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It had been eight years.
But she hadn’t forgotten. She didn’t think she ever would.
CHAPTER FOUR
Her parents’ home was chaos when Poppy arrived. Four nephews tore through the house like mini-hurricanes as her sisters, the oldest of the six Porter siblings, and their husbands sat at the large kitchen table and chatted with their parents and two brothers, John David and Evan. The oldest of the three boys, just a year younger than the twin sisters, hadn’t returned yet from a trip he’d taken with his infant daughter to see her maternal grandparents in Virginia.
Mackenzie Cole Porter, or Mac-Cole as he was often called, had been her lifeline in the year after Jack left town following Wayne Trencher’s death. There were days Poppy knew that if he hadn’t been there, she would have become lost in the fear and shattering knowledge of what had happened, what could have happened.
John David rose from the table as she entered, his blue-gray gaze intent, his handsome face pulled into almost wary determination as he faced her.
Dressed in gray slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt, he looked every inch the district attorney he was. He was elected into the position at a young age the year before. At thirty-two, he was known for his tenacity and the fact that he ran his office honestly, and without prejudice.
“Can we talk a minute?” he asked as the rest of the family watched them both, almost warily.
“Thought you were out of town,” she grumped, heading for the hall outside the kitchen. “Make this little discussion fast. I’m not in the mood for a long, drawn-out argument.”
She was aware of him moving behind her, and as she entered her bedroom, she turned to him as she placed her bags on the bed.
“You see Bridger yet?” he asked, standing in front of her with his “prosecutor’s face,” as she called it. All serious and intent, his gaze eagle-sharp.
“He walked over this morning for coffee,” she told him, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and frowning back at him. “Why?”
A grimace pulled at his lips as he raked his hands through his thick, short hair.
“I have friends in the military, Poppy,” he told her heavily. “I got a call from one last week, informing me to watch for Jack’s return. He was discharged from the SEALs on a bad-conduct charge, but word is, he killed three men, private military agents for the US overseas, when he learned they were interrogating a small terrorist cell. One they suspect he was working with.
“Two days before he arrived a known suspected criminal figure, Ian Richards, moved into a house with his wife for an indefinite time. Two informants in town reported that Richards is waiting for him to hit town so they can connect. Richards ran the Fuentes drug cartel for a year in Colombia before Diego Fuentes disappeared, and he’s rumored to head it now. Drugs, Poppy,” John David emphasized quietly, knowing how she hated the impact illegal drugs had had on classmates from both high school and college.
“Jack wouldn’t do drugs,” she said, shaking her head in denial, certain that somehow, someone had to have their information wrong. “Not after what his father did while high on them. He hates drugs.”
“Nine years ago he did,” John David agreed, his expression determined, though his gaze softened as he watched her. “I know you always liked Jack. You felt sorry for him as a kid, you crushed on him when he became older. But for eight years I know he’s avoided you. It’s been apparent.”
Poppy felt the humiliating flush that raced over her face at his charge. How many other people had noticed how he took pains to be certain he wasn’t in her presence?
“That doesn’t make him a junkie,” she retorted.
Rubbing her hands over her arms, she turned toward the bed, then reached for the neatly pressed black skirt and tailored blouse she’d brought for work the next day.
“I didn’t say he was a junkie. But others, men I trust, say he’s a murderer. He was behind bars awaiting a court-martial when the evidence against him suddenly disappeared and his JAG attorney filed a wrongful arrest. The information just disappeared, Poppy,” he stressed. “Now, he’s back in town and a man that could have easily facilitated that disappearance because of his former SEAL status is waiting for him. That’s no coincidence.”
Unfortunately, Poppy agreed with her brother’s assessment—coincidence could only stretch so far. But she’d often heard both Evan and Mac-Cole talk about how far the truth was stretched in military gossip as well.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said, shrugging after she’d hung the clothes in her closet. “As you said, he avoids me. Even to the point that others have noticed over the years. I had the feeling he just stopped by this morning to reinforce the point that he wasn’t interested. I don’t think you need to worry about him deciding I’m suddenly his heart’s desire.”
“The man isn’t capable of having a heart’s desire. According to his medical files, there’s a suspicion he’s a high-functioning sociopath. Men like that aren’t capable of emotion, Poppy. You know that.”
Her lips thinned. Jack did not have antisocial personality disorder, no matter what anyone wanted to believe. Not before and not now.
He felt things; he just refused to show it. He’d always been like that. He regretted, he felt remorse, and he’d always been fond of her.
At least, he used to be.
Moving to her laptop case, she retrieved it from the bed and placed it on the table next to the headboard.
This morning, his eyes had softened as he watched her, and for a moment, just a moment, she’d seen a flash of heat in his eyes when he’d told her he remembered the kiss they’d shared when she was eighteen.
John David’s voice softened. “I know you’ve always felt something for him. Half the time I think you’ve just been waiting for him to come home and realize you’re here. He hasn’t realized it yet, and he’s not going to start now.”
