His Secret Child. Lee McClain Tobin
to protect.
And if she was going to search, she needed to do it now, while he slept.
A quick check of his jacket pockets revealed nothing, so she undid the knots that tied the duffel shut, moving slowly and carefully. Given how he’d jumped up and grabbed her, he was obviously pretty sensitive to noise. She had to be utterly silent.
She eased the bag open and then tensed as his breathing changed. He shifted over to his side while she sat, frozen, watching him.
As soon as he breathed steadily again, she parted the edges of the bag.
The first thing she saw was an eight-inch hunting-type knife, in an old-looking leather case that would go on a belt.
Well, okay, then. He hadn’t taken that through airport security, no way.
She picked it up with the tips of two fingers, pulled it out of the duffel, and set it beside her on the floor.
Digging on through, she found some trail mix, a thriller paperback and a Bible that had seen hard use. She took the risk of flipping through it and saw underlining, highlighting, turned-down pages.
Wow. He took his faith seriously. What would that be like? Since being saved, Fern attended church most Sundays and read a devotional book every night before she went to sleep, but she’d never gone so far as to study the Bible on her own.
He certainly didn’t fit the stereotype of a Bible scholar, but Angelica had said he was a missionary. And anyway, who was she to judge? The fact that he had books, especially a Bible, was a point in his favor. Not quite enough to counteract that deadly looking knife, though.
Next, she found a vest. Camo colored, made of heavy nylon, with pouches that held hard plates. She pulled it out a little, making a slight clatter, and her heart pounded as she went still, turning her gaze to the man on the couch.
He shifted but didn’t open his eyes.
Whew. He was really out. She studied the vest more closely. A bulletproof, military-style vest? But why?
She put the vest down, thinking through the few facts she knew about Angelica’s brother. He’d been a good uncle to Xavier, a male influence who’d gotten him into sports when he was little. He’d been in the military, and right before Xavier became sick, Carlo had gotten the call to the missionary field. Come to think of it, she didn’t know whether the call was from a person or from God. Why hadn’t she listened more closely?
And if he’d gone into the missionary field more than two years ago, why were a bulletproof vest and hunting knife in the top of his overnight bag?
She rummaged underneath the vest and pulled out a photo in a metal frame, of Carlo squatting down in the midst of a group of ragged, dark-skinned boys. In the background was jungle-type vegetation and a leaf-covered hut. All of them, Carlo and the boys, were smiling broadly. The younger ones were pressed close to Carlo and he had his arms around them.
So he liked kids. Reassuring.
She wasn’t finding the ID she wanted, but she was finding evidence of a man with a complicated life.
She fumbled further and found a piece of notebook paper, folded over twice and much crumpled. She opened it up.
“Dear Uncle Carlo, I miss yu pls come hom.”
The signature was a scrawled XAVIER.
Fern drew in a deep breath and let it out, some of her fears abating.
She hadn’t found an ID, but she believed in the man now. He was Angelica’s brother, and if his possessions were any indication, he cared about kids, especially his nephew. Why else would he keep the letter from Xavier?
Carefully, she replaced all the items in the bag and closed it up. Then she sat back on her heels and studied the man.
He was breathing evenly, now lying on his side. He had short hair and his skin was bronzed, and there were creases at the corners of his eyes. Obviously a guy who spent most of his time outside.
She tried to remember what Angelica had told her about him. Their friendship had started at church, so it wasn’t that old. It was natural that Angelica had talked about her brother’s missionary work, but hadn’t she also mentioned something about a marriage that hadn’t worked out, somewhere out West? If she remembered right, Angelica hadn’t even had the chance to meet Carlo’s wife—the marriage had been too brief and chaotic.
His arms bulged out the edges of the T-shirt he was wearing, but his face had relaxed in sleep, erasing most of the harshness.
Here was a soldier, but also a missionary. With a well-worn Bible. Who cared about kids.
As she watched him, she was aware of a soft feeling inside that she rarely felt. Aware that her heart was beating a little bit faster.
How ridiculous. He was nothing like the few guys she’d gone out with before—mostly pale, video-gaming types. If he’d ever set foot in the children’s room of a library, she’d be surprised.
And there was no way he’d look at the likes of her! She only attracted supernerds. She was a boring librarian who never left Ohio. She couldn’t keep up with him.
“Quit staring.”
“What?” She jumped about six feet in the air.
“Did you like what you found?” he asked lazily.
“What I... What do you mean?” Fern felt her face flashing hot.
“In my bag.”
“You were awake!” She felt totally embarrassed because of her thoughts, because of how long she’d sat staring at him. Had he been watching her, too? What had he been thinking?
“I’m a trained soldier. I wake up when you blink. So don’t try to pull one over on me.” He was half smiling, but there was wariness in his eyes. “What were you looking for?”
“Um, an ID? I wanted to see if you were really Angelica’s brother. I talked to her, but then I thought you might not be Carlo at all.”
“You didn’t find an ID in there,” he said flatly, “so why aren’t you calling the police?”
“Or pulling your own nasty-looking knife on you? Because of your letter from Xavier.”
“What?”
“You had a letter from Xavier. And it was folded and refolded, almost to where it’s tearing at the creases. So that means you looked at it a bunch of times. You really care about your nephew, don’t you?”
A flush crept up his cheeks. “Yeah. He’s a good kid.”
“And maybe you’re not a terrible guy. Or at least, maybe you’re who you say you are.” Awkward, awkward. Fern was way too awkward with people, especially men. Being alone was way more comfortable and safe.
* * *
Carlo tried to sit up, pulling on the back of the couch to shift his weight to a sitting position. The room only spun for a minute.
He had to get out of here before his pretty hostess dug deeper into his stuff or his psyche and found out something he didn’t want known.
Bad enough that she’d found a hunting knife in his bag. He checked his ankle holster reflexively, even though he knew his weapon was safe there.
Her phone buzzed and she checked the front of it. Worry creased her face as she punched a message back. Then she got up and turned on the TV.
The weather analysts were in their glory as she flipped from station to station.
“It’s being called the storm of the century!”
“If you don’t have to go out, don’t go out!”
“Stay tuned for a list of closings!”
Finally, she settled on the local station he remembered from his childhood.