bikini shot had been kind of blurry.
He’d have been wrong.
Even glaring at him, as if she thought he’d get greasy cooties all over her sweet little boy, she was gorgeous.
From the tip of her tousled blond hair to the toes of her strappy high-heeled sandals, she screamed California girl. She was too far away to see many details, but he knew from the file Lansky had compiled that she had strong features. A wide mouth with its generous bottom lip and dark brows that arched over big blue eyes.
Diego wasn’t sure why he felt as if he’d just taken a kick to the solar plexus. He’d never gone for the good-girl look, and there was nothing particularly sexy about what she was wearing. The turquoise pleated skirt flared in a way that made her waist look miniscule and her cream-colored top looked like a silky T-shirt, but both were a little too generous with the fabric for his tastes.
Which didn’t matter, he reminded himself as the woman walked from the front door to her courtyard’s arch. Sexy or dog ugly, she was a means to an end. And that end had nothing to do with getting her naked, more’s the pity.
“Hey there,” he called in what he figured was a friendly manner.
From the way she frowned and hugged one of the delivery boxes to her chest, she didn’t seem to agree.
“Hello,” she responded after a moment. “Nathan, you need to come inside.”
“But, Mom—”
“Now, please.”
With that uncompromising edict and one final stare at Diego, she was gone. Leaving an open front door and a whole lot of curiosity bouncing through Diego’s head. Only some of it having to do with his mission.
“Guess your mom’s not much on being neighborly,” he murmured.
“She’s not mad. She’s just, you know, suspicious about me talking to strangers. I had to call when I left Jeremy’s house, and she times it, you know? She’s probably watching now through the window.” The boy rolled his eyes. “It’s the paranoia. That’s what Jeremy’s dad says. Moms are paranoid about stuff happening to their kids. He says you gotta indulge the paranoia sometimes.”
Wrinkling his nose, the kid grabbed the bike by the handlebars. “What’s that mean? Do you know?”
It meant that Jeremy’s dad better watch out or one of those moms was gonna kick his patronizing ass.
“What do you think it means?” Diego asked instead of sharing that opinion.
“I dunno. I asked my mom, and all she said was that even Neanderthals had their uses. What’s that mean?” Never taking his eyes off Diego, he straddled his bike. “Isn’t a Neanderthal a guy who rides dinosaurs?”
Diego grinned at the image of a caveman saddling a T. rex for a ride through lava flow.
“I suppose your mom meant that some people’s attitudes are stuck in the dark ages. That their brains haven’t grown much since the caveman days.” After half a second, Diego added, “Maybe you shouldn’t say that to this guy, though. People who think that way tend to dislike being called on it.”
“Okay.” The boy shrugged. “I’ll see you again, right? Cuz we’re neighbors now.”
“Yeah. We’ll see each other again.”
The boy flashed a bright smile and waved one grubby hand before riding away.
Diego watched the boy drop the bike against the side of the house in clattering disregard before running toward the front door, pausing to toss another friendly wave over his shoulder.
The kid had talked more in that ten minutes than Diego had in the last ten days. And that, Diego realized, was a certified entry into Ramsey’s world.
As he strode toward his fancy new barracks, he assessed the neighborhood’s security and debated various means of getting to see that kid again. Another twenty minutes, half hour tops, and he’d get all the intel he needed to clear Ramsey or nail his ass to the wall. And maybe, just maybe, get a little more info on the sexy blonde and who had apparently a very creative sex life.
It wasn’t until he stepped through the front door that he realized he was grinning.
* * *
HARPER COULDN’T RELAX.
Not even after Nathan was inside, safe and sound.
Feeling like she’d been punched in the gut, she could only stand in her kitchen and stare at the box from Petty Officer Dane Adams. Apparently the man thought she, or rather, Nathan, would want some of Brandon’s effects.
Why?
They’d done just fine without a single thing from him—other than DNA. Why would that change because he was dead? She’d figured it didn’t matter. Even after she’d received notice of Brandon’s death, she’d decided she’d set it aside to tell Nathan later, when he was older and might better understand.
She glared at the box, hating it and everything it represented. She wanted to ignore it. Her gut told her to ignore everything, to continue to pretend that it didn’t exist. That he didn’t exist. But she couldn’t. Not anymore.
Once, when he’d been four, her sweet little boy had asked why he didn’t have a dad like some of the other kids in his preschool class. All she’d been able to come up with was that the man had made a choice and gone away. That must have been enough for Nathan, because he’d never asked again, and she’d been happy to leave it that way.
Harper pressed her hand against the churning misery in her belly. She’d told herself she was waiting for the right time to tell him. Really, she’d been ignoring it, and quite nicely, too. And it had been working just fine.
A part of her wanted to continue ignoring it, to throw the box in the trash and be done with the entire issue. Taking a deep breath she tore open the plastic packing slip envelope. Inside was a simple note.
Ms. Maclean,
Brandon Ramsey was a hero. A man to be proud of. His death is a blow to his friends, to his team and to the country. It’s important that we honor our heroes. Please pass on these things to his son, so he can honor his father.
Dane Adams
So not only had Brandon known about Nathan, and where to find them, but his friend did, too. Which meant she couldn’t ignore this. Not until she was sure that the Ramseys with their high-powered attorneys weren’t going to show up next. She forced herself to cut through the packing tape. She unfolded the flaps and, cringing only a little, lifted aside the neatly folded tissue paper.
On top was a large envelope with her name on it, and beneath that what looked like a small leather-bound book or photo album. She didn’t open it. Couldn’t. Not yet. She set it aside to look at the rest. A rosewood box of ribbons and medals. At least a dozen bound certifications for things like marksmanship and diving. Even a cap, the white fabric and black plastic formal and stiff.
She didn’t know this world. She didn’t know the man who’d belonged in it. Why was she bringing it into her son’s life?
