AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Luke,” he finally murmured, seeming to sense she needed another yank from the mental fog. “He’s safe. Sleeping in the guest room, down the hall. Sam’s with him.”
Tracy nodded. “Of course. That’s right. Sorry.”
As she stammered, the memories of their whirlwind arrival returned. Yep. Whirlwind. No exaggeration. Sam Mackenna, surely put into place by the hand of the Divine, handled their Vegas exit plan with one phone call and a lot of aviator ju-ju—resulting in their arrival at the “Whirly World Vegas” tarmac, disguised under purchases from the seedy tourist trap around the corner. With bling-covered caps, sunglasses, and neckerchiefs in place, they’d scrambled into a couple of helicopters to take them on a “sightseeing flight” to see the Grand Canyon at sunset.
Instead, less than an hour after she, Gem, Ronnie, Luke, and their security details had “died” in the blast at Bellagio, they were all flown northwest, Shep at the stick of one helo, Sam at the other. They hadn’t stopped until the lights of the Seattle skyline twinkled below. After swooping past the distinctive spire of the Space Needle, they’d touched down atop one of the city’s tallest skyscrapers.
“Why are you sorry?” Franzen’s query sliced into her reminiscence. But the tone wasn’t angry. It seemed more like…chastisement. The protective masculine kind. Or maybe that was her senses reacting…from a place of everything inside that was purely woman and feminine…hell, perhaps even a real princess. One who could think of wearing satin and silk instead of body plates and chain mail all the time.
On that ridiculous note—back to the situation at hand.
“To start with,” she retorted, jerking up her chin, “how about the fact that I forgot where my own son was?”
“For two seconds,” he countered. “Gasp. Someone revoke the woman’s mom card.”
There went another chunk of her body armor. Through the chink, she let a little laugh spurt. “Sorry. Think I left the mom card in my other purse.”
He notched his head to the side, nicking his tongue to the back of his teeth for a sexy little tsk. “Damn. I hate it when I leave shit in my other purses.”
Another laugh. She couldn’t help it. “Do that a lot, hmm?”
“It’s a problem.” He pushed to his feet, though once more his movements were so fluid, she looked for the hidden cables helping him out. The man had to be using one of those cable systems they used for sci-fi movie stunts. “Between them all, I must have a dozen fro-yo punch cards with only one hole.”
“You get out for fro-yo a lot?”
“More than I used to.” The words were there but the humor wasn’t. Wasn’t hard to connect that observation with the new shadows across the man’s face—but deciphering them wasn’t an option as soon as he reset his composure and began approaching her.
With every step he neared, her awe grew. It wasn’t just his physical majesty. It was his sheer fortitude. At the push of some internal button, the man was able to toss his personal shit into a mental basement then lock it down tight. She stood there, watching as it happened, impressed but daunted. The trick was an invaluable asset in a soldier and protector—but did he ever get a chance to pull the stuff back out of the dark? Did he have anyone to help him dust it off, look at it, process it, be okay with it? What happened when the dragon wanted to climb off his spire and be just a lazing lizard for a while?
And why the hell did she care so much about the answer?
Time to clear some room in your own basement, Tracy.
Didn’t mean she had to feel great about it.
“So.” Her shoulders straightened as she got the word out. “Sam’s with Luke.”
He’d gotten up the two small steps to her level. There, he stopped before settling into a parade rest stance. The move was probably habit—though she couldn’t say the same thing about her own body’s reaction. There were men made to look great in military mode…then there was this man, who transformed into a damn demigod. Every bulging inch of his body, from the mounds of his shoulders and arms down to the formidable swells of his calves, was beautifully displayed even through his clothes. Dear, sweet God…
Into the thick stillness of her gawk, he finally answered, “Yes. Mackenna’s been texting me updates every thirty minutes or so. Since your boy’s head hit the pillow, he’s barely moved. That’s…not good news?”
Tracy’s head jerked up. “It’s great news. Luke’s slept like the dead his whole life, except for the three or four months after Ryker passed.”
“Your husband?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “It happened just after Ryker came home for Luke’s eleventh birthday. I tried to shield Luke from a lot of it—the violent parts, at least—but as you’ve probably figured, the kid’s wired like his dad. Smart and sneaky. He waited until I went to bed then waltzed into our home office and read them all himself. Didn’t know a lot of the bigger words, but pieced enough together that he realized his father, an independent contractor who’d gone overseas to help rebuild a war-torn country, was in a group mistaken as the bad guys—and got killed because of it.”
Though his posture didn’t falter, Franzen’s face darkened. His lips twisted, as if debating choice profanities. She wouldn’t have minded—hell, Ry and his team had spent so much time with the military, they could trash-talk in six different languages—but it was solacing to have a man hold back for her. For her, not his vice president. At least she hoped so. Maybe he still did see nothing but her rank, even as she stood here in just a very small tank and very teeny shorts. She couldn’t tell, even as he tactfully steered them back to the subject at hand. Thank God.
“Well, it’s good to know the shit from yesterday didn’t seem to disrupt the kid that much,” he stated. “But I’ll alert Sam about the nightmares, just in case.”
“Thanks.”
Her distracted tone wasn’t lost on Franzen. The bold slashes of his brows dropped over his eyes. “But there’s something else.”
She didn’t even try to deny it. “Sam’s been updating you every thirty minutes?”
The slashes didn’t budge. “Affirmative.”
