Special Forces Father (4 page)

Her face fell apart again. Her eyes closed and she swayed. Travis caught her and pulled her into his arms. Holding her, taking care of her, was what he’d dreamed of during the long months he’d spent in captivity. Dreamed
of, but never believed would happen. He’d been afraid he would die in that hellhole. So he’d fortified himself and stayed sane by reliving his memories of the people he loved.

He was holding the best part of those memories in his arms right now, but his reasons for coming here no longer mattered. Kate’s limp, trembling body was testament to the torture she was experiencing. Her child was
missing. His goal now was to lend her what little strength he had and help her find her little boy. He held her, trying to ignore the familiar strawberry scent of her hair and the firm yet soft feel of her body against his.

Finally she straightened and pushed against him, ready to stand on her own two feet again.

“You okay?” he whispered, his mouth near her ear.

She nodded, sending
another wave of strawberries across his nostrils.

“I’ll let you stay here. I don’t want to be by myself. Besides—” she lifted her head and looked into his eyes “—I have to keep an eye on you so you won’t call in the entire Delancey police force.”

He smiled grimly. Grasping her arms, he set her away from him. “I promise you I won’t. Not until you and I both agree,” he said, pointing at
her then at himself to emphasize that he was being truthful. “Now on to more important things. You look exhausted. Why don’t you take a shower and get ready for bed?”

She started shaking her head. “I can’t sleep—”

He squeezed her arms and bent his head to look into her eyes. “You’d be surprised what you can do when you have no other choice,” he said. “If you don’t sleep, you’ll lose
strength and focus. Trust me, I know. You won’t be able to think clearly enough to do your job.”

She lifted her head. “You’re right,” she said. “I guess I will take a shower. What time is it?”

Travis glanced at his watch. “Nine-thirty. Are you going in to work tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “I’ll have to pretend to be sick. There’s no way I can fool my secretary, Alice. She’ll know
something’s wrong.” As she talked, she took off the gray suit jacket and began unbuttoning her shirt, seemingly unaware that she was undressing right in front of him. Then she turned and walked out of the living room.

Travis watched her and swallowed hard as an image of her—wet, warm and naked from the shower—filled his inner vision. He’d always loved to touch her, to taste her, after her
shower. Her skin always smelled and tasted like lavender, and her hair like strawberries.

His stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts. Just as well. He had no right to think of her like that. He deliberately turned his mind to practical things. He needed to eat something or he was going to collapse. He went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was a block of cheddar cheese,
a carton of milk and several containers of yogurt, as well as about a dozen individually boxed juice drinks. He looked around and spotted half a loaf of bread. Grabbing a slice, he wrapped it around a couple slices of cheese. Picking up the milk carton, he sniffed it. It was fine. Milk probably didn’t last long enough to go bad with a kid around. He poured himself a glass, then leaned against
the refrigerator and ate.

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
he’d forced down half of the sandwich, Kate came out into the living room in a terry-cloth robe. The hot water hadn’t helped her swollen eyes much, but she did look more comfortable and somewhat more relaxed.

“You look like you feel a little better,” he said.

Kate stared at Travis, leaning against her refrigerator as if he belonged
there. How had he materialized at her door on this of all nights? The hot shower had drained the last dregs of energy out of her, but as she looked at him, it occurred to her that he looked worse than she did. He was pale and drawn. His clothes hung loose on his frame and there were dark circles under his eyes.

He saluted her with the glass. “I helped myself. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sure,”
Kate said. “I just need enough milk for Max’s—” She stopped and put her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the moan that burned in her throat. She hunched her shoulders against the pain that settled under her breastbone. “I keep forgetting he’s not here. I can’t stand it,” she whispered. “What am I going to do?”

“It’s going to be okay, Kate. I promise.”

“Is it?” she said. “I don’t
like empty words. You know that.”

His mouth thinned. “Yet you’re asking empty questions. You know what you should do. I’m not suggesting you call 9-1-1 and have police cars racing over here with sirens blazing. But if you’d let me call Lucas or Ethan, they could help you. They’ll know how to deal with a kidnapping.”

Kate stiffened and clenched her fists. “I said no,” she snapped. “We
are talking about my son’s life. I have to be able to trust you, because if I can’t, then—” She stopped. Then what? He already knew Max had been kidnapped. He could call his brothers anytime. For all she knew he already had.

“Did you call anybody while I was in the shower?”

He shook his head, looking down at the empty glass in his hand as if he didn’t remember that he had it. Then he
turned and set it on the kitchen counter.

His behavior pulled her out of her haze of terror for Max’s safety. “Your brothers? Your parents?”

He shook his head again without raising his head. “I said no. I just drove up,” he muttered.

Just drove up? He’d driven straight here from—from who knew where. “Why? I mean, why are you here?”

He shrugged. He looked at the cheese sandwich
he held and made a face, then set it down next to the glass.

He was being evasive. She knew he was in the elite Special Forces division of the army. Was he here on another furlough, hoping to hook up with her again, just like five years ago? Or on sick leave? Maybe he’d been wounded. She didn’t understand much about Special Forces, but she did know they drew the hardest missions in the most
dangerous places on the planet. “So are you on sick leave?”

His head shot up. “Why would you say that?”

“Come on, Trav, it’s obvious you’ve lost a lot of weight. You look awful.”

He gave her a crooked smile that didn’t even begin to touch his dark eyes. “Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a psychiatrist. I have a medical degree. You didn’t think I
wouldn’t notice, did you?”

His eyes narrowed and his chin lifted. “No. I knew you would. I—” He swallowed. “They gave me some leave and I didn’t want Mom to see me. Not till I put some weight back on.”

Kate stared at him, almost wanting to smile. He’d always been the worst liar on the face of the earth. He looked as though he should be in the hospital. He had on a long-sleeved shirt,
but she’d bet a month’s salary that she’d find an IV stick point on his arm. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, they didn’t give you leave. You left AMA, didn’t you?”

“What?” he said, but he evaded her gaze. “AMA?”

“You know what it means. Against medical advice. You were in the hospital, weren’t you?”

“We’re not talking about me. You need to decide. Do you want me here or not?
I can go stay with Lucas. He’ll understand that I don’t want to see Mom and Dad—and no,” he added quickly. “I won’t tell him anything.”

* * *

T
RAVIS
WATCHED
her carefully, waiting to see what she’d do. He didn’t want to have to explain why he’d come here. Not now. But he did want to stay. He wanted to be here for her during what must be the most awful few days in her life. Her child
was missing. If he could help her, he would. If she’d let him.

“Well? Should I pitch a tent in your front yard?”

She shook her head tiredly. “No. Please stay.” Then she straightened and gave a little nod. It was a gesture he knew very well. It meant she’d made up her mind. “I think I’ll have some juice,” she said evenly and stepped toward the refrigerator.

Travis backed away so
she could get to it. Despite his resolve, he couldn’t help but admire her. She was still as beautiful as she’d always been. Beautiful, graceful, with a delicate outer shell that hid the steel inside her.

His gaze traveled over her from head to foot. She was barefoot, her toenails painted a delicate, sexy pink color. He swallowed, thinking ruefully that he must be exhausted, because, while
he found it hard to take his eyes off her pretty toes, he was more interested in a hot shower and a comfortable bed than sex.

Shaking his head slightly, he picked up the sandwich and concentrated on taking one more bite. He had trouble washing it down. He hadn’t felt like eating since he’d gotten back from overseas. And prior to that, while he’d been held captive, he’d been given barely enough
food to keep him alive. Tonight, the cheese sandwich had been like manna from heaven. He wished he could have eaten more than half of it, but his shrunken stomach wouldn’t let him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said hesitantly.

“I know,” he responded, tossing the leftover sandwich in the trash. “Makes it easier for you to keep an eye on me. To make sure I don’t go running to Lucas or Ethan.”

“Well, that,” she admitted with a small smile. “But also, it makes me feel safe.”

It was a reflection of the state of his mind and his body that his first thought was relief that he wouldn’t have to drive any more tonight. “You couldn’t make me leave if you tried,” he said wryly.

Her smile faded. “Travis, you never answered my question. What are you doing here? Why did you show up
here tonight?” Her gaze grew sharp.

“It’s kind of a long story, Kate. Why don’t we talk about it later? Right now, you need to get some sleep. And I need to take a shower and get some sleep myself. I’ve got a bag in the car.”

She nodded, still pondering him.

As she sat down on the couch, he headed out to his car to get his duffel bag. When he returned, Kate pointed him toward Max’s
room, which was filled with more toys, as well as stuffed animals and books. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and headed to the bathroom. By the time he was finished showering, the hot water had made him so drowsy he could barely hold his eyes open.

He walked out into the living room and found Kate asleep on the couch, the remote control for the television held loosely in her
hand. Her lips were parted. Her soft breaths were barely audible. He was glad to see she’d fallen asleep. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake her. But he didn’t want to leave her here in the dark by herself, either.

He took the remote and set it on the coffee table, then grabbed an afghan from the back of an armchair and gently spread it over her. When he turned out the lights and
sat next to her, she turned and snuggled up against him. A lump grew in his throat as he relaxed back against the soft couch cushions.

He’d fled the confines of a military hospital and the shrinks who were trying to treat him for an illness that he didn’t believe he had. He’d traveled twenty-four hours to see her—maybe to clear his conscience by telling her he still loved her, maybe in hopes
that she would want him back.

But his motive for coming here was no longer important. When she’d opened her front door, he’d walked right into her nightmare. He didn’t understand much about what was going on—not yet. But he knew one thing. Kate needed his help, and whatever he could do to help her find her child, he’d do it with all the strength he had in him.

Chapter Three

“Can’t you shut that kid up?” Bentley Woods groaned as he turned over on the narrow, lumpy sofa. “It’s hard enough to sleep on this damn fleabag couch without having to listen to him whining.” For a few seconds he didn’t hear anything except the kid’s caterwauling.

Then the bedroom door opened and Shirley stuck her straw-blond head out. “Shh!” she hissed. “If
you don’t stop yelling, I’ll never get him to sleep.”

“What’s the matter with him, anyhow? I thought kids slept a lot.” Bent sat up and groped for a cigarette. He lit it with a disposable lighter and took a deep pull.

“That shows how much you know about kids,” Shirley said, slipping through the door and closing it quietly. Behind it, the kid sniffled. “Maybe he misses his mama.”

Bent snorted. “He’ll miss her a lot more if she doesn’t cooperate.”

“Oh, give me a break. You’re not going to hurt that kid or his mama.” Shirley leaned over the back of the couch and kissed his forehead.

“I will if I have to.”

“You get squeamish if you have to use your gun. Call me, you big wuss. I’ll shoot her.”

“You are good,” he said, smirking at her.

“You bet your
life. Now gimme a hit on that cigarette.”

“Get your own,” he retorted.

“I can’t smoke in there. That’s not healthy for him.”

“You’re coddling that squirt. Since when are you all interested in babies?”

Shirley grabbed his cigarette and drew deeply on it, then handed it back. “Since you informed me I had to babysit one. And he’s four years old—hardly a baby.” Smoke drifted out
of her mouth as she spoke.

“Four years, four months. What’s the difference?”

She laughed. “About a dozen dirty diapers a day,” she said.

“Whatever. Why don’t you give him some more cough medicine, so I can get some sleep?”

Shirley tossed her head. Her curly blond hair didn’t move. “Can’t. He’s already had a full dose. It’s easy to give a little kid like that too much. He’ll
go to sleep soon.”

“Hey,” Bent said, cocking his head as he blew smoke out through his nose. “I don’t hear him. Looks like he’s happier when you’re not in the room. Why don’t you bring him out here, or make him a pallet on the floor in that back room. Then you and me can take the bedroom. I can’t sleep on this broken-down thing every night by myself. I’ll never get any sleep.”

Shirley
took his cigarette and inhaled another puff, then blew it out. “Too bad. It was your brilliant idea to bring me down here to take care of this kid for you, so just shut up and let me do it. How long before we can give him back to his mama and head back to Chicago?”

“I told you, the trial’s supposed to start in ten days. Once those country bumpkins have their ruling of insanity, they’ll tell
me where to leave him and pick up my money. All we got to do is make sure nothing happens to him.”

“I can take care of him,” Shirley said, her hand on her hip as she stood near the bedroom door. “I took care of three little brothers. Your problem’s going to be keeping
me
happy. Especially if I have to stay cooped up here all day, every day.” She pointed a finger at Bent. “Next time you go
out, I want a steak. A big one. And get me a bottle of good burgundy. If I gotta do this, I’m at least gonna eat good.”

Bent put out his cigarette and turned over and pressed his nose into the couch cushions. “You eat good every day,” he grumbled. “You better watch out. One day you’re going to wake up fat.”

“Yeah. Hold your breath. No wait, don’t. You might have a heart attack, Mister
‘Bring Me a Big Mac.’” She put her hand on the doorknob. “If the kid’s bothering you, go sleep in that back room yourself. Or better yet, the car.” She eased the door open and slipped back into the bedroom, closing it behind her.

“Better yet, the car,”
Bent mocked quietly. He could hear her cooing and whispering to the little boy he’d been hired to kidnap. No matter how much he complained,
he had to admit that Shirley was good with the little rug rat.

Damn, he’d be glad when this backwoods job was over. He’d taken it on as a favor—well, that and for the dough. Much as he complained, he was getting good money. He ought to be, considering this hellhole. He was used to holing up in out-of-the-way places. But he didn’t think he’d ever been as out of the way as he was in this disgusting
little trailer park, surrounded by people whose talk he couldn’t understand and who did things that were just plain weird. What was the deal with fishing with nothing but a pole and cockroaches? Ugh! Or digging up the nasty creatures they called crawfish.

He grunted and wriggled, looking for a comfortable position on the dilapidated couch. There wasn’t one. He hated the South. He hated Louisiana.
He hated this damn ugly trailer park. The whole county smelled of fish, mud and sweat. Still, he figured he could stand anything for another ten days. Especially at this price tag. He laughed harshly as he lit another cigarette. Good thing they weren’t spending too much money on accommodations.

All he had to do was keep an eye on the mom. It was Shirley’s job to watch the kid. Bent would
be spending all day and evening watching the doctor, making sure she didn’t try to go to the police, and all night trying to sleep. As soon as the doctor testified that some blustery old politician was crazy, they could give the kid back and get the hell out of this sweat-hole.

The man who had hired him had a vested interest in keeping the old guy out of prison. Bent didn’t know what that
reason was and he didn’t care. He just wanted his money in his pocket and his tires back on the road to Chicago—for good.

He squinted at his watch. Almost one o’clock in the morning. He wiggled around again, cursing under his breath. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since he had gotten here three days ago. Holding his breath, he listened. Damn if the kid hadn’t quieted down. Maybe he could
get some shut-eye now. He sighed and closed his eyes.

Then, through the closed door, Bent heard the kid yell, “I want my mom-eeee...!”

Groaning, he grabbed a throw pillow and jammed it over his head.

* * *

T
HE
FIRST
THING
Kate thought when she woke up was that the horror of the day before had just been a bad dream. Then she opened her eyes and realized that she was not in her
bed. She was on the couch in the living room and there was someone beside her.

For a few seconds, she tried to ignore her senses. Tried to stay in that netherworld between asleep and awake, where everything was just as it should be. Where Max was snuggled up beside her, safe and secure.

Max.
She fell out of the dream world with a jolt. The nauseating fear that roiled up from her stomach
like bile was no dream. It was all too real.

It wasn’t Max next to her. Her sweet baby was in the hands of strangers, scared and alone, crying for her. Probably thinking she’d gone off and left him. Her eyes, still swollen and sore, stung anew with tears. She pressed her hand against her chest, where her heart felt ripped to shreds. How was she going to bear the pain until this was all over?
She had no one she could go to, no one to look to for help. She knew what would happen if she told anyone.

The person beside her breathed deeply, drawing her attention. She remembered. It was Travis. What miracle had brought him to her door the night before?

She didn’t know why he was here, but she did know he could help her. He was strong and smart. And he was a Green Beret. There was
nothing he couldn’t do.

She didn’t want to wake him, so she shifted carefully, until she could look at his face. She hadn’t paid much attention to how he’d looked last night. She’d had a hard enough time coping with the shock of seeing him on top of the shock of finding out her child had been abducted.

Now she studied him. The best thing she could say was that he looked awful. She couldn’t
see his dark eyes, since he was asleep. But his ridiculously long eyelashes, which his son had inherited from him, rested on the purple circles below his eyes. His cheeks were hollow, where Max’s were adorably plump, but there was no doubt that they were father and son.

She scanned his long, lean body. He was so thin. Of course, he’d never been bulky. At six feet one inch, he had the body
of a basketball player or a swimmer. Lean but rock hard.

He must have lost twenty pounds. Had he been sick? She had no idea where he’d been or what he’d been doing for the past five years. He could have been sitting pretty behind a desk or stuck in a dark prison for all she knew.

Then she noticed a red line above his right eyebrow. Was that a scar? Now that she was looking for them,
she spotted other small marks on his face—at the corner of his lip, on the curve of his jaw, at his hairline.

He opened his eyes. Kate gasped in surprise. She’d leaned forward as she studied his face, and now their lips were less than three inches apart. He lifted a hand and touched her hair.

Something happened inside her chest. A fluttering. She recognized it. She’d felt that same sensation
every time he’d touched her back in college, and nothing had changed since she had seen him five years ago during his furlough.

The years fell away and her brain was suddenly sending her screen shots of all their good times together. Then Travis pushed his fingers through her hair and pushed all thoughts out of her head. He tugged gently, pulling her head down until he could reach her lips.
“Morning, Kate,” he murmured, then kissed her lightly.

She swallowed. “Morning,” she said, looking into his dark eyes. His gaze held hers for a moment, then slid downward to look at her lips. He leaned forward again and touched her mouth with his. She closed her eyes. It felt so familiar, his hands in her hair, his mouth on hers.

But what was she doing? Her Max was gone. She pulled away,
shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears.

Travis let go of her and sat back. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, his gaze roaming over her features.

She bit her lip and blinked against the tears.

“I was dreaming about Max. When I woke up, I thought he was here, snuggled up against me. I thought that yesterday was the bad dream.”

He nodded solemnly.

She got up. “Do you want
some coffee?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “Please.”

Kate watched him walk across the living room and into the hall, headed for the bathroom. He moved stiffly, like a patient weak from surgery. But still, his long bones and sleek muscles gave him the unconscious grace and dignity that was so familiar to her.

She felt stiff herself. Her back ached.
Obviously, sleeping half sitting, half lying down on a couch was not good for a body. By the time Travis came back into the living room, Kate had the coffee going. He sat at the kitchen counter.

“Tell me about this court case,” he said as she held out a steaming mug. To her surprise, his hands trembled as he took it. She glanced up at his face, but his eyes were on the coffee. He lifted it
to his mouth and took a cautious sip. “Mmm. It’s funny, the things you miss the most. That’s good. Chicory?”

“Of course,” she answered, smiling. “And boiled milk, plus plenty of sugar for you.” She picked up her coffee mug and came around the counter to sit on a stool beside him.

“So who is it you’re supposed to evaluate?”

“Myron Stamps. You should recognize the name. He’s been
in the legislature since forever.”

“Stamps?” He shrugged. “I never paid much attention to politics. Seems like I’ve heard of him.”

“What about Freeman Canto?”

“Oh sure. He and my granddad were big political rivals and friends back in the day.”

“Right. Well, Canto was murdered a little over a year ago. His granddaughter was at home and heard the attack. She claims that the men
who broke in kept repeating three names—Ernest Yeoman, Senator Stamps and Paul Guillame.”

“Paul?” Travis laughed. “They yelled Paul’s name? For what? Because I’ll personally testify that Paul couldn’t beat up a teddy bear.”

“Your brother Harte caught the case. Oh—” She gasped, suddenly remembering Harte’s injury. “Travis,” she said, laying a hand on his forearm. “Harte was shot. In the
chest!” At Travis’s look of horror, she quickly amended, “I’m sorry. Of course he’s fine. Almost as good as new.”

“Harte—shot?”

She nodded. “He was shot by Yeoman’s men, after he and Dani had been running and hiding from them all night during the storm.”

Travis shook his head tiredly. “What? I’m totally lost. What’s been going on and what does it all have to do with you—and your
son?”

“I’m not sure I understand it all yet myself, but here’s all I know. Your brother was holding Danielle Canto in protective custody until time came to testify in the trial of a local businessman named Ernest Yeoman. She had heard the men who killed her grandfather say Yeoman’s name, as well as Stamps and Paul Guillame.”

“Why were the men talking about Stamps and Paul?” Travis asked,
still looking bewildered.

“The theory is that Stamps and a couple other local politicians were accepting bribes to keep the tariffs on imports low, to help smugglers. Apparently Yeoman has been suspected of smuggling in illegal imports for years.”

“That doesn’t explain Paul.”

Kate shrugged. “I can’t explain that. But the Friday before Yeoman’s trial was to start, there was a huge
storm—wind, lightning, flooding. Someone threw a Molotov cocktail and a smoke bomb through the window of the bed-and-breakfast where Danielle was staying, so they had to run. They ended up—”

“Wait. Who had to run?”

“Harte and Danielle. After hiding and running all night, they ended up at Paul Guillame’s house. Apparently Harte was shot before they got to Paul’s house. Once they were
in the house, a shoot-out ensued and Stamps shot Paul. Yeoman was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder in Freeman Canto’s death. I suppose Danielle’s testimony about hearing Stamps’s name wasn’t enough to link him to the murder. But he’s coming to trial for shooting Paul Guillame.” She spread her hands. “Personally, I’m not completely clear on why the D.A. is pushing this so hard. I mean, Guillame
even says it was an accident. But the D.A. is determined to prosecute Stamps. He wants me to tear down the defense’s claim of temporary insanity. Now whoever is pushing for him to get off on a temporary-insanity plea has stolen my baby.” Her breath hitched. She didn’t know how much longer she could live without knowing whether Max was okay.