that his mother used to tell him. The story had lulled the boy to sleep in his arms.
Of course the kid had been totally exhausted, too. But even as tired as he’d been, CJ had kept fighting to keep his eyes open and watchful of Brendan. If a three-year-old couldn’t trust him, he probably had no hope of getting a woman, who’d actually witnessed him losing his temper, to trust him.
He eased CJ from his arms onto the couch and then stood up to face the boy’s mother. His son’s mother. She’d been carrying his baby when she’d disappeared. If only she could have trusted him then …
Obviously still distrustful, Josie narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “What did you tell Charlotte?”
He expelled a quick breath of relief. He hadn’t known if he could trust the former U.S. marshal to keep his secrets. Out of professional courtesy she should have. But then, obviously, there wasn’t always any communication or respect between the different agencies. And she was no longer with the marshals.
Unable to suppress a slight grin, he innocently asked, “What do you mean?”
She moved her hand, beckoning him inside the den with her so that they wouldn’t awaken the child. At this point, Brendan wasn’t sure anything—even another explosion—could wake the exhausted boy. But he stepped away from the couch and joined her.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it with her hands wrapped around the handle, as if she might need to make a quick getaway. After her last attempt, she should have realized she wouldn’t easily escape this complex.
He should have brought her and his son here immediately. But since she’d already been in witness protection, he’d worried that she might recognize a “safe” house and question, as she questioned everything, why he had access to one.
“You know what I mean,” she said, her voice sharp with impatience. “What did you say to make Charlotte Green trust you?”
The truth. But that wasn’t something with which he could trust Stanley Jessup’s daughter. He shrugged as if he wasn’t sure. “What I told her doesn’t really matter. I think it would take a lot more to make you trust me than her.”
“True.” She nodded in agreement. “Because I know you better than Charlotte does.”
Images flashed through his mind, of how she knew him. She knew how to kiss him and touch him to make him lose control. She knew how to make love with him so that he forgot all his responsibilities and worries, so that he thought only of her. And even during all the years she was gone, he’d thought of her. He’d mourned her.
He stepped closer so that she pressed her back against the door. He only had to lean in a few more inches to close the distance between them, to press his body against hers, to show her that she still got to him, that he still wanted her.
His voice was husky with desire when he challenged, “Do you?”
Her pupils darkened as she stared up at him and her voice was husky as she replied, “You know I do.”
Were those images of their entwined naked bodies running through her mind, too? Was she remembering how it felt when he was inside her, as close as two people could get?
She cleared her throat and emphatically added, “I know you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “If you did, you would have known I wasn’t the one who tried to kill you three years ago.”
“But you were so angry with me ….”
“I was,” he agreed. “You were lying to me and tricking me.”
“But I didn’t steal from you.” She defended herself from what he’d told their son earlier.
She had stolen from him; she just didn’t know it. She’d stolen his heart.
But he just shrugged. “My trust …”
“I guess that went both ways,” she said.
“You never trusted me,” he pointed out. “Or you would have known you wouldn’t find the story you were after, that I’m not the man my father was.”
She leaned wearily against the door, as if she were much older than she was. “I never found the story,” she agreed. “And I gave up so much for it.”
She had given up the only life she’d known. Her home. Her family. Brendan could relate to that loss.
Then a small smile curved her lips and she added, “But I got the most important thing in my life.”
“Our son?”
She nodded. “That’s why I have to be careful who I trust. It’s why I have to leave here.”
“You’re safe here,” he assured her. Only people who knew what he really was knew about this place. Until tonight, when he’d taken her here.
She shook her head. “Not here. CJ and I need to go home. We’ve been safe there. I know I can keep him safe.”
He appreciated that she was a protective mother. “You don’t have to do that alone anymore.”
“I haven’t,” she said. “I had Charlotte. She was even in the delivery room with me.”
That was why Josie had named their son after the U.S. marshal.
“She’s too far away to help you now,” he pointed out. “That’s why she told you to—” he stepped closer and touched her face, tipping her chin up so she would meet his gaze “—let me.”
She stared up at him, her eyes wide as if she were searching. For what?
Goodness? Honor?
He wasn’t certain she would find them no matter how hard she looked. In his quest for justice for his father, he had had to bury deep any signs of human decency—at least when he was handling business. When he’d been with her, he’d let down his guard. He’d been himself even though he hadn’t told her who he was.
“What would I have to say to you,” he asked, “to make you trust me?”
“Whatever you told Charlotte,” she said. “Tell me what you told her.”
He shook his head. “I can’t trust you with that information.”
She jerked her chin from his hand as if unable to bear his touch any longer. “But you expect me to trust you—not with just my life, but CJ’s, too.”
She had a point. But he’d worked so long, given up so much.
If only she hadn’t lied to him …
He flinched over her disdainful tone. “Why would I be more untrustworthy than anyone else?”
“Like you don’t know why,” she said.
“Because of who I am?”
“Because of what you are.”
Charlotte
