The picture Deacon painted was so awful Lana reached out to touch his chest. She pressed her palm to his heart, feeling each erratic beat rapping against her flesh. “Where did you go?”
“Wherever I could make money.”
She hesitated. “Have you kidnapped other people before?”
“A few. Not to be callous, but most of them deserved it. Normally I’m hired for mercenary work—raiding vil lages, extracting relief workers from hot areas. Sometimes the jobs are legal, other times they aren’t.”
His reply offered no apology, and Lana wasn’t sure it deserved one. She suddenly imagined a fifteen-year-old Deacon living on the streets, scrounging to feed and clothe himself. She couldn’t even fathom how he’d managed to survive. She’d been fortunate enough to grow up with financially secure parents who loved and cherished her. What would she have done if her parents died and Uncle Donald had disowned her? Would she have turned to a dangerous lifestyle the way Deacon had?
“And you survived,” she said quietly, stroking the hot skin of his chest. “Whatever you did in the past ensured you stayed alive. But now…”
“But now nothing. I may have survived, but my choices have pretty much sucked every last drop of humanity out of me, Lana.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true.” His hand covered hers, slowly removing her fingers from his skin. “I have nothing to give to a child, a wife. There’s no goodness left in me, and you, our baby, deserve a good life.”
“You are good,” she disagreed. “You protected us this whole time. You kept us alive. How can you not see that?”
With methodical motions, he disentangled himself from their embrace and rose from the bed. His nudity brought a spark of desire, which fizzled the second he continued speaking.
“You deserve more than I could ever give you,” he said hoarsely. “And your family will give you everything I can’t. They’ll help you take care of this baby. They’ll make sure nothing bad ever happens to either of you.”
My family can’t be a father to this child, she wanted to argue, but the objection got stuck in her throat. He wouldn’t hear it anyway. Deacon Holt had obviously decided what kind of man he was years ago, and nothing she could say was going to sway him.
As he bent down to retrieve his boxers, she stared at the sleek, sculpted lines of his body, the classically handsome planes of his face. She could see it now, his upbringing, his roots. He might deny it, but he’d inherited his mother’s grace, his father’s polish.
And maybe nothing she said would get through to him, she thought, as she watched him get dressed, but perhaps words weren’t the solution here. Perhaps what she really needed to do was show him. Show him that he did indeed have some decency left inside him. Show him that he wasn’t a robot, but a living, breathing human being with a capacity for greatness.
A man strong enough to be a father to their baby.
Captain Jim Kelley had just hopped into one of the nondescript Town Cars of the security detail when a satellite phone was thrust into his hands. The soldier who handed him the phone wore a blank look, shrugging as if to say, I have no clue what’s up.
Stifling a sigh, Jim signaled for the driver to go and raised the phone to his ear. “Captain Kelley,” he barked.
“Kelley,” came Colonel Keaton’s sharp voice.
Jim’s sigh reached the surface. Damn. This didn’t sound good. He hoped the colonel wasn’t sending Delta Company on a last-second assignment or something. Jim and his crew had just spent the past two weeks providing additional security to the Secretary of Defense, who’d been meeting with various South American leaders to discuss the arms trade. He’d been looking forward to heading back to his Georgetown home, cracking open a cold beer and sitting on the couch for a few days.
The colonel’s next words, however, sent a flicker of surprise through him. “I’ve got your mother on the line. I’m patching her through.”
And then Keaton’s voice faded and was replaced by his mother’s urgent, “Jim, are you there?”
Jim instantly tensed. A few days ago, one of the men in Delta Company had been messing around on the internet and had discovered a weeks-old news article about Jim’s father. About the fact that six women had come forward claiming to be Senator Kelley’s mistresses. As expected, Jim had been livid, but he hadn’t had a chance to call his mother. Now, hearing her voice, that anger returned full force.
“I’m here.” His voice cracked slightly. “I heard what happened, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
She gasped. “You know about Lana?”
“Lana?” Unease crawled up his spine. “I was referring to Dad.”
“Oh.”
“What are you talking about? What’s happened to Lana?”
“She’s gone, Jimmy.” An unmistakable sob ripped through the line.