, no, I don’t think so. That’s it—for now.” He peeked at Sydney, his face stricken. Clearly he’d never dealt with a man so used to getting his way or maintaining control.

Max shoved to his feet. “Then we’re through here.” His dark eyes bore into hers. “Merry Christmas, Sydney.” He pivoted and stormed out the door with his friend.

Before she could stop herself, Sydney rushed after him. “Max, wait!”

“Sydney, no. Don’t,” Bryce called from behind.

As she hurried around the corner, she could only pray Max didn’t notice the slight curve to her stomach. “Max, please wait.” Her voice seemed to echo down the hall, chasing him to the exit, where he hesitated.

She strode past the big cowboy, who’d paused and stepped back, and stood before her husband. “Max …” She hung her head. Could she tell him about their baby? She wanted to with everything in her. But she’d also wanted their marriage to work. Wishful thinking.

“I should go,” he said, his voice low. And husky.

“I—” She slowly raised her head and gazed into the licorice eyes that always seemed a mirror of her own soul. Tears burned the back of her eyes. “I never wanted this.”

“Then why are we here?” The question wasn’t sharp or accusing, but probing and filled with more pain than she’d ever heard in his voice.

She squeezed closed the thin crack in her defenses and swallowed. “Max …”

His hand swept her cheek. “I’ll always love you.”

“Then get help and bring back the man I love.”

He patted his chest, the leather making a poofing sound.
“This
is who I am, Sydney. You didn’t have a problem with me when we got married.” His brow dug toward those dark depths. Stubble lined his jaw and mouth.

Why had she hoped—even tried to talk to him? It was always the same. He argued this was how he was, that she didn’t have a problem with things until her brother got involved. “You’ve changed, Max. For the worse. There was a day you never would’ve hit a man who was helping me.”

His gaze hardened. Lips flat-lined, like her heart. “He stepped in where he didn’t belong.”

Staring at each other, neither moved. She saw some of her own haunting torment in his eyes. Maybe if she just told him, that would be the tipping point. “I’m—”

“Time to go, partner.” The man behind him patted Max’s shoulder.

Max tore his gaze from hers and walked out the door.

She looked down. Then hung her head, cupping her face in her hands. Tears welled up again, this time rising over her barriers and spilling down her cheeks.

Familiar, warm arms embraced her.

“I just wanted things to be different, for
him
to be different.” She slumped into Bryce’s arms. “I wanted to tell him about our baby.”

“This is why I insisted you file. Even the baby won’t change him. He’s too set in his ways.”

She pulled out of his hug. She didn’t need Bryce’s lectures anymore. Didn’t need to hear that her husband was too self-absorbed to see the damage he inflicted on their marriage. And most importantly, she didn’t want to deal with the fact she was about to become a single mother.

A blur of white slid past the glass doors. Max’s friend.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Had he heard her talk—about the baby?

T
hou shalt have no other gods before me.” Jon’s heart thumped as if in cadence with the staccato firing of a nearby weapon. A courage he hadn’t known he possessed rose up within him with a ferocity that surprised even him. These men probably didn’t even know the verse. But he was pretty sure by the darkening expressions that they got the point.

The shorter of the three stepped forward and raised the weapon, his brow knotting. “We will test your God.” He snickered. “He raise you from the dead?”

Jon tensed and tightened his hold on Maecel, who protested with a squeak. His mind danced to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. “He is more than able, but if He does not, I will not bow.”

Malice deepened in the man’s face. “You make you choice.” He seemed to be enjoying it as he peered down the muzzle.

The faint movement of his finger to the trigger well pooled acid at the back of Jon’s throat. Is this why God had sent him here? To die? How many times had he prayed
Not my will, but Yours, Lord?
But the words were easier spoken than standing here with palms almost too slick to maintain his grasp on the bright-eyed daughter God had blessed him with.

Thud! Thud!

The two men who flanked the third dropped like dead weights—right out of the hut. The third spun, and met the solid right cross of Datu.

“Hurry!” Datu leaped down and rushed around the side.

It took a split second for Jon to gather his wits. Then he grabbed his sat phone and backpack they kept ready for emergencies and darted after the man. His feet had no sooner touched the ground than shouts erupted.

Bullets whizzed past him, the pungent smell of cordite bleeding into the air. He zigzagged into the dense jungle, searching through the branches and trees for sign of the chief’s son and Kimber. The late hour and smoke made it next to impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Chest heaving, he tried to listen over Maecel’s whining to decipher which direction to take. He
shh
ed his daughter, knowing better than to stop moving lest he end up with a bullet or machete blade in his back.

Voices skated into the darkness ahead. He aimed in that direction, ducking under low-lying branches and climbing over fallen trees. Minutes later, he met up with Datu.

Kimber rushed to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He wouldn’t let me go into the village. I was praying so hard! And then when he brought her, I couldn’t leave.”

“Her? Brought who?”

Her frantic barrage of partially slurred words slid over his mind, dousing him in confusion. With both his daughter and wife wrapped securely in his arms, he whispered a quick prayer of thanks for their safety. Kimber kissed Maecel, who finally puckered her lower lip, then burst into tears and lunged for her mother.

“You help,” Datu said, motioning to something behind a log.

After handing Maecel off to Kimber, John strode toward the man—and stopped cold. A young girl sat huddled on the forest floor, arms hugging her knees as she rocked. Tattered clothes hung from her petite frame. Ebony hair dumped over her shoulders, concealing her face in shadows—but still, the bruises screamed.

When Jon reached to brush aside her hair to assess her injuries, she yelped and jerked away.

Datu rattled off something in Tagalog, his voice and demeanor nervous, but pleading and urgent. “She the one. They rape, beat her. She escape.” He squatted before the girl. “This Jon. He good man.”

Sniffling and shaking, the girl dragged her gaze to Jon. “You’re a Christian, yes?” she asked, her words colored with typical smatterings of a Filipino accent.

Surprised by her near-perfect English, Jon knelt and casually inspected her injuries. “That’s right,” he mumbled, scanning her face. “You know English. How?” The darkness worked against him, shielding her in the black void of night. Her right eye looked nearly swollen shut. Blood glistened on her lower lip, probably still bleeding because of her crying.

“My father is a missionary, like you. They …” A sob wracked her, and she burrowed in on herself, once again rocking. Eventually, she raised a battered hand to her lip and winced. “They butchered him! Then they did things … and killed my mother and sisters.” Anger bit an edge into her broken words. “I should be dead, too. I should be dead!”

Jon touched her smooth olive skin, now bruised and marred, feeling the stickiness of the drying blood against his palm. “God saw fit to keep you alive. And I’ll do my best to make sure you have time to figure out why.”

“We go, meet others at safe place.” Datu prodded. “Her leg broke. You carry?”

Jon looked at the girl again, wondering if she’d panic at his touch. It was the most reasonable choice to have him carry her. Datu bore the short stature of his people. And Jon, blessed to be from a line of long-legged ancestors, had height and strength on his side. He bent closer to her. “What is your name?”

She regarded him again with those dark, penetrating eyes. So like Kimber’s. “Kezia.”

“Okay, Kezia,” he said softly, shifting to a better posture and for balance. “I’m going to lift you. I don’t want to hurt you any more than you’ve already been hurt. Is anything else broke?”

Tears swam in her eyes as she shook her head and lowered her gaze.

Crack! Crack!

The nearby sound of gunfire swirled adrenaline through Jon’s limbs. He slid his hands under her and hoisted her up, tensing when she whimpered again. He turned, and Datu guided them uphill. Staying off the cut path, the group would have a better chance of avoiding the guerillas. But they’d also have a better chance of encountering other unfriendly life forms—snakes, venomous critters, and the often irritable lemurs.