Hot Zone, page 16
As the woman left, Amelia snagged the fan left behind on the chair and whipped up a breeze for herself. Jocelyn was doing everything right, being completely nice and gracious. Still, Amelia desperately wanted to take Joshua and run somewhere… anywhere else, but her reality was here and now, making the best decisions she could in between earthquakes and snakebites.
The ball bounced off her foot. Joshua giggled, pulling her attention back to him. Where it should be. Where she wanted it to be.
“Hey, there, cutie-pie.” She waved the fan in front of his face until he laughed again, tugging the palm from her hands and whacking the ball.
Such a perfect moment. So simple, but pure. Normal, after far too much insanity.
Other than some scratches on his arms and one leg, there were no signs of the hell he’d been through. His arms waved with excitement and energy. His eyes were bright and alert. There was just… happiness. Happiness in spite of an earthquake and kidnapping. In spite of the fact that he’d been in an orphanage last week and his new parents could be dead.
Which left Joshua… where?
She rolled the ball back. With a soft baby chuckle, he flung himself over and into her arms. She hugged him close automatically. Then tighter. He wasn’t going anywhere except with her.
And God forbid anyone try to get in her way.
***
Jocelyn Pearson-Stewart pulled a knife from the wooden block in her kitchen and whipped the edge across the sharpening stone. Again and again, flipping the blade to get both sides.
She had always trusted her inner circle completely—until she’d been forced to put a bullet through Oliver’s head today. Killing Oliver tore at her soul. He was hired muscle, and disposable for the greater good of making sure her organization wouldn’t be exposed. She’d been warned he might be a loose cannon, but he’d been efficient. She hated those moments when she was forced into positions that made her feel no better than her drug-dealing family.
Forcing a smile for her dinner guests, she turned to the tile-topped island and a pile of the last fresh vegetables. She set to work chopping a salad—lettuce, cabbage, carrots, celery, radishes. Chop. Chop. She monitored each of her “nieces”—not blood relations, since all of hers were about as trustworthy as rats in a cheese shop.
Her nieces—sergeants in her business—carried plates and a serving bowl full of canned spaghetti. Their surprise company sat at the long table, illuminated by the sunset.
Chop. Chop. Everything in her world looked nice, normal, and most importantly, under control.
After Jocelyn had heard the gunshot on the beach, she’d found the trio within minutes, saving her hours of driving around, searching for them, once she’d realized how hugely Oliver had screwed up. She’d taken her time to assess them just beyond the cover of trees and decide if she should kill the two adults outright or if somehow this could be salvaged with no more loss of life. Especially since they appeared to be innocents who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. She preferred not to kill unless absolutely necessary to protect her operation. She was in the business of saving lives, not taking them.
Time. Chop. Chop. She just needed time to see how much they knew and if it could be traced back to her. So she’d called her compound to prepare. They’d been instructed to take the children—eleven of them—to the beach cabana. A skeleton crew was left at the main house, pretending to be her nieces, Courtney and Erin.
Number one rule for them to remember right now? Pretend they had no means of communication with the outside world and limited fuel until she figured out what to do with their unexpected company.
Thanks to her contact at the hospital, she’d learned Amelia was not the boy’s mother, but rather an aunt who’d only known him for a few days. It was unclear whether his parents were alive or not. Now she would use this opportunity to decide how much Hugh and Amelia knew, then proceed from there.
She sped—chop, chop, chop—through the rest of the vegetables, tossed them in a bowl, and circled round the island toward the carved oak table. Placing the bowl in the middle, she eyed the child sitting on his aunt’s lap as she fed him spoonfuls of cut-up spaghetti.
Jocelyn sat at the head of the table. “Sorry about the canned dinner, but our options are limited. We have fuel for the generator, but we’re conserving.”
Swiping Joshua’s mouth with her good hand, Amelia said, “Just sitting at a table feels… unreal. Sardines and crackers would be gourmet.”
Courtney grabbed the tongs and served herself salad. “Not a joke. That’s up soon on the menu.”
Erin gripped her water bottle in a white-knuckled fist. “How bad is it out there, Sergeant? We’ve heard reports on the radio.”
“It’s even worse,” Hugh said simply, wearing a white T-shirt with his camo pants. “The devastation is intense. The death toll has risen into the thousands.”
Jocelyn forked spaghetti up slowly. “I would like to help, but it sounds dangerous. We have to be careful, three women out here alone. Although I’m thankful to have my nieces for company.”
She reached to pat the hands of the two women on either side of her.
Courtney had been married to a well-connected husband who also had a quick temper and quicker right hook. He’d ruptured her spleen and bought his way out of prosecution seven years ago. The auburn-haired soccer mom had opted to leave Atlanta and relocate anonymously with her son to keep him safe. She had been with Jocelyn ever since.
And Erin? The former Oklahoma cheerleader was on the run from her high school sweetheart-turned-stalker. Nearly three years had passed since the underground network had brought her here.
Now they helped her with a deep loyalty since she’d rescued them from certain death. And they had a deep empathy with the other women and children she saved, understanding the way a hellish background could scare some people away from making the right decisions for their future. Courtney and Erin understood that frightened victims of abuse or neglect sometimes needed prompting to do the right things for themselves.
Something Jocelyn hadn’t realized until long after she’d made the break from her oppressive background.
She’d married someone her parents approved of, someone in the family business. She’d turned a blind eye to what her drug-running family—what her drug-running husband—did to pay for her big house, pretty clothes, and nice vacations. All had seemed idyllic.
Until she’d confronted him about selling to junior high kids. That wasn’t right, she’d told him, something she’d realized then from the perspective of a prospective parent. Her husband had beaten the crap out of her. She’d lost her baby girl, and the chance to have any more.
Her brother had killed her husband, but still she’d known she had to get away from the whole business. She’d spent the first thirty-four years of her life trying to make everyone happy, make everyone love her. She’d even married the pasty-faced blue blood everyone expected her to. The nineteen years following his death? She was living her life her way.
She’d left Miami for the vacation home in the Bahamas to take up residence, increase the sugarcane business. And when a friend had sought sanctuary at her house to hide with a child from an abusive husband, Jocelyn had found her way. She used her profits to help other women relocate. And she saved babies, since she hadn’t been able to save her own. She funded international adoptions, ones not tied down by red tape, ones that placed children quickly so they didn’t languish in already-underfunded, understaffed orphanages.
She used her money to help others. She wasn’t like her family, damn it, not anymore.
At the opposite end of the table, Hugh pushed his empty plate aside. “You’re right to be careful, to stay here. While we appreciate that you saved us, that was really risky, picking us up.”
Hugh Franco was a tough one to read. He’d kept quiet and observant. She’d only seen a flicker of emotion on his face once. When he’d walked by a guitar hung on the wall, he’d stroked the strings lightly, almost automatically, as if he didn’t realize what he’d done.
“You’re welcome and you’re correct, Sergeant Franco. My husband would have worried about us out here too.” Jocelyn twisted her gold wedding band on her finger, worn as a reminder of what not to do. “He died in a boating accident nineteen years ago. My life and work here fills my time now. Amelia, will you keep working, now that you have the baby? And what was it that you do?”
“I’m a lawyer.” She spooned another bite into Joshua’s Cupid’s-bow mouth.
Interesting and possibly problematic. Especially considering she already had a solid family lined up for Joshua. She’d heard from Tandi that she’d located the perfect baby for a family that had two adoptions fall through and wanted to go a different route to reduce the emotional trauma of another adoption abruption. With their political connections, she had hopes of easing channels in the future. She’d already used her satellite phone to alert them.
She was torn. Joshua had a caring family now, even if she knew the overly cautious aunt Amelia chose to lie about her connection.
“Your parents must be proud of you. What kind of law do you practice?”
“I’m a county prosecutor.” She answered simply, flexing her bandaged hand carefully.
“Good for you, hon.” Jocelyn toasted her with a water bottle. “Stand up for what’s right. You have to live with yourself at the end of the day. People think I’m all about the money and I have to confess, I appreciate the power this money gives me over my life. But it gives me the power to make choices.”
Soldier man cleared his throat. “And speaking of power, when will you have access to more fuel and communication?”
Jocelyn toyed with her dinner knife, spinning it on the table. “I’ll know more in the morning. All my vehicles are out delivering supplies, but they should return by the morning.” Long enough for her to decide what to do about the two of them. “We can take you to your unit, Sergeant. And Amelia could stay here with the little one. He will be more comfortable here.”
Hugh glanced up from his meal. “Or I can put Amelia right on a plane to the States.”
“Ah, you’re the protective kind. One of those men who takes alpha to a whole new level.” She twirled her fork in the spaghetti. “But you haven’t figured out how tough Amelia is yet, have you?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, but stayed diplomatically quiet.
“Forgive me for being presumptuous. Let’s eat and get some sleep. There’s nothing more we can do until the truck returns in the morning.” She lifted her water bottle. “Another toast, to having life restored to normal. Now let’s clean up before it gets dark.”
Once she got her guests settled for the night, she could slip out to check on her charges. The first three would be smuggled out of the country on a departing C-17 tonight as the children of three of her staff. That still left the eleven orphans in the guest house. At least a dozen more would be coming in later tonight in the trucks delivering “supplies,” children ranging from newborn to eight years old. Their well-being rested on her getting them out of the country as quickly as possible so she could accommodate the others that would need her. She’d never dealt with placing such large numbers at once.
She’d never been needed more than now.
If these two surprise guests presented a risk to her operation, then she would be forced to deal with them, just as she’d been forced to deal with Oliver. Joshua would be safe either way.
But she could not allow anyone to stand in the way of getting these children to safety.
***
“Do you get the feeling we’re staying at the Hotel California?”
Amelia’s softly spoken question smoked through Hugh’s focus as he checked out their quarters. He turned on his heel toward her. She sat on the bed with Joshua, mosquito netting draped on the thick four-poster.
She leaned forward, snapping her fingers. “Hugh? Don’t you agree? Hotel California?”
The Eagles classic echoed around in his brain until his fingers tapped along the top of the rocking chair.
“Uh-huh,” he said as he stared outside at the pitch-black nothingness.
No lights, which didn’t mean no people, just no power, or others conserving their generators. Even if Amelia and Joshua weren’t depleted, trekking back with them in pitch-black wasn’t safe. Alone, he could find his way, but alone wasn’t an option. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—leave them behind here. So they would stay until the morning, resting and recouping, and then head out in the morning.
Could they trust Jocelyn Pearson-Stewart? Hell if he knew.
At least the woman hadn’t questioned their request to share a room so he could stay near Amelia and Joshua. The room wasn’t large, but it had a private bath and a nook with a crib. Jocelyn had given them everything they could need, including clothes and toiletries, all with perfect explanations for why she had extra on hand, nieces and nephews who wore the same size as him—and Amelia and Joshua.
His fingers strummed along a small chest of drawers with their clothes and a guitar resting on top. Interesting that Jocelyn had picked up on a single moment when he’d admired the guitar on the living-room wall.
She was watching them every bit as closely as he was assessing her and the house. That could be natural behavior for a woman who’d been on her own so long in a remote corner of this island. But what if she had a more ominous reason to be that vigilant?
The bedroom wasn’t packed with other furniture, just the rocker and sofa. And of course, that big bed draped with thin mosquito netting.
Amelia cradled the drowsy kid in her arms. “Come on, kiddo, go to sleep, go to sleep so I can wash my hair three times.” She cooed softly to the little guy. “And if you don’t go to sleep I’m going to start singing, and you do not want to hear my voice.”
She swung her feet off the mattress and started walking the floor, patting the baby’s back until his head settled on her shoulder. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“Just checking the lay of the land,” he said.
He wasn’t ready to talk, and right now, finally, there wasn’t a rush. They had time. They had tonight, here, together, while she and the boy rested. And while he pulled together a plan for what to do next.
While he hated to lose the breeze, keeping the doors closed and locked was wisest. With her bandaged hand, Amelia cradled the back of Joshua’s head as she carried him to the nursery nook Jocelyn had set up. She’d said she had a nephew who came over from Miami with his family to visit sometimes.
A plausible explanation.
And yet “Hotel California” kept playing through his brain.
Shit.
He slumped back against a bedpost, watching Amelia with the baby. She was good with the kid, a natural. Careful not to wake the sleeping little one, she lowered him onto the duck-patterned sheets.
Scratching over the tightness gathering in his chest, he watched the too-sweet mother and child image play out. Joshua squirmed for a couple of seconds before settling on his belly, his sleep deep and exhausted. Amelia rubbed soothing circles along his back even though he’d long ago given up fighting bedtime.
She traced a finger down his nose, then over his perfect shell ear. “On the plane trip here to the Bahamas,” she said softly, “I was so envious of my brother and Lisabeth, and now I feel as if I’ve stolen their future somehow.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, yanking him out of his own thoughts. He charged across the floor and pulled her back against his chest. She sniffled and he turned her toward him, gathering her in. Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in his neck. He backed out of the nursery nook, still holding her close. Keeping one arm locked around her, he reached to unhook the ropes holding the curtains back and let them slide together, sealing off Joshua’s room for the night.
Looking up, she blinked fast, a tear sliding free. “Aren’t you going to offer me platitudes about how my brother and his wife are still alive?”
“You wouldn’t believe me and it wouldn’t help.” He squeezed her shoulders.
“That flight seems forever ago, a world away, like it happened to a whole different person. We’ve gone through so much together in such a short time.” Her fingers moved restlessly over the nape of his neck. “This is all crazy. Sometimes I wonder if all this is even real.”
He looked into her eyes and medic training kicked in, telling him Amelia was about to have a meltdown. He skimmed his hands up and down her back, searching for ways to soothe her, calm her, do anything he could to take the tears from her eyes. “It’s all real and way too much for one person to deal with.”
“No kidding.”
“You need to decompress, unwind.”
She choked on a laugh. “Are you propositioning me?”
“No… God, no.” He stroked back her tangled hair, his mind finally settling on a way he could help her, something productive he could do during this downtime until morning. “Not that I wouldn’t welcome the chance to be with you again, but it’s clear you need something else from me right now.”
“What would that be?”
His fingers forked through her silken blonde—dirty—locks. “I’m going to wash your hair.”
Chapter 13
Anticipation curling through her, Amelia looked from Hugh to the opaque curtain over the nursery nook, then back again. As he stood by the open bathroom door, his steady gaze met hers and she couldn’t miss his intent. She also couldn’t ignore the need inside her, the desire to be with him again.
Hugh raised an eyebrow along with a bottle of shampoo. “There’s homemade shampoo, and soap with bay geranium and another with orange sage, all locally grown, I’m guessing. Your choice. What do you say?”
“You’re offering to wash my hair?” She closed the last few steps between them and flattened her palms to his chest. Her fingers played along the soft cotton of his shirt.
