Mommy Midwife

He was making a transition in his work, preparing for the next phase of his career. “Let’s just say that it involves a terrorist cell.”

“In the United States?”

“That’s right.”

She wiggled her toes. “Unfortunately, I have to use the bathroom. Can we do more foot rubbing later?”

“As much as you want.”

She pulled her feet away from him, sat upright on the sofa and confronted him directly. “I knew from the first time we met you that you were involved in dangerous work.”

“Like any soldier,” he said with a shrug.

“Like my father.”

He met her gaze. Though she was obviously tired, her blue eyes glowed with an inner strength that reminded him of the seven-year-old girl who had fought to protect her mother. Her childhood trauma formed a basis of fear for the adult woman. “You blamed your father when you and your mom were kidnapped.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” she said, quickly defending him.

If she was thinking rationally, she had to know that her father hadn’t done anything that he thought would bring danger to his family. After the incident in South America, he’d gone to great lengths to protect them, bringing his wife and daughters to Washington, D.C., to live. Those were the facts.

But reality was always colored by emotion. He imagined that when Olivia thought of kidnapping, she remembered the feelings she’d had as a little girl. At some level, she would hold her father responsible.

“I promise you,” he said, “that my work will never endanger you or our child.”

She jabbed her forefinger at the center of his chest. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Her sudden hostility ticked him off. He hadn’t yet told her about the changes that were coming up in his career, and he couldn’t expect her to know what he was giving up. Nevertheless, she ought to know him well enough to understand that he was, above all, responsible. “What are you getting at?”

“Has it occurred to you that the intruders at my cabin might not be enemies of my parents? They might be someone connected to your terrorist cell.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had acknowledged and dismissed that possibility. “They wouldn’t know about you. You’re not my wife.”

“Over the past couple of months, you’ve sent me a lot of baby presents, emails and flowers. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out our relationship.”

She was right. The attempted kidnapping could be because of his work. It might be his fault that she was in danger.

Chapter Four

After he’d ordered room service and Olivia had retreated to the bedroom to contact her parents, Troy used his secure cell phone to place a call to Gunnery Sergeant Blaine Nelson, who had recently taken Troy’s place as the leader for their seven-man special ops team.

Nelson answered his phone with a yawn. It was two hours later at Camp Lejeune on the North Carolina coast but still too early for Nelson to be asleep. Troy wasted no time with pleasantries. “I have a situation.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“Wake up, Gunny. I need intel on the whereabouts of the terrorist cell, and I need it now.”

“Yes, sir, Captain Weathers, sir.”

Troy couldn’t help grinning at the overly formal form of address. “What are you trying to tell me, Nelson?”

“That you’re being a pain in the butt, sir.”

“Duly noted,” Troy said. “Give me an update.”

“Nothing’s changed since this morning when you left. We can’t pinpoint locations, but chatter indicates that they’re planning their attack in New York City.”

“I want you to trace any possible connection to Colorado. There’s been a threat.”

“No joke? Fill me in.” Nelson was now fully alert. He and Troy had worked together for eight years. They were more than associates, more than friends. They were as close as brothers. “What’s the nature of this threat?”

“Somebody’s after Olivia,” he said. “She’s had the feeling that she’s being watched. About an hour ago, an intruder broke into her cabin. It could be a kidnap attempt.”

“Do you think the guys we’ve been tracking are behind it?”

“I don’t know.”

Their code name for this terrorist group was Hatari, the Swahili word for danger, and they were based in Rwanda. Troy and his team had been responsible for capturing two of their leaders while they were investigating a totally unrelated issue in Africa. If the cell in the U.S. planned to grab Olivia, it could be meant as payback for Troy.

“You said they were tailing her,” Nelson said thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound like Hatari.”

Troy agreed. The M.O. for these terrorists was anything but subtle. In their home country, they were responsible for wiping out villages, poisoning wells, burning fields and decimating entire families. They went in with guns blazing, operating under the premise that more firepower was better. If they wanted to threaten him using Olivia, they would have killed her.

But Colorado wasn’t their homeland. And the U.S. cell of Hatari was operating under a different set of priorities. They had hooked up with a man whose alias was Kruger—the name he’d used when he’d disappeared off the radar twenty-two years ago. Kruger was under such deep cover that he was nearly transparent. Though he’d lived in the United States, his current identity was unknown. He had no fingerprints on file. There were no existing photographs of him.

“Kruger could be running the show,” Troy said. “He might be inclined to pull a kidnapping and use Olivia to force my hand.”

“Wish we knew more about him. He’s a ghost, an old-school kind of spook.”

Similar to Olivia’s dad and mom. “I’ve got to go. Look into the Colorado angle and keep me posted.”

“Yes, sir.” Nelson yawned again.

“Missing your beauty sleep? It’s a little early for you to be hitting the sheets.”

“It would be...if I was sleeping alone.”

Troy grinned. “Carry on, Gunny.”

When Olivia made the call to her parents, it might be smart for him to talk to them, as well. Kruger was something of a legend in CIA circles, and her mom and dad had been part of that inner circle for years. They might have useful advice.

He crossed the sitting room and tapped on the closed bedroom door. “Is it okay for me to come in?”

“Sure thing.”

He pushed open the door and stopped dead in his tracks. She’d changed from her hospital scrubs to a long, cream-colored, cotton nightgown with lace and satin ribbons around a neckline that was low enough to showcase her full breasts. The light fabric draped gently over her rounded body. Her golden hair cascaded around her shoulders. She looked like a goddess.

“I thought I’d get changed,” she said, “before I made the phone call.”