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  She dropped her hands onto her thighs, her jaw going slack. "But the doctor said your tests were fine."

  He shrugged. "We made a deal."

  Her stomach felt as if the roller coaster had topped its first peak and was plunging. "Why would you do that?"

  "The last thing I wanted from you was a bratty kid."

  "Why didn't you just say that? Why did you put me through --"

  "Your father never would have understood why I didn't want kids. He would have hammered at me about it, trying to wear me down, trying to force me to do what he wanted. But if it was your fault we couldn't conceive, then there wasn't much I could do about it, was there?"

  Clamping her hands over her mouth to hold in a sob, she shook her head in disbelief. Something was breaking inside her. She could feel it ripping away from its mooring, buffeted by an inner storm that was only just beginning.

  Smiling slightly, he said, "Don't look so devastated, Addy. Later, when you really start to think about it, you might be glad we never had kids. Chances are, they would have grown up to be just like me." He pushed through the doors and was gone.

  Broken, Addison put her head down on the counter and wept.

  * * *

  Mitch paused by the front window of the cabin, nudging aside the curtains to peer outside.

  "She wasn't out there a minute ago when you did that."

  He glanced over his shoulder at Julia, who was finishing up her Reuben. "I'm being a worry wart, I know," he said.

  "I'm sure she's fine. There's no one out there for miles, and she's too smart to get lost."

  Returning to the table, he sat. "I don't know how to help her, Jules. It's driving me nuts."

  Julia licked Thousand Island dressing from her finger as she studied him. Then, her eyes narrowing, she slowly lowered her hand. "I'll be damned. Are you in love with her?"

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I thought I was just feeling guilty, but I've felt guilty before and it wasn't like this."

  "Like what?"

  "There's a knot in my gut that won't go away, and when I'm around her, I feel like a stupid teenager." He gave her a grim look. "I want to tear that fucker Keller in two."

  Julia grinned. "My hero."

  "I'm serious, Jules. If I get my hands on him, someone's going to have to stop me from ripping his head off."

  Her humor faded. "You are serious. In fact, I've never seen you like this." She sat back in the chair, folding her arms. "Maybe you need to back off this one."

  He shook his head. "No way."

  "I'll stay here with Alaina. You go back to D.C. and handle the security details."

  "No."

  She leaned forward. "Mitch, emotional involvement screws with our judgment. It's human. Don't put Alaina at risk because you're too stubborn to admit you've gotten too close."

  "I won't walk away. I've done that my entire life."

  "This isn't your life. It's hers. You're making it too personal."

  "It is personal. Keller used me to terrorize a woman he brutalized fifteen years ago. He made me a part of her nightmare, and that pisses me off big time. But what he did to her ... that's what I'm going to kill him for."

  "I need you to back up and explain what you mean by that."

  Chapter 30

  Alaina shivered as she sat on the cabin's front porch steps. She couldn't bring herself to go inside. Not yet. Not when she still felt so close to losing control. It wasn't Mitch's or Julia's fault that Layton had stowed Jonah away behind impenetrable, prison-like walls. She was surprised his estate wasn't surrounded by a moat stocked with starving alligators.

  Two weeks.

  She and Jonah had never been separated for more than a weekend. Now, it had been eleven days. Who knew how many lies Layton had told him? Who knew what Jonah was thinking or feeling as he lay in an unfamiliar bed at night? Betrayal. Abandonment. Anger. Disappointment.

  His wounds would form scars, even after he found out the truth, that would never go away. And once he did find out the truth ... what kind of scars would that leave? How could she protect him from that? How would she ever be able to convince him that how he was conceived didn't affect how much she loved him?

  "Hey."

  Alaina started, glancing up to see Julia standing beside her, Mitch's leather jacket dangling from one hand, a cup of steaming coffee in the other. "I thought you might be cold," she said, handing down the coffee, then draping the jacket over Alaina's shoulders.

  "Thanks." The jacket's instant warmth felt good, and Alaina drew its edges close with one hand, focusing on how it smelled like Mitch, like pine and wood and leather. Like shelter.

  Julia sat beside her, hunching her thin shoulders in her own jacket. "It's brisk out here."

  "I'm okay," Alaina said, wrapping her chilled fingers around the warm coffee mug. "You don't have to make small talk."

  Julia's lips curved. "I don't know you, but you don't seem okay."

  "It's been a rough week," Alaina admitted.

  Julia laughed softly. "Now that's an understatement."

  "I'm sorry I was rude before. I'm having a hard time being patient."

  "I can understand that," Julia said. "Being away from your kid like this ... I can't even imagine what it's like."

  Alaina buried her chin in the jacket's collar, breathed in Mitch's scent. Somehow, it made her feel stronger. "Thank you for the pictures. They help."

  "It's not much, but it's something." Julia clasped her hands in front of her face, blew on them. "Has Mitch told you why he left the Bureau?"

  Alaina glanced at her without responding.

  "This isn't small talk," Julia said. She obviously had something important to say.

  "No, he hasn't. I know Chuck -- I don't remember his last name -- was his partner."

  "Reiser. He had an affair with Mitch's wife."

  Alaina, about to sip coffee, paused. "Oh."

  "I don't know all the details, but it all started after he and Mitch worked a kidnap case. A woman grabbed a neighbor's toddler and took off to --"

  "North Carolina. He told me about that."

  Julia looked surprised. "He did?"

  "He said he had to kill the kidnapper to keep her from hurting the child. It was very difficult for him."

  "To put it mildly. As soon as he got out of the hospital, he quit the Bureau --"

  "Hospital?" Alaina cut in, as much alarmed by what Julia had said as the way her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of him injured. "Why was he in the hospital?"

  "Ah," Julia said, nodding. "He didn't tell you the whole story."

  "Apparently not."

  "When the woman started shooting at them, Mitch threw himself in front of Chuck and took a bullet in the shoulder."

  Alaina remembered the puckered scar, and her insides clenched. He'd been hit in the shoulder, but he so easily could have been shot in the heart.

  "In the ER," Julia went on, "Chuck fessed up about the affair. I guess the guilt was too much for him after Mitch saved his life. As soon as Mitch was released, he filed for divorce and turned in his resignation. He lost his wife, his best friend and his job all at the same time. He also had to deal with the fact that he'd taken the life of another human being. A couple years after the divorce -- Shirley and Chuck didn't make it -- Shirley married another guy and moved to another state with Mitch's son. You bet it was very difficult for him. It nearly killed him."

  Alaina ached for what he had gone through, wished she could have been there to help him. But why Julia thought she needed to know eluded her. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Mitch doesn't allow himself to feel very much. He considers it too emotionally dangerous. To him, it's easier to close himself off and be alone than deal with the aftermath of a messy relationship."

  As what Julia said sank in, Alaina remembered something Mitch had said to her: "You can hold me at bay all you want, but there's no way in hell I'm walking away without a fight."

  That from a man who found it
easier to shut himself down and be alone? It struck her how difficult saying such a thing had been for him. Yet he had seemed so fearless and strong and confident.

  "We've known each other less than two weeks," she said quietly, still trying to wrap her brain around how something so serious could develop in so little time.

  Julia sighed. "I've known him a couple years, and I've never seen him look at a woman the way he was looking at you in there."

  Alaina's stomach did another nervous roll. "Oh."

  "In fact," Julia said with a shrug, "seeing the way he looked at you made me really want to kick your ass."

  Alaina laughed. "But you're not going to, I hope."

  "Depends on whether you break his heart."

  Alaina heard the subtle threat under the joke, but instead of being offended, she was glad Mitch had someone like Julia to watch his back.

  Sobering, Julia said, "He's going to get your son back, Alaina. If it's the last thing he does."

  Alaina's breath caught. Julia was not speaking casually. She meant it as a warning.

  * * *

  "You sure you don't want to stay over?" Mitch asked as Julia shrugged into her jacket and pulled on gloves. "We're having Smores later."

  Julia chuckled. "If only I had known, I would have arranged for someone to let the dog out for me. Rain check?"

  "Sorry," Mitch said. "You know me and Smores. There won't be any leftovers."

  Julia winked at Alaina. "Don't turn your back on him. When it comes to chocolate and marshmallows, he's ruthless."

  "Thanks for the warning," Alaina said with a laugh, struck by how easy she felt with them, as if they were old friends saying goodbye after an afternoon visit, rather than three relative strangers plotting a kidnapping.

  Mitch followed Julia out onto the porch, pulling the door closed, either for privacy or to retain the warmth in the cabin. Alaina, filled with nervous energy after the conversation with Julia, kept herself busy by cleaning up the remnants of their lunch. She was in the kitchen, washing coffee mugs, when Mitch ambled in.

  "You don't have to do that," he said, coming up behind her.

  "I don't mind."

  She set the last cup in the drainer and turned, surprised to find him standing so close. Rather than step sideways, away from him, she stayed where she was. He watched her curiously, as if trying to read her mind.

  "What did you and Jules talk about on the porch earlier?" he asked.

  "You tell me first," she replied.

  He smiled. "She likes you."

  "She told me she wanted to kick my ass."

  The light in his eyes danced. "Then she really likes you."

  She felt a pull in her chest, almost resisted leaning into him, then didn't. His chuckle died away when she placed a hand on the front of his T-shirt, felt the hard muscle underneath, the rise and fall of his breath. Her pulse raced, then stumbled as she met his darkening gaze. He didn't move. She thought of how he had taken a bullet for his friend and partner, a bullet that could have killed him.

  She thought of the many times since she'd met him that a bullet could have easily taken his life. Because of her. Yet he was still risking his life to help her, to protect her.

  She thought of how brave he'd been to open himself to her after shutting himself away for so long. And she thought of how foolish she would be if she let these moments with him slip away, when he was the only man she had ever wanted.

  She stepped into him, curving her hand around the back of his neck and drawing him down. Their lips met, and heat exploded between them.

  His hands came up her arms, and he backed her against the sink as he sank his fingers into her hair, his mouth and tongue desperately seeking. Her head spun with how much she wanted this. With him. The sharp edge of the need surprised and liberated as the joy of discovery, the joy of relief, tumbled through her.

  Now that she had taken the plunge, impatience took over. She tried to deepen the embrace, tried to steer him toward the front room and the sofa or the floor or the bedroom or wherever. Now, please, now, was all she could think.

  But he gentled the kiss, slowed it, and refused to budge, taking his time scattering feather kisses over her face to her ear, where he toyed with the lobe, his breath soft and deep, unhurried. His hands, God, his hands were on her shoulders, and she wanted them on her breasts, on her naked skin. She wanted to feel everything at once.

  She released a low moan as he lowered his head to the hollow of her throat, his tongue tasting, testing, sending shivers down her spine. If he didn't put his hands on her soon, she thought she would burst.

  But he didn't. He simply kept trailing slow, drugging kisses over her face and throat and down the side of her neck.

  She worked her hands under his shirt, reveled in the feel of muscle and smooth skin, pleased at his intake of breath when her nails scraped a nipple.

  His hands slid down her back and pressed her against him until she felt the heat of him through his jeans. He wanted her. The knowledge made her feel strong and powerful. And she wanted the barrier of denim gone.

  Her fingers trembled as they went to the button on his jeans, but he grasped her hands, stilled them. "Not yet," he whispered.

  Frustration began to worm its way through her but was forgotten the instant he closed his mouth over the tip of her breast, T-shirt and all. She gasped, stiffening as pleasure arrowed into her. Her knees went liquid, and Mitch laughed low in his chest as he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the back bedroom.

  Finally.

  But when he set her on bed, his pace was anything but hurried. Giving her a languid look, he slowly drew the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. His fingers unhooked the clasp of her bra and let it fall open, lust darkening his gaze as his fingers stroked the curve of her breast, lingered.

  "Perfect," he murmured.

  Warmth spread through her. He made her feel adored, cherished, like she'd never felt before.

  "Now you," she said, her voice breathy.

  Smiling, he doffed his T-shirt, baring that fabulous chest and rippling muscles that contracted when she grazed them with her fingertips. She drank him in, swallowing the urge to dive in and devour. His body was full of power. Looking at it, touching it, made her head light with yearning.

  Joining her on the bed, he eased her back, kissing her softly at the same time, his mouth gentle, leisurely. When her head hit the pillow, he cupped her breast in one hand, teasing it to a peak, his lips curving against her mouth when she moaned. He replaced his hand with his mouth, and she arched against him, releasing a surprised gasp at the clench of his teeth. Her pulse went wild.

  Then his hand was sliding down her torso, his lips following behind, placing light kisses along her ribs. His fingers slid under the waistband of her jeans, teasing, tickling, and she opened her eyes, surprised to realize that she'd had them closed. His dark eyes were watching her as he lowered the zipper on her jeans, and he pressed wet kisses against her belly as he exposed skin inch by inch.

  Her breath shuddered out, and she lifted her hips so he could tug the jeans down her legs. He did so slowly she wanted to scream. "You're killing me here," she said on an uneasy laugh.

  He grinned. "That's the idea."

  He slid her panties off as slowly, then stretched out beside her, gathering her close. She liked the rough rasp of his jeans against her bare legs, lost herself in the headiness of lazy kisses and gentle caresses that required all of her willpower to keep from squirming.

  By the time he slid a hand between them and touched her, she stepped off the ledge with barely a nudge and fell through layers of quiet, unexpected pleasure.

  As she floated down, he left her for an instant.

  "Where are you going?" she protested.

  "I'll just be a second," he said, gone long enough to retrieve his backpack from the other room. He fumbled around in it for a moment, then dropped it on the floor before settling back on the bed. His mouth returned to hers, and his tongue set a n
ew pace, an insistent one that ratcheted her pulse rate up a couple of notches.

  He quickly shed his jeans, breaking the embrace for only a moment. She heard the rip of a little foil packet before he was stretched out beside her again, skin against skin.

  She skimmed her hand over his hip, her head whirling as his fingers stroked the back of her knee, the inside of her elbow, the small of her back. Every part of her seemed sensitized to the slightest touch, and he took his time rebuilding her need with his hands, his fingers, his mouth. She wanted to do the same for him, but she was so distracted by what he was doing to her that she couldn't focus.

  She toppled easily over another peak, burying her head against his shoulder to stifle a ragged moan. She felt his lips curve on her throat. He was enjoying torturing her. And he was damn good at it.

  When he shifted subtly, easing her onto her back, she moved with him, smiling. Yes, she thought. Yes.

  He braced over her, his elbows locked to support his weight, his breathing unsteady. "Open your eyes," he whispered. "See me."

  She did. His dark gaze locked on hers as he slowly filled her, and she arched up, eager to take him in, her breath hitching at the intensity of the sensation. "Oh, Mitch."

  He closed his eyes, releasing his held breath. She heard him swallow. "If you move, it's over," he said. "I want you too damn much."

  She held still, wanting this moment to last, conscious of his heart slamming against his ribs and her heart's answering, driving beat. She watched a drop of sweat trickle down his temple and stopped its descent with a kiss.

  When he moved, she gasped and arched back, succumbing to another wave of shudders.

  He held her tight against him through the quake. "You're not making me work very hard," he murmured.

  She fought for air, her hands flattened against his lower back to hold him firmly in place. "Making up for lost time."

  His chuckle dissolved into a groan. "Just so you know: If you do that again, I won't be able to keep from following."

  "I'll try to control myself."

  "I'd prefer you didn't."