The Secret Son

“I didn’t train for the crisis team until after Melissa’s death.”

Her fingers trailed lightly over the back of his hand. “Whenever you’ve talked about the past few years, you’ve mentioned your work, things you do in your spare time, skiing, books you’ve read, movies, trips to Vegas. What about your personal life?”

“That is my personal life. Work and what I do in my spare time. I’m out of town a lot, but I have an apartment here in New York.”

Erica looked down shyly, which was not like her. “I mean your really personal life,” she said. “You haven’t said so, but there must be a woman in the city someplace who’s missed having your company this week. Someone who would’ve had it if I, if we—”

“There’s no one.” He wasn’t sure how smart it was to tell her that. But he wasn’t sure about a lot of things at the moment.

Except that he hadn’t had enough whiskey to dull his senses. He took another sip.

“How long has it been since there’s been someone?” If he’d detected jealousy in her voice, he might’ve been able to joke with her, fob off the question—while secretly being flattered, of course.

He couldn’t build any defenses against Erica’s compassion.

“I told you, I don’t have the time or energy to invest in ‘someone.’ Nor can I do my job if I know someone’s waiting at home for me. How can I take the chance of putting them through the hell and the horror I went through when Melissa and Courtney were killed? I risk my life every single time I go to work. As a freelance negotiator there’s very little I do that’s safe. I don’t man a desk during downtimes or give training classes, do research or program management like I used to do with the agency.”

“But you must have friends.”

“Of course I do.” He had acquaintances all over the United States. Guys he could call if he ever needed a favor. Usually he just called them to go out for a beer if he was in town.

Or to bum a place to crash for a few nights.

Jack hated hotels.

“And you must have sex.”

It took Jack a second to recover from the jolt those words sent through his body.

“I mean, you’re a gorgeous man, Jack. You exude virility, energy. Vitality. Sex appeal…”

“I have sex,” Jack choked out, a bit desperate to shut her up. “Sometimes. Not often. And not with anyone exclusively.”

“Oh. Good.”

He finished off his whiskey, set the glass on the table, much harder than he’d intended. He winced at the sound.

“You know the part of me that shut down after Melissa?”

He felt foreign to himself, talking this way, but he couldn’t let tonight end without telling her.

“Yeah.”

“I discovered this week that it wasn’t permanent.”

Her fingers froze on his wrist.

“It’s okay,” he assured her quickly, wondering if perhaps the whiskey was affecting him, after all. “You aren’t supposed to do anything with that knowledge. I’m not asking for anything, I just wanted you to know. Wanted to thank you.”

He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

And…damn, her lips were trembling.

“Ah, Erica,” he said, trying to cajole her into calmness. Into repose and resignation. Instead, he was afraid he’d only let her hear his own despondency.

She smiled, but it looked like an effort.

He felt utterly useless. His muscles tensed with the effort it was taking him just to sit there.

Her shoulders straightened. She looked at him, her eyes glistening.

And all his strength dissolved.

CHAPTER THREE

THERE WAS NOTHING sexual about the way he pulled her into his arms. Jack wasn’t sure what was right and what was wrong anymore; he knew only that he couldn’t sit there with Erica hurting so badly and do nothing.

Which was why she ended up cradled in his arms, her face pressed against his chest as she took a couple of ragged breaths.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, aching for both of them. “Please don’t ever be sorry we met.”

Her eyes shone with tears that didn’t fall. “I’m not sorry we met,” she said, her voice weak. “I am sorry I’m not better equipped to handle this.”

“How could you be?” He sat back, pulling her with him, allowing her to rest against him more than actually holding her. “I don’t think either of us was prepared for what’s happened.”

“I never expected to fall for someone.”

“Me, neither, which is why we couldn’t possibly have been prepared.”

They were quiet for a while, the hum of the hotel’s air conditioner, her weight against him, lulling Jack into a tentative sense of peace. He started to follow Erica’s breathing pattern, soothed by the evenness, the steady ebb and flow. He wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

Part of him hoped so.

Another part, the possessive part that he’d thought gone from him forever, didn’t want to waste a single second of the time still left to them. There were so many thoughts—so many feelings—inside her and he wanted every one of them. To store them away, like tiny gifts, to pull out and savor in the years to come.

“I’m not sorry about us.”

She wasn’t asleep.

“I’m not, either,” Jack said.

As frustrated and horrible as he felt, he should wish he’d never met her. Shouldn’t he?

“Can I ask you something?” he said a moment later.

“Sure.” She was playing with the corner of his collar, rubbing it back and forth against the pad of her thumb.