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“Of course I do. I love my son, but he rejects it,” he said, his voice cracking. “He’s discarded everything and everyone who cares about him. He’s chosen a destructive path and is determined to stay on it. If only to spite me,” he added in an undertone.
She disagreed. Trapper wasn’t motivated by spite, or jealousy, or the pettiness The Major attributed to him. But she wasn’t going to get in the middle of the conflict between them, which was already complicated enough.
She said, “Trapper believes he’s right.”
“If he is, that makes him a target. Don’t you see? Like I was Sunday night. Like you were and still are. Take my warning to heart, Kerra. John is reckless and won’t listen to anybody, and as long as you’re with him—” He broke off. “The nurse is back and reclaiming her phone. I have to go.” He heaved a rattling breath. “For god’s sake, be careful.”
“I will. Now please rest.”
They exchanged subdued goodbyes. For minutes after they disconnected, Kerra remained seated on the bed, her posture slumped with despondency over everything The Major had told her.
She didn’t realize the shower had stopped running until Trapper opened the bathroom door and came out, a cloud of steam escaping with him. “I hope I didn’t use all the hot water.”
He was wearing only a towel around his hips, his hair still soaked and dripping onto his shoulders. His torso was lean, skin tightly molded to muscle and rib cage. The wedge of damp, softly curled hair over his pecs tapered to form a sleek, yummy trail. The landscape beneath the towel was so well defined it was decadent.
He would have looked delicious if not for the hostile glint in his eyes as he walked over to the bed and held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”
She laid it in his palm. He took the back off and removed the battery. In a dull voice she said, “I thought the number was untraceable.”
“Not worth chancing. You and The Major have a nice chat?”
“Not really.”
It wasn’t the reply he’d expected. He stopped fiddling with the phone and focused the cold blue eyes on her.
“He said that I should take warning.”
“Against?”
“You.”
“Figures.”
“He called you reckless, and said that you can be harsh, cruel, and that you’ve chosen a destructive path.”
He assimilated all that, then smirked. “You know where the door is.”
He moved away and took a pair of Levis from one of the shopping bags Carson had brought. Turning his back to her, he dropped the towel and pulled on the jeans sans boxers or briefs.
Kerra stood up. “Who’s Marianne?”
He froze for a five-count, then hiked the jeans over his butt and did them up before coming back around. “I hate new jeans,” he muttered and began rummaging in the shopping bag.
“Trapper?”
“Hmm?” He snapped the price tag off a long-sleeved black t-shirt and pulled it on over his head, seeming to have forgotten that his hair was wet. After pushing his arms through the sleeves and working the shirt over his chest, he bent down and scooped the towel off the floor, then vigorously rubbed it over his head.
“Are you going to answer me?”
“Obviously, if the old man is that talkative, he’s recovering. I should stop wasting good worry on him.”
“Answer me!”
He dropped the wet towel back onto the floor, then placed his hands on his hips and glared at her from the opposite side of the bed.
She didn’t cower.
He raised his hands at his sides in a no big deal gesture. “Marianne Collins. She was another ATF agent.”
