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While he spoke, Rosie kept her gaze fixed on Jorge across the room. It never wavered now. “All these years,” she said softly, “I just stuck my head in the sand. I didn’t even do anything about it. I just told myself that since he didn’t want anything to do with Jorge as a baby, he never would. I should have gotten a lawyer and had all the legal stuff in place to make sure he didn’t try to claim parental rights in the future.”
Gideon reached for her hands and held them tightly. “Stop beating yourself up. You couldn’t have had any idea he’d try something, after the way he kicked you to the curb.” But there was something else he needed her to know. Something that could outright terrify her. “If you don’t know what your foe wants, you can’t fight him on level ground. That’s the first step in every battle plan. Which means someone is going to have to make contact with him. And soon.”
But Rosie didn’t look scared. Of course she didn’t. She was a fighter, brave as hell. Especially when it came to her son. She looked defiant, her mouth set, her eyes narrowed.
“You’re right. I need to know exactly why he’s reaching out to me, not just guess at his reasons because of that TV interview with his wife. He needs to declare himself. Then I’ll know what the next move is.” Her voice was strong and utterly determined as she added, “Which means I have to meet him.” She looked straight at Gideon, her dark eyes blazing. “Right away.”
It was exactly what he’d expected her to say. Exactly what he’d worried she’d say when he didn’t want her in the same country as the guy, let alone the same city. “I’m coming with you.”
Thankfully, she didn’t argue. “You’ll scare the poop out of him—even with a glance.”
“That’s the plan,” he said. And then, “We go together, we find out what he wants. Then we neutralize him.”
She took her phone from him and made the call.
Chapter Eighteen
Paige sent Jorge and Noah back into the family room located off the kitchen to watch cartoons—the housekeeper, Mrs. Mortimer, would take care of them if they needed anything—while Rosie and Gideon explained what had happened.
Worry lines creasing her forehead, Paige looked stricken by the news. “I’m so sorry you’ve got this huge, horrible thing hanging over you, Rosie. What can we do to help?”
“Whatever you need,” Evan offered.
Rosie’s stomach was tumbling so fast, it made her feel dizzy. But she had to be strong. For Jorge. “I would really appreciate it if you could keep the boys for a couple of hours. I’ve just set up a meeting with my ex.”
Rosie wished she hadn’t hung up on Archie the first time. It had been harder to call him back, almost as though she was begging for a meeting. But she’d done it because they needed to know what he really wanted. No more guessing.
“Of course. We can keep them for as long as you need.” Paige’s smile was kind and warm.
“It’s our pleasure,” Evan agreed.
“Thank you,” she said to them both. She wished she had the words to explain how much their help and support meant, though she had a feeling they already knew.
Rosie and Gideon went into the family room, and she knelt in front of Jorge. “Gideon and I have to go out alone for a little while, okay? So be good for Paige and Evan and Mrs. Mortimer.”
“Okay, Mom.”
Rosie stroked her son’s face. The heartache she’d felt when Archie walked away all those years ago meant nothing once she’d had Jorge, with his soulful brown eyes, his dark curly hair, and his gorgeous smile.
“You are such an amazing kid,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.” As if he was an old soul who knew exactly what she needed, he threw his arms around her and let her hug him fiercely.
Over Jorge’s shoulder, she saw Noah hug Gideon’s leg. Gideon dropped his hand to the boy’s head, stroking his silky hair. The unconscious gesture was so loving, so caring. So Gideon.
As Gideon led her out of the house and down the front path to his SUV, leaving her son behind where he would be safe, he wrapped her fingers in his big warm hand, held on to her, and promised her solemnly, “I won’t let anything happen to him.”
“I know,” she said.
Gideon would keep that promise, no matter what.
* * *
Archibald Findley had chosen a posh restaurant in Saratoga, where parking was done by a valet. But Gideon didn’t like having his keys out of his hand, especially when facing down a foe, so he parked the car himself in a lot across the street.
They were shown to the table by a tuxedoed maître d’. Rosie’s ex was already seated, drinking something dark in a short tumbler. The tables were covered with white cloths and burgundy napkins and flickering candles, while the overhead lighting was low. The glassware glittered like crystal.
Gideon figured it was a fifty-dollar-a-plate joint. What a pompous douchebag.
