Warrior's Second Chance. Nancy Gideon
was too enormous to consider on top of all else.
But one thing she did know. If Allen was following her to D.C., he wouldn’t be here threatening her family. That, alone, was worth the risk she was taking.
And then there was that other matter Allen had hinted at. The matter she’d squeezed out of her thoughts but had her heart beating a rapid tempo of anticipation.
Taggert McGee.
“Things I should have dealt with a long, long time ago,” was the answer that would have to satisfy him. The honk of her cab’s horn relieved her from further awkward evasion. She took a shaky breath and regarded Michael Chaney through misting eyes. “Behave. I’ll be back…in a few days.”
But would she be returning to the life she was learning to love and the new family she couldn’t live without?
That, she realized as she towed her luggage out the door, was now in her hands. Hands that were damp and trembling.
“Excuse me. Has the passenger in seat 12B checked in yet?”
The airline attendant who’d just given the last call for her flight regarded Barbara with a regretful smile. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Not that I’m aware of. You’ll have to board now.”
She scanned the empty rows of form-fitted seats in the gate area as if she’d find her traveling companion still there like an unattended bag. Panic twisted beneath her ribs. “Are you sure?”
The attendant’s smile never wavered. “Yes, ma’am. You’ll have to board now. There’s another flight if your friend arrives too late.”
Too late.
Too late for whom? For the daughter and grandchild at the mercy of a maniac? A deadly lunatic, government-trained to do only one thing and do it well. A man like that didn’t value life. Not even his own. And that made him the worst kind of threat.
She was right to be afraid.
The moment she recognized his voice on her home phone, Barbara had shifted into a numb sort of overdrive. She’d called no one after confirming Tessa’s safety. A tenuous condition. Whether she remained in that state of grace was up to Barbara, and that burden weighed like a Mack truck parked atop her heart. What could she do but follow Allen’s dictates? Who could she call for help? The police were no match for a man like Chet. Not after Robert’s murder and not now. Even after she, Tessa and Jack had snared him and the councilwoman he’d worked for, the justice system had somehow opened their doors to put him back into a society where he didn’t belong. If she reached out to the world around her for assistance, he would know. Somehow, he would know. And the consequences were too awful to consider.
So she’d locked the doors of her palatial home and driven off in her big luxury car. She went to the office of Personal Protection Professionals, where currently she was the entire office staff. And with all that expertise, all that well-honed skill surrounding her, available upon her single word, she hadn’t dared speak it.
If she did, somehow he would know. And the two she loved most in the world would die.
There were only two people who’d ever been able to handle Chet Allen. One, her husband, was dead. The other belonged to the unclaimed seat.
“Please, ma’am.” The attendant gestured down the tunnel where the sound of her jet whined impatiently.
Lifting her carry-on, Barbara gave the terminal hall one last glance, then committed to the rush down the gangway. A relieved attendant directed her to her seat in the full main cabin. Two empty seats together. Too late now to regret her decision to comply with Chet Allen’s plan. She’d just have to find a way to handle things in Washington on her own. Whatever those things might be.
The overhead compartment was already full. While those seated around her glared at the delay, Barbara wrestled with her bag, trying to force it into the narrow space remaining. The Fasten Seat Belts tone sounded twice, urging her to hurry. Frustration knotted in her throat and burned behind her eyes. Just as the need to weep nearly overpowered, a man reached up to clear the necessary space into which her bag fit snugly.
“Thank you.”
Taking a jerking breath, she looked over her shoulder to her rescuer, but any other words died on her lips. Her pathetically grateful smile froze there.
“Hello, Barbara.”
She couldn’t draw a breath. Her head grew light, her vision unreliable. But there was no confusing the man in the aisle beside her with any other.
How could one forget the man who had fathered a child and then left her and the baby for another man to raise as his own? The man she must now depend upon to save that precious child’s life.
Chapter 2
He’d stood behind the forest of racks at the gift shop for almost fifteen minutes staring, not at the line of passengers being herded onto the plane, but at the tattered papers in his hand. A sensational newspaper clipping, an airline ticket and a short note from a onetime friend he’d never expected to hear from again. But it wasn’t the sordid nature of the article dealing with a six-month-old murder case, or the tersely worded invitation that brought him to this place. It was one fact. That fact had beaten like a wild, hopeful heart every mile of the hard day’s drive to get to Detroit Metro.
Barbara Calvin D’Angelo was free again.
Just seeing her name in the article ripped into him with all the delicacy of a chest cutter, exposing emotions still raw and pulsing with desperate life. The years didn’t matter. He’d last seen her, last touched her, last heard her soft voice more than three decades ago, but the memories were as fresh as the strong aroma of coffee in a vacuum-packed jar. Tear back the protective cover and the immediacy of feelings long stored away overwhelmed him.
A fool’s errand. That’s what he was on.
He’d told himself that at every mile marker, too. But it was Barbara who drew him like a beacon. The memory of her was a light so bright it burned into the brain. Yet, he couldn’t look away, despite the pain. Remembering her throbbed with toothache intensity clear to his soul, an insistence that may have dulled but never quite went away. It was all he could do not to moan that anguish aloud. Instead, it wailed through his spirit, a mournful banshee of regret and loss. Chased with a sharp edge of anticipation.
Finally, he had his excuse. His reason for seeking out that one wonderful spark from his past that had kept him alive. And he couldn’t pass it up.
A smart man would have left well enough alone. He would have crumpled up the unwelcome news and used it to flame the evening’s fire. But the spark had taken hold. And once it began to burn, it would not be contained or denied.
He had to see her again. If for no other reason than to put the memories to rest.
He knew time had preserved and sugarcoated his treasured recollections. He remembered the sweetness of those moments with a heart-piercing pleasure so pure, so right, he knew they couldn’t be real. The passing of years and the bitter roads he’d traveled only made them seem perfect. Still, he couldn’t let them go. Barbara had been the one good thing he looked back upon, the one slice of recall he didn’t doubt was real. He shouldn’t risk tarnishing that by opening those memories to the harshness that had transpired between that fragile then and this bleak now. He’d be snuffing out his one faint flicker of contentment.
Maybe that’s why he was here. To grind out that relentless ember beneath his heel so he could move on.
Move on to what?
The only direction he’d ever wanted to take was the one Barbara D’Angelo was heading. She was his North Star and home was wherever she resided.
Sheer foolishness, of course. But the poet’s soul that used to dwell inside him was as hard to crush as that poignant flame of hope.
Last chance. Last chance to just walk away and head north, preserving his memories in vacuum-sealed museum quality and