was surprised to learn she’d been born in the States. When he’d asked, she’d said Kansas. Of course, it had come out like “Cahnsus” and he’d thought for a second she’d been messing with him.
But her big eyes had gotten all wide and she’d said that no, really, she had been born there and moved back to England when she was two. She had pretty eyes, actually—a stormy gray-blue that seemed to change with her moods. He watched her smile at James and tussle his hair. She was lanky and lean, but in a careless, nonathletic sort of way. And she looked nothing at all like her three children, he realized. The kids could’ve been his, if genetics were based solely on their coloring. They were all blond, pink-cheeked cherubs with hazel eyes, while Jillian’s hair was long and brown and untamed.
“You’re good at this.” Jillian appeared again, testing the bottle on her arm. “She’s stopped crying. Have little ones of your own, do you?”
He smiled and continued to bounce Sarah. And wondered if she could see the regret he always felt when he allowed himself to think about it. “No. Just a lot of practice with my nephews.”
Her smile was genuine when she moved closer to stroke Sarah’s fuzzy head. “Perhaps you can give me lessons? I’m still learning all this.” She leaned into him, brushing his shoulder as she planted a kiss on Sarah’s cheek and lifted the baby from his arms. “Time for dinner, sweetheart.”
“I’d figure with three of them, you’d be a pro by now.” Man, she smelled great. A tantalizing aroma of something sweet and fresh washed over him and he had to consciously fight the urge to inhale her scent again. He ignored the tingle of current that shot down his arm, choosing instead to grope for a logical reason. Static electricity. That made sense. Or close quarters. Perfectly good reason.
That, or the fact that it had been a ridiculously long time since he’d been to bed with a woman. He took a long, slow breath. No chance of that happening anytime soon, not with a bullet in his ass. Not with a day-care center at ground zero of their musty-smelling motel room.
“They’ve only been mine for three days now,” Jilly admitted as she accepted the baby from Luke’s outstretched arms, unsure whether she wanted to delve into such a personal situation with a complete and utter stranger. Since she’d picked the children up at social services, there’d been one ordeal after another to deal with and an absolute mountain of paperwork.
“Wait a minute. I’m confused. Aren’t these your kids?” The poor man seemed to be in agony. Luke hadn’t said much, but she could tell by the way he limped that he was in a great deal of pain. For a fleeting moment, though, his grim expression was replaced with one of confusion.
“Well, they are now. I’ve already filed the papers to adopt them.”
“You flew all the way over here to adopt kids? What made you do that?”
Her gaze shifted to the corner of the room where James sat in a squeaky armchair, his eyes glued to the telly. In three days James hadn’t so much as mentioned his mum. But she knew Annie’s death had hit him hard. Good Lord, she was still reeling herself. But instinct told her he would speak of Annie when he was ready. Still a complete novice at the motherhood thing, she’d cautiously followed his lead.
Luke’s gaze travelled to James before returning to settle on her. She hoisted Sarah awkwardly onto her shoulder. “M-my sister. She passed away two weeks—”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” he interrupted, clearly uneasy. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
The flash of compassion in his eyes nearly undid her composure. Her gaze still on James, she blinked back the tears that lately seemed to be too readily available. Lowering her voice, she continued. “I promised my sister I’d come over here and—”
He held up one hand. “I get the picture. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
When she allowed herself to think about it, Annie’s death was like a raw gaping wound. Not that she’d had all that much time to think about anything. For once, she was grateful when Sarah began fussing. There was nothing like a hungry baby to get her mind refocused on priorities. She would have a lifetime to grieve for all she’d lost. A lifetime to wonder over what might have been. If she’d only come sooner.
Crossing to the bed, she sat and slid across the spread to lean back against the headboard. She snuggled Sarah into one arm before slipping the bottle into her mouth. Her sweet little face unscrunched immediately as she began happily sucking. And Jillian sighed with relief.
“She’s a noisy little thing, this one. I wonder if all babies are this loud.”
“I wouldn’t be the right person to ask that question. But if I remember correctly, my nephews’ screams came damn close to shattering glass when they were hungry.” Luke sat hesitantly on the edge of a chair, wincing when his rear end made contact with the vinyl. “I guess that’s nature’s way of ensuring they get what they need.”
“So what happens now, Mr. Gianetti? Have you made contact with your captain, or whatever he is?” Sarah’s eyes seemed to follow the sound of her voice and she giggled in spite of her exhaustion. Lord, she felt like a limp dish rag. No wonder Nanny Margaret had always been so foul come suppertime. After all these years, she finally understood why Nanny’s evening sherry had been such a sacred event. She’d probably been bloody worn out after endless days spent chasing around after her and Annie.
“He’s called a SAC…not a captain.”
“What’s a sack?” Leave it to the Yanks to abbreviate everything. Why did everything have to be shortened to initials? What was their damn hurry?
“Not sack,” he answered patiently. “SAC—Special Agent in Charge. He’s the boss. Then there’s an ASAC—Assistant Special Agent in Charge. Then way down the totem pole, there’s me.”
“And what initials are you?” she interrupted.
“I’m just an SA… Special Agent. Actually I’m a UCSA.”
“A what?”
A fleeting smile crossed his features. “An Undercover SA.”
It was a code she’d have to break. Why, it would probably be even worse on a college campus. Kids today spoke a completely different language. With any luck, she’d be able to hide out in her library. Although she doubted it. She’d been thrilled to accept Dartmouth’s offer. Archiving one of the finest collections of eighteenth-century papers was a dream come true. But then Rosemary had gone and ruined it. Her mother’s catty reminder of their lineage had planted a niggling worry in her mind. Had they only wanted her because of who she was?
Sarah gurgled, catching her attention, and Jilly was content to let her suspicions slide away. Rosemary wouldn’t ruin this for her. She would prove to Dartmouth—and to herself—that they’d made an excellent choice.
“So, SA Luke, were you able to reach any of your initial friends?” She tore her gaze from Sarah and glanced around their meager room. The furniture was threadbare and probably decades old. And the overriding scent was one of mildew. The smell reminded her of the ancient castles her father had dragged his daughters across the continent to visit. Every school holiday had been spent “appreciating” another dreary estate. The only difference now was the temperature. The castles had been cold and dank. Here in the States, it was warm and far too humid for her taste.
“When
