Heart of the Night. Lenora Worth
She lifted her foot. “Get up very slowly.”
Eli did as she told him, biding his time for now. He stared up at the woman who’d just brought him down with a single swift move, his gaze slamming into hers as she gave him a look that floored him more than any physical moves ever could. It was a look full of anger and fear, a look that told him he might have to rethink taking the child away from the mother.
“Nice to meet you, Gena,” he said, shooting her one of his winning smiles. “Can we talk?”
Gena circled him, her hands on her hips. “That depends. Do you think you can behave like a civilized human being?”
“Never tried that, but I reckon now’s a good time to start, oui?”
She leaned over him, her long hair falling like black ribbons across her blue wool sweater. “I would suggest you be very careful. I have lots of weapons in this house and I know how to use all of them. You might have figured out how to turn off the alarm system, but you won’t be able to figure out how to trick me, understand?”
Eli held up his hands in defeat, even though he was pretty sure she had no weapons. “Okay, I got it. We’ll both make nice…for the boy’s sake.” Then he gave her what he hoped was a sincere stare because he meant what he was saying. “For my son’s sake.”
Gena reached out her hand to him. Eli took it and felt the pull of her strength all the way to his bones, along with what might be called an electric charge of awareness that reminded him of the mists he used to see in the marshes back in Louisiana. But he was so cold and stiff from hiding in that freezing closet that he couldn’t be sure. He hated the cold.
“I’ll make coffee and food,” she said, her eyes never leaving his face as she backed up toward the counter. Then she pointed to one of the high-backed chairs by the table. “Sit. And don’t make me regret this.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eli said with a salute. “It’s sure gonna be a long night.”
She slammed cabinet doors and opened drawers. “You should have considered that before breaking into my home.”
“I should have considered a whole lot of things,” Eli retorted. “Especially you. Most especially you.”
She turned and nodded. “You got that right, Disciple.” Giving him a look that dismissed him, she added, “So you just sit right there and think this thing through before you make any more stupid mistakes.”
He couldn’t come up with a reply for that one. Finally, he said, “I watched you with the boy earlier.”
She hissed a breath as she went still. “For how long?”
“Long enough. You need a comfortable chair in that closet.” He shrugged. “Make the coffee and then we’ll have a long talk. And I won’t try anything…uh…stupid.”
She whirled around, silent and stealth, a bit shaken—and very intimidating for a woman—while Eli remembered the first time he’d seen his son about an hour ago. His heart had hammered with each breath as he’d sat silent and still inside the tiny broom closet, the words screaming inside his head forcing him to inhale with slow, deliberate calculation. I have a son. I have a son.
When the time was right, he would make his move. Until then…well…Eli was learning patience. And sitting in that closet had given him plenty of time to practice it.
He’d been tired and cold and starving for a good meal when he’d broken in earlier, but he’d been starving for any glimpse of his son even more. So he’d reset the alarm, then waited and watched until he’d heard them arriving through the back door in a gush of freezing fresh air, their happy laughter tearing at his gut like a fish knife as Gena had looked around after her son giggled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked. Eli was amazed at how such a swelling of maternal love filled her eyes each time she looked at Scotty.
“You are, Mommy,” Scotty said, thick dark curls spraying out of control across his forehead. “You were humming.”
“Was I?” Gena asked, turning to hand Scotty his mug of hot chocolate. “I don’t recall. What was I humming?”
Scotty blew on the marshmallow Gena dropped into his hot chocolate, then grabbed an oatmeal cookie from the plate she had set on the small oak breakfast table.
“That song you like—from the Christmas play at church,” Scotty replied just before he slurped his drink.
“What Child Is This?” Eli had recognized the song when he’d heard her humming it.
Gena squinted, then nodded. “I guess I was. It’s one of my all-time favorites.” She sat down beside her son, ran her fingers through his unruly curls, then took a bite of cookie. “I like that particular song because it was playing the night…the night you came into my life.”
Scotty grinned. “I’m a December baby, right?”
“Right you are.” Gena glanced at the magnetic calendar on the refrigerator. “You have a birthday coming up, too, don’t you?”
Scotty bobbed his head. “Four more days. I like having my birthday on Christmas Eve. Me and Jesus get to celebrate together.”
Gena laughed at that innocent comparison, while Eli, alternatively sweating and freezing in the closet, held his eyes tightly shut so he could tamp down the pain. He’d missed his son’s birth.
“Jesus was born in a manger on a very special night. That’s what the hymn I like is all about.”
“He came to save us from our sins,” Scotty said, reciting what he’d obviously learned in Sunday school. Then the very astute little boy asked, wide-eyed and curious, “What did I come to do, Mommy?”
Eli’s breath hissed as he heard his son’s innocent question. Restraining himself, he sent up another prayer for quiet and patience. Lydia Cantrell, soon to be Lydia Malone when she became the wife of his friend and fellow CHAIM associate Devon Malone, had shown Eli how to pray. She’d also shown him how to forgive. He was still working on both.
But hearing his son speak brought out all of Eli’s long-held resentment—resentment toward his grandfather, toward his well-meaning friend Devon and toward God. I should have been here, Eli thought as he watched the woman and the boy. I should have been here. He shifted, his calf muscles screaming as he sat crouched in his hiding spot. The mother had told the child to change for bed, but the boy, his son, hadn’t wanted to go just yet. He watched as they’d gone about their business—normal and loving and cozy. Eli was so tired of watching.
Gena made coffee for the man she had dreaded seeing for close to six years. And yet, she’d known he’d come one day. She’d felt it in her bones all winter long.
“Mommy!”
Gena’s gaze locked with Eli’s as she heard her son cry out. “I have to go to him. He’s always hard to get to sleep.”
Eli nodded, his expression solemn and unyielding. “I’ll wait right here.”
“You won’t—”
“I won’t do anything to upset either of you. I’ll just get some of that good-smelling coffee.” He nodded his head toward the hallway. “Go on now.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Gena hurried upstairs to Scotty’s room, thinking that when she’d tucked Scotty in earlier, Eli had been hiding here the whole time. He had been right here, watching them. To keep herself from going into hysterics now while Eli’s gaze followed her, she remembered her sweet son and how their nightly ritual had become so special, even if she did have to struggle with Scotty every night.
Rushing into his room, she found him sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“I had a bad dream.”
Gena