Laurie Paige - A Family Homecoming

A tiny unexpected light flared in his heart. He extinguished it with an impatience new to him. She didn’t want him here now. She wouldn’t want him to stay.

“How long are you staying?” she asked, shaking him out of his introspection.

“However long it takes,” he said.

Her frown indicated this wasn’t an acceptable answer.

“I’m on R and R for two months.” He figured he’d have the bad guys locked up by then. If not, he would stay longer. That was one thing she didn’t have a choice about.

“Rest and recuperation,” she interpreted. “Did you finish the case you were on?”

He nodded. Two years ago, he’d been assigned to a jury-tampering case that had quickly expanded into gangland violence involving extortion, gambling, racketeering, drugs, you name it. Upon seeing one of the gang’s own family—the man’s wife and kids—soon after they’d been blown to bits because of a disagreement with the gang boss, he had notified Luke, his contact at the regional FBI office, to get Danielle and Sara out of town, just in case the crime lord should find out who he was and decide to do the same to his family. The deeper he’d gotten into their evil world, the more dangerous he had realized it would be for his family if he was exposed.

Her mouth tightened. “I can see you’re not going to regale me with details.”

Too late he realized he should have explained what had happened. But blabbing on about his cases wasn’t part of his credo. It increased the chances of spilling too much to the wrong person at some unguarded moment. He had made it a habit not to discuss details at all. Life was simpler and safer…that way.

“The case is finished. Right now, I’m worried about you and Sara.”

At the sound of her name, his daughter looked at him. Her eyes, so like his own, held fear and wariness. That distrustful gaze stabbed at something deep and primitive inside him.

A memory came to him. Sara, eyes sparkling, dashing into his arms as soon as he came home from a week-long chase after an escaped felon. The sweet baby scent of her—talc and lotion and grape lollipop.

A fist closed around his heart and squeezed hard. He had missed a lot of his little girl’s life.

Danielle gave a little snort of ironic laughter. He looked a question her way.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing we were here in Whitehorn where bad things never happen. When Luke said we had to go, I chose this area because my family once vacationed here. I thought it was safe.”

He hadn’t heard cynicism from her before. It bothered him that she had changed from his memories of her. She had been a friendly, unassuming woman when he’d met her. There had been a quietness about her. He had fallen into the enticing peace of her inner goodness and never wanted to come out.

Dani. Her name echoed through him, his talisman against the darker forces in his life.

He wanted to be buried inside her, exploring her passion, loving her gentle yet feisty ways, her flashes of humor. He needed her, the woman who had looked at him as if her world were contained in his arms.

The sense of loss hit depths that he had carefully avoided stirring for two years.

Danielle, unable to stand the long, empty silence during the meal, rose as soon as she finished. She excused Sara, who returned to a video she’d been watching in the family room, and took her dishes to the sink.

“Do you want more?” she asked, compelled to be polite to the blue-eyed stranger who had watched her with an unrelenting gaze the entire meal, his thoughts totally concealed behind the handsome planes of his face.

“Uh, no. Thanks.” He brought his bowl and glass over.

She was at once aware of his warmth when he stopped beside her. He was over six feet tall and she felt his latent power as a threat to her peace of mind.

Why should she feel threatened by her own husband? Because he was a stranger. Because she didn’t know what he thought about her request for a divorce. Because life was now filled with uncertainties on all fronts, and she didn’t know how to deal with one, much less all of them at once.

Impatient with the jittery state of her nerves, she washed the few dishes, put them in the drainer and turned back to the room, moving a step away from Kyle.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a cold dampness seep into her thick wool socks.

“The snow,” he said, following her gaze to the wet tracks left by his hiking boots. There was a puddle of melting snow under the table, too. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll get the mop—”

“It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.”

Without direction from her, he went to the mudroom and retrieved the mop stored there. He removed his boots and left them in the small room, then mopped up the puddles on the kitchen floor. He checked the family room and living room, cleaning up melted snow in there before returning the mop to its place.

“There,” he said upon finishing. He glanced at her as if to see if she was pleased with his efforts.

It tore right down into her heart. Kyle’s mother had died when he was young. His father was a stern, demanding man who had rarely praised him. She had found her husband endearing because he liked for her to notice when he did something especially nice for her.

She put a hand to her head, dizzy with sudden longing and wishing she could turn back the clock to the days when she had trusted him with her heart, when he had said he loved her…and then had shown her.

His gaze locked with hers. Questions thickened the air between them. And something more elemental.

She sensed the hidden hunger in him, could feel it ripple over her skin like a warm touch or a sigh. He was a man of driving passions, she had learned during their six years of marriage. Four years, she corrected. The last two didn’t count.

Their courtship had been of the whirlwind variety. She, a quiet efficient librarian, had married a man she’d known only three weeks. Foolish people did foolish things.

Grimacing at the memory, she hurriedly gathered the rest of the dishes. Sara’s stew was only half eaten. Neither she nor her child ate very much these days. Kyle had polished off every bit of the large serving she’d given him. For a second, she resented his ability to ignore problems when it came to satisfying his appetite.

She was probably being unfair. After all, he’d had no part in their recent terror. Frowning, she carried the remaining dishes to the sink. “So what did Luke tell you about us, about the kidnapping?”

She didn’t lower her voice. Dr. Carey had thought it best to speak calmly about the event in front of Sara in hopes it would get her to open up about her ordeal. Other than being cold and frightened, the child hadn’t been physically harmed, thank God.

“Not a lot. I want to hear about it from you. Every detail you remember. Also Sara.”

“She doesn’t speak. She hasn’t since the kidnapping. Not once.” It was another complication, one among many.

His head snapped around. He glanced toward the family room where their child silently watched a video, then back at her. Danielle recognized the bleak pain that appeared in his eyes. It was a feeling she had learned to live with.

“Tell me about the men who took her,” he said.

She was startled at his tone, harsh and businesslike. “Did the FBI assign you to the case?”

Another flicker of emotion dashed through his eyes. “You might say that.”

Which was no answer at all. “Then you’ll be staying until it’s resolved?”

“Do you think I would leave you and Sara to face this alone?” he asked on a soft note.

A chill went up her arms. She’d heard him use that tone when he’d discussed a case with Luke by phone once. In it, she heard determination and grit and an absolute refusal to be distracted from ferreting out the truth.