chenille blanket off the back. After making sure she was coherent and her dog wasn’t going to eat him alive, he sat down beside her. And looked into her eyes again. They were brown instead of the vivid green he remembered, but the colored contacts matched the rich brown of her long, straight hair. Contacts might change the color of her eyes but he didn’t care. That look of fear mixed with disbelief and a bit of wonder broke Jackson’s heart and made him even more determined to protect her.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Want some water?”
She shook her head, focusing on him. “What are you doing here?”
The whispered question hung in the air between them. He tried to formulate an answer. But before he could, she sat straight up, asking the same question again, this time with more strength and a defiant demand, realization clearing her eyes. “Why are you here, Jackson?”
Jackson took her hand then inhaled a deep breath. He’d always been straight with her before. He had to tell her the truth now. “Salvatore Martino has died and his son Vincent is here in Montana. And he’s looking for you. He’s put out a hit on you as a final tribute to the old don.”
She pulled away, her mind filling with a dark dread. Wrapping her arms across her midsection, she started rocking back and forth, a low moan escaping between her tightly clenched lips. “No, no, that can’t be. Tell me this isn’t happening! Not now, not now.” She waved a hand in the air, pointing toward the kitchen. “The roses. I got roses yesterday, Jackson. White roses. In the trash.”
Jackson glanced toward the kitchen then fell on one knee in front of her, his hands stilling her movements as he held her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. “It’s the truth and that’s why I’m here. I’m going to protect you, Eloise. We’ll find him before he finds you, I promise.” Needing her to listen, he asked, “Who sent you roses? What are you talking about?”
She looked up at him, her eyes widening, her body going still. Jackson was afraid she was going into shock. “Eloise?”
And then she did something that scared him even more than the fear and shock in her eyes.
She burst out laughing.
TWO
Eloise pushed away the glass Jackson offered her, slapping at his hand. Water sloshed out and fell in a bright pool onto the wooden floor. Duff, now calm, immediately lapped at the water. Jackson set the glass on the table, wiped his hand on his jeans then stared down at her. “Eloise?”
Eloise realized her laughter had turned to tears and that Jackson was staring at her, the frown on his face an indicator of how much she’d confused and frightened him. She’d managed to frighten the fearless Jackson McGraw. That was a first. Or at least she remembered him as fearless, even at age twenty-three and even though he’d been a rookie back then. But he still looked that way—fearless, intense, completely serious and devoted to his job. Only now, he also looked self-confident and sure and a bit weary. His eyes were still that crystal-blue that reminded her of a deep, still lake, but his hair, once a golden brown, now held hints of glinting gray. It suited him.
Her fearless protector. And the man she’d trusted with her most precious possession—her child.
“I’m all right,” she said, wiping at her eyes. She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. She’d never had that luxury. “You just…surprised me.” She waved a hand at him. “I saw the irony of my situation and it…seemed so funny. But we both know it’s not so funny, is it?”
“Not that I can see, no,” he replied, his eyes scanning her, obviously looking for signs of delusional behavior. “You were late for work. I was worried.”
“How’d you know— You’ve been spying on me?”
He nodded. “I’ll explain.” Then he turned to stare straight into her eyes, his look telling her more than the official report ever could. He was here for a reason; that was how Jackson operated. No need to read more into that intimate look. No need to hope for anything more.
“I’m sure you will.”
From habit, she moved a hand down the right side of her face. Had he noticed the scar she’d tried to cover each and every day since the last time he’d seen her? She didn’t care about how it looked—but the why bothered her—the jagged, circular imprint left from the near-death of Eloise and her baby always reminded her of a rose just about to bud.
And roses only reminded her of Salvatore Martino.
“I knew they were coming,” she said. “Someone sent me roses yesterday. They were delivered at the café.”
“And you think they’re from the Martino family?”
She nodded. “Remember how he loved roses?”
Jackson grunted. “He liked to send them to his enemies, just as a polite way of reminding them who was in charge.”
“Yes, and he also sent them to funerals, Jackson. There was a big spray at Danny’s funeral. I saw them when you took me there before the mourners came in. But I never said anything about them.”
He sat back on his heels. “And the roses you got yesterday look like those?”
“Yes. Kind of ironic, don’t you think—that my scar looks like a budding rose. Salvatore never knew it, but he left his mark on me.” She turned her head, showing the scar to Jackson. “White with traces of pink. It didn’t heal very well.”
Chilling, considering Salvatore had no qualms about murdering people and letting them bleed, their blood as bright as any red roses she’d ever seen.
Jackson’s gaze followed her hand as she rubbed it over the scar.
“You’re still beautiful,” he said, the words so soft she almost missed them. But she couldn’t miss the way his gaze settled on her with a protective warmth. “Listen, I’ll check on the roses—find out where they came from, okay? Are you sure you’re all right?”
She bobbed her head. “Just peachy. And how about you?” She remembered reading his identification and his badge. “Special Agent in Charge now, huh? You’ve come a long way.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve still got a long way to go. And a lot to talk about with you.”
She didn’t tell him that she’d often thought of him knocking at her door, that she’d dreamed of a moment such as this where they’d be free and clear and together again. She didn’t dare tell him any of that. But in her dreams, she hadn’t imagined a madman tracking her down at the same time she’d just witnessed another man killing his wife. What were the odds? Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat again but Eloise forced it back down. It became like bile sitting cold in her stomach.
Willing herself to stay still, she looked back up at him. “What do I do now?”
He looked at his watch. “You should have been at work an hour ago.” Before she could respond, he pushed at a tiny wireless earpiece in his left ear, then clicked at his wrist. “GQ, Roark, you read?”
Apparently GQ and Roark did read. Jackson lifted an eyebrow then spoke into thin air. “Subject has been apprised of situation. Stay put. Watch my back. Thea, go back to the command post.
