A Father's Sacrifice

Mintz gave her a quick rundown of the house’s layout. He pointed to the front doors. “That’s north. The staff quarters are on the east. The kitchen, the patio and Ben’s play area are that way.” He pointed southward. “And the west door goes to the family quarters. Your suite is in there, next to Ben’s.”

As he finished, a metallic thumping echoed in her ears.

“Alfred!” A toddler ran in from the kitchen area.

“This is Ben.” Mintz’s controlled drill-sergeant face creased in a smile.

Natasha’s heart twisted in compassion as the little boy ran clumsily toward Mintz. The metallic thumps were caused by bright silver braces that crisscrossed his little legs like an erector set. Beneath the clanking of the braces, she heard the almost silent whirr of a motor.

“Alfred!” Ben shouted. “Where’s my daddy?”

He was the image of his father—black hair, blue eyes. He didn’t seem to notice the braces that encumbered him.

The tabloid stories held a kernel of truth, but they were totally wrong about the child. Ben wasn’t pathetically crippled. He was bright and energetic. Still, a horrific vision haunted her—a crumpled, crushed vehicle with a baby trapped inside, crying for his mother.

She shuddered and her breath hitched.

“Agent Rudolph, are you all right?”

She forced herself to breathe evenly. “Of course.”

Ben tugged on Mintz’s hand. “Is Daddy coming?”

“Pardner, why aren’t you in bed?” Mintz said in a surprisingly gentle voice.

“I’m waiting for my daddy.”

“Where’s Miss Charlene?” Mintz inclined his head toward Natasha. “Ben’s physical therapist.”

Ben’s face began to crumple. “Not Charlene. Daddy. He can take me outside to see the moon.” Tears shimmered on his long lashes.

As Natasha watched in astonishment, the grizzled security chief lifted Ben. The boy wrapped his arms around Mintz’s neck and tucked his face into his collar.

“Your daddy’s working tonight. I want you to meet someone.”

Ben turned his head so that one dark blue eye was visible. “No.” He hid his face again. “I want my daddy.”

“This is Natasha. Can you say Natasha?”

Ben shook his head, but curiosity got the better of him and he peeked sideways at her. “Tasha?”

His little voice saying the nickname she hadn’t heard since childhood caused her to smile, even as it cut into her heart.

“Hi, Ben.” She’d never been around kids, so the ache in her chest and the tightness in her throat surprised her. He was so sweet and so vulnerable and brave. And he’d transformed Stryker’s gruff, rigid security chief into a doting grandfather.

“Come on, Ben. Let’s get you tucked in.”

Ben still peered at her sidelong, from the folds of Mintz’s shirt. “Tasha come, too?”

“Oh, no. I don’t—”

“Sure Natasha can come, too,” Mintz said. “And later, your daddy’ll come in to say good-night.”

Ben shifted and sat up straight, confident in Mintz’s protective embrace.

“Go this way, Tasha.” He pointed as Mintz headed for the west hall. He watched her over Mintz’s shoulder.

What should she say? She had no clue how to talk to a kid. “How old are you, Ben?”

He held up three pudgy fingers. “Three and a half.”

Of course. A pang of sadness hit her square in the chest. The car crash had occurred this time of year—September—three years ago. Ben had been six months old, too young to remember the crash or the pain or the sound of his mother dying. Thank God.

They entered Ben’s room to find a young woman with shiny brown hair folding back the covers on his bed.

“This is Charlene Dufrayne,” Mintz said. “Charlene, Special Agent Natasha Rudolph.”

“Oh, the computer expert.” Charlene gave Natasha a wary nod as she took Ben from Mintz. “We’ve all heard about you.”

Natasha rapidly cataloged the other woman’s appearance. Medium height, late twenties, pretty. In good shape. She’d be good for Ben.

She glanced around the child’s room. It was painted a bright blue, and filled with every toy a little boy could want. But something about it sent an eerie shiver through her.

“Okay, cowboy, let’s get you ready for bed,” Charlene said, setting him on his bed.

“I stay awake ’til Daddy comes.”

“Daddy may not come tonight. He’s very busy.”

As Ben’s eager face fell, Natasha’s heart ached. Charlene began to unlock the braces.

Mintz opened a connecting door and gestured for Natasha to precede him into the next room.

She stepped through the door, her gaze still lingering on Ben’s room. As Mintz turned on the lights and she looked around the starkly decorated room, it hit her what was bothering her.

“These rooms don’t have any windows,” she croaked. Her throat constricted.

“This is the only level of the house aboveground. That makes it vulnerable. Windows would greatly increase that vulnerability.”

Her pulse jumped as she pushed away the panic and forced herself to nod. “Vulnerability. Of course. That…makes sense.”

As an FBI agent, she understood, but no amount of rational thinking stilled her knee-jerk response to the vaultlike rooms. This was why she’d scrimped and saved until she could afford a top-floor condo in Washington, D.C., where all her walls were glass, and the sun streamed in every day.

She couldn’t get Ben’s sweet little face out of her mind. It horrified her to think he’d lived his whole life locked inside these walls.

“Is there a problem, Agent Rudolph?” Mintz’s voice was edged with ice.

She quoted her mantra for dealing with panic. Quiet and safe. Plenty of fresh air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.