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  “Mommy?”

  She spun to the doorway. Lily stood there in her pink nightgown and her shoulder-length curls flying in all directions. Gina’s face went red. She was probably thinking the same thing he was. Busted by one of her kids. Again. Jeez-O-Pete, if Lily had come in ten minutes earlier, she would have gotten an interesting lesson on the birds and the bees. Vic swallowed hard. What a mess.

  “Hi, baby. Are you okay?”

  “Stomach hurts. Can I have some ginger ale?” Lily gazed up at him. “Hi, Vic.”

  He knelt in front of her and tugged on her hair. “What’s up, squirt? You got some nastiness in your belly?”

  Bobbing her head, Lily took the cup from Gina. “Can I watch the movie we rented, Mama?”

  “It’s almost eight-thirty. Aren’t you tired?”

  “I just took a nap.”

  Gina and Vic laughed. Couldn’t argue that one.

  “Sure, honey. For a little while. I’ll watch with you.”

  “Okay,” Lily said, grabbing Vic’s hand. “You can watch too. Right?”

  Oh, hell. She was looking at him with her dad’s big blue eyes and the crazy hair, and his chest imploded. Gina’s shit-eating grin didn’t help.

  “Dirty Dancing,” she said. “Can’t beat it for a Friday night. We even skip the adult parts.”

  Her lips tipped up into a wicked half smile, clearly daring him to bow out on the favorite chick movie of all time.

  What a witch.

  “You bet, Lil. I’d love to watch a movie with you and your mom.”

  And that was no lie.

  At eleven o’clock the next morning, Gina, knee deep in her twice-monthly ironing extravaganza, heard Jake and Matt come through the back door with Michael in tow. She glanced up as the boys made their way into the living room.

  The room resembled a ransacked clothing factory, but the kids were used to it and Michael just laughed. The ironing had an organized chaos to it. Clothes were sorted by kid, stacked on her grandmother’s oak dining table and, after they’d been pressed, hung on a rolling clothes rack in the adjoining living room. Once she waded through a pile, she’d take the clothes upstairs and start the next batch.

  Really, the ironing was more about therapy than wrinkles, because the quiet, mundane process gave her battered brain refuge.

  “Hi, Mom,” twelve-year-old Jake said, kissing her on the cheek before heading to his room.

  “Going upstairs,” a soon-to-be-sixteen-and-perpetually-crabby Matthew said.

  Grinding her teeth, Gina forced herself not to say anything sarcastic. Would it hurt the kid to say good morning to his mother?

  “Hey,” Michael said.

  Her brother wore his standard Saturday outfit of crisp jeans and a white T-shirt. “Good morning.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows at the chilly tone and flopped onto the well-worn plaid couch Danny had loved. Suddenly, the living room felt outdated and Gina made a mental note to talk to the kids about getting new furniture. She never changed anything without having a conversation with them. Particularly when it involved things their father had enjoyed.

  “How’s Lily?” Michael asked.

  “Better this morning. She didn’t vomit at all and there’s no fever. The Woodlands called and invited her to the park. I figured the fresh air would do her good.”

  From upstairs, Matthew’s stereo thumped and Gina contemplated yelling for him to lower it. But why bother? He wouldn’t hear her anyway. She let it go.

  “Listen, G,” Michael said. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was out of line.”

  She smiled. “Roxann got to you, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He rested his head back and closed his eyes.

  Roxann must have blasted him. Excellent work.

  “I feel like a shitheel.”

  Gina snorted. “Good to know.”

  She should probably cut him some slack, but, no, not this time. He’d gone too far yesterday. She understood his overprotective nature. She’d encouraged it by not reining him in over the past few years, which was tough to admit, but she had to take responsibility for the monster she’d helped create. Dr. Frankenstein, what have you done? After the miserable scene in the office yesterday, Michael had to stop meddling.

  Gina set the iron in the safety holder and sat in the recliner across from him. A dull throb began at her temples. She so did not want to have this conversation.

  “I know you think you’re doing the right thing,” she said. “But Vic and I need to work this out. I feel bad you think you’re in the middle, but really, you’re not. You put yourself in the middle.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I have, but his lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to a white-picket-fence-and-three-kids scenario.”

  Ouch. Did she really need that kick in the gut?

  “And you don’t think I know that?”

  “He takes chances with his life and I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  “But it’s my choice to make.”

  Michael sighed. “Maybe, but I remember those days when the kids wouldn’t show up for school.”

  “Oh, here we go.” Time for more ironing. He had to go there. Had to remind her of the one time she’d let herself forget that, as a parent, she’d given up the right to self-destruct. He didn’t do it often, but when he did, every muscle in her body became so rigid, she should have snapped in half.

  Michael stood. “I’d get the call from the principal and come over to find you in bed. You were so depressed you couldn’t get the kids to school. I was scared. I kept thinking you would do something crazy.”

  Gina gripped the iron tighter. Maybe she’d whack him with it. “I was grieving. The only thing left of my husband was a piece of his jaw, so until you’ve lived my life, don’t lecture me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “And besides,” she interrupted, thankful Matthew’s stereo was so loud. “I would never have done anything stupid like killing myself. I’m a responsible parent and you know it.”

  He stepped closer, took the iron out of her hand and set it down. “You’re a great parent. And I’m not patronizing you either. At the time, all I knew was I had to come over here every morning and haul your ass out of bed. Little by little you got better and now you’re smiling again.” He blew out a breath. “I know you and Vic would be good together, but until he finishes playing cowboy, you shouldn’t get involved.”

  Too late. She had spent the last two years trying not to get emotional, but after St. Barth, she was already there. Maybe she and Vic weren’t a couple, but they were definitely, in some twisted way, involved. How to explain this to Michael?

  “If anything happens to him, I’ll still be devastated. Just because we aren’t—” she made imaginary quote marks, “—involved doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  He looked away. “I think you’re lonely and vulnerable. And Vic is…He’s Vic, a great guy, and I can see you two together, but I worry.”

  “You see me as vulnerable, but I’m not. You’ll always think of me as your baby sister, but I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

  Rubbing her sweaty hands over her denim shorts, Gina grabbed a shirt off Matt’s pile. Her dry eyes blurred and she rubbed at them. She needed a nap.

  “I think you’re emotionally vulnerable,” Michael said, dropping onto the couch again. She wasn’t the only one exhausted by this conversation.

  “Vic’s a terrific friend to put up with you dictating how he should live his life.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  Gina laughed. “You’re telling him he can’t date me.”

  “Whatever.”

  She set the iron down and sat next to him. “I know you’re afraid for me, and I think it’s great you love me.”

  “But?”

  She smiled. “It’s unfair. Vic and I are adults. We’re reasonable people—most of the time, anyway. Take yourself out of the middle, Michael. We’ll both be much happier. I don’t want to be alone for the r
est of my life. I’m not saying Vic’s the guy for me, but I want to be able to decide on my own. I’m smart enough not to sacrifice my children’s well-being, and that’s all you should be concerned with.”

  After taking a deep breath, Michael stared at her with those dark eyes that could send a person to their knees. Her stomach jumped, but she persevered. “You need to apologize to Vic.”

  She didn’t mean to throw a lot at Michael this morning, but it seemed better to hit him with it all at once. Get it over with.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Stubborn man. She let out an exaggerated sigh. She’d have to clock him with the iron before this was over. “Think about it. While you’re doing it, think about how great Roxann makes you feel, and remember me. What do I have?”

  And there it was. He finally understood. Their eyes met and for a split second he didn’t move, but she knew by the way his jaw unclenched that he finally understood. The joy Roxann brought Michael hadn’t happened with his first wife. Not even close.

  He stood, stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I guess we’re done here, then?”

  “Pretty much.” She kissed him on the cheek. Her brother was a pain in the ass, but he was a good man. “Go home, Michael. Do something with your wife.”

  He smiled. “Yeah. We’re heading up to the lake house for the night.”

  “Good for you guys.” She hugged him. “Be careful, and I love you.”

  Michael stepped back, held her at arm’s length. “I love you too, even if I’m a jerk sometimes.”

  She laughed. “I know, but stay out of my life. I’ve got enough problems, and it’s not going to get any easier.”

  Coffee. More coffee. Vic drained the last of his cup and slid it to the edge of his desk. Only oh-nine-thirty and he’d hit his self-imposed two-cup limit. He was not a Monday morning person. He’d gotten up early, though.

  He’d driven out to the farm, the four hundred acres of land owned by Taylor Security located thirty-five miles south of the city. They’d purchased it two years earlier for training. The restored farmhouse now contained a gym, seven bedrooms and a monster conference room with state-of-the-art electronics.

  Vic liked to practice shooting there for a couple of hours a few times a week. They actually hired a farmer every year to make sure they got corn. The guys would create mazes and have their training buddies set up targets in unknown spots for them to fire at.

  This morning, Vic hit the gym and practiced alone for two hours with his trusty Sig .45. He loved that freakin’ gun. Get hit with a round from that baby and you’d most likely not get up. Almost eight pounds of rompin’, stompin’ dynamite. They’d seen a lot of action together.

  Practice sessions at the farm, with the quiet wind and perfect sunrises, always gave Vic a sense of calm. The land sat in the middle of nowhere, the nearest house miles away, and cops didn’t bother coming around. This morning’s workout had given him the distraction he needed, but now he was at his desk digging through one of the piles in search of a report Mike wanted him to read. He found it toward the bottom. To the uninformed, his desk looked like a war zone, chaos everywhere.

  He had piles. Sort of. He couldn’t see the top of the mahogany desk, but knew where everything was, and who needed to see wood?

  Mike had been after him to do some decorating, but he didn’t have time for that crap. Vic let the painters slap a coat of beige paint on the walls and called it good. He had what he needed. A couple of leather guest chairs and a small table for impromptu meetings. The only pictures on the walls were photos of American flags from all over the country. Vic had a thing for American flags. Why not? Considering he was a citizen of the finest country in the world. Hoo-ah!

  Mike’s secretary brought in a large envelope and dropped it in front of him. He grabbed the manila envelope, spotted his name typed on a label, no address. A courier delivery. He ran his fingers up and down the envelope feeling for anything unusual. Nothing.

  After tearing it open he dumped the contents. Three five by seven photographs landed facedown on the desk. A burn shot through him. This would not be good. He flipped the photographs over.

  Lily.

  At the park.

  These photographs were recent. Lily wearing a pink shirt with a giant strawberry on it and pink shorts. He’d seen her wearing that shirt last week. He scrutinized the next photograph. Him carrying Lily into the house Friday night.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  The final photograph was another of Lily leaving the park.

  It’s that easy was handwritten on it.

  The picture stung his skin and he dropped it. An insane roar began in the pit of his stomach. The warrior wanting action. And the fear. The fear brought out the warrior. He knew how to contain it. Make it work.

  Sitting back in his chair, he worked on his breathing. He had no doubt who sent these photos. This was it. Game on.

  The sheikh probably knew enough about Vic to know he wouldn’t be afraid of a fight. No. The sheikh was a smart guy. He’d get to Vic through the people he cared about.

  Wasn’t this some fucking irony? He’d spent most of his adult life alone, partly because he never wanted to endanger a wife and kids. Lily wasn’t even his and he still put her in harm’s way.

  Tension coiled around him and worked its way to his shoulders. Balling his fist, he sent the pencil cup flying against the wall. He’d need more than that to tame his temper.

  He buzzed the secretary. “Who delivered the envelope?”

  “It came by messenger. Is there a problem?”

  There’s a problem all right. “Where’s Mike?”

  “In his office.”

  Vic snatched the photos, shot down the hall to Mike’s office to find he had a couple of middle-management guys in with him.

  “Sorry to interrupt. I need a minute,” Vic said.

  Mike focused on him and something registered. “No problem. We can finish later.”

  With a brief nod toward Vic, the two men left.

  “You look spooked,” Mike said.

  Spooked wasn’t the word. Crapping his pants would be more like it. Vic dropped the pictures on the pristine desk.

  Mike inspected the photos. “What the hell is this?”

  When he looked up, his eyes had the same fire Vic often saw in the mirror.

  “A messenger just delivered them. One was from Friday night. I carried Lily into the house. Was she at the park over the weekend?”

  Mike nodded. “Saturday. Is this what I think it is?”

  “I’m guessing my friend the sheikh sent them.”

  Mike’s face hardened to cement. He stood, put his hands over his face, then fisted them. Go ahead, pal, hit me, I deserve it. His friend resembled Dr. Bruce Banner just before he mutated into the Incredible Hulk.

  “Fuck,” Mike said.

  “I worked up a few scenarios. I didn’t anticipate this, but I can improvise. I’ll put a couple of guys on them. I’ve got Tiny and Duck ready to go.”

  Mike’s phone buzzed. “Call for Vic,” the secretary said. “Some Sheikh Khalid Sirhan.”

  They gawked at each other. The combat buzz streamed through Vic’s system, his nerves on alert. Every sound in the room became louder, every smell a little stronger. This was what he lived for.

  “Take it,” Mike said.

  “Give us one minute.” Vic said into the phone. “Count a full sixty seconds and put him through.”

  He needed the minute to get his head square.

  Already in action, Mike pulled out a digital recorder, a pad and pen. “Is your head on straight?”

  Straight enough to know he wanted to tear this fucker to pieces. Threatening seven-year-old civilians was beyond evil.

  “You bet,” he said.

  Years of combat training taught him to suck air through his nose and tense his arms until the muscles were about to burst. He let the breath out, released his muscles, and a warm relaxing sensation spread through him, allowing
him to clear his mind for the task ahead. Hoo-ah!

  Mike’s line buzzed and, as usual, the machine within Vic took over. He punched the speaker button. “Vic Andrews.”

  He was not going to show this guy one ounce of respect. The title didn’t mean dick. And the name? Khalid Sirhan. Vic did a quick translation and came up with immortal wolf. They’d see how immortal.

  “You know who this is?” Sirhan said. The lilting Middle Eastern accent usually had a calming effect on Vic, but not from this asshole.

  “Yeah, and I got your package.”

  “She’s a lovely girl,” Sirhan said.

  Oh, crap. Vic’s stomach went frickin’ haywire and Mike had the Bruce Banner thing going on again.

  “And she’s going to stay lovely.” He held out his hand, giving Mike the silent version of Calm your ass down, puss-nuts.

  “We shall see,” the sheikh said. “You have done me a disservice. I expect reparations.”

  “And what?” he said. “You think I’m going to let you roll in here and do harm to this little girl? You must be bat-shit. I’ll kill you first.”

  Mike puckered his lips as he jotted notes. The strategizing face.

  “It seems you have little faith in my power. I found you, didn’t I?”

  Sitting down and propping his feet on the desk, Vic settled in for the chat. “I’d be impressed if I were hard to find.”

  “You Americans. Anyone can be betrayed for money.”

  Mike rolled his eyes and flipped the sheikh the bird.

  “What are we talking about here?” Vic asked. “You want my head on a stick or what?”

  “I could kill you if I wanted.”

  He laughed. “You think?”

  “The point is moot. Men like you do not fear death. It is part of your world. I have other plans for you.”

  Yeah, this asshole was going to torture him by terrorizing the people he cared about. Just freakin’ beautiful. Those pictures of Lily had the sickness rolling in his belly again. This conversation was going nowhere.

  “Listen, Sirhan, it’s been great talking to you, but if this conversation isn’t leading up to a big bang, I’ve got work to do.”

  The line went dead. Sheikh Elvis had left the building.