ago and she hadn’t seen him since.
Maggie mixed the ingredients together with expert precision. She needed no recipe. Indeed, she could prepare these little cakes with her eyes closed. Eggs. Butter—real butter. Flour. Milk. And vanilla. She would make fresh coffee when Egan arrived and serve him tea cakes and coffee in the living room, just as she’d done that day, long ago, when she had opened her home and her heart to Bentley’s friend.
At eleven o’clock, Maggie put away her cooking utensils, stored the tea cakes and the raisin-nut bread she had prepared and tidied up the kitchen. Just as she untied the strings on her apron, the doorbell rang. She jumped as if she’d been shot.
Calm down, she cautioned herself. It took every ounce of her willpower not to fall completely apart, not to scream and cry until she was totally insane. But she couldn’t come unglued. She had to remain strong and in control. For her own sake and for Bent’s sake.
Maggie hung the yellow gingham apron on the back of the Windsor chair at the table, squared her shoulders and marched hurriedly through the house. Before she reached the front door, the bell rang again. He was impatient, she thought. But then, he always had been.
Peering through the glass panes, she saw Egan Cassidy standing on her porch. Big. Tall. Lean. Just as he’d been fifteen years ago. She opened the door.
“Maggie.” He studied her face as if he were trying to memorize it, as if he had forgotten how she looked and never wanted to forget again.
“Come in, Egan.”
His short, jet-black hair was now laced with silver and he wore a neat, closely cropped beard and mustache that gave him a roguish appearance. An aging desperado. A renegade who lived by his own rules.
Khaki slacks covered his long legs, a brown tweed jacket clung to his broad shoulders and a navy blue cotton shirt covered his muscular chest. His appearance belied the dangerous warrior within him.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m alone,” she told him. “I did as you asked and sent everyone home. Janice wanted to stay, but—”
Egan lunged toward Maggie, grabbed her shoulders and shoved her gently back into the foyer. He kicked the door closed with his foot. Maggie gasped when she looked up into his eyes and saw fear. Never in her wildest imagination could she have pictured Egan Cassidy afraid of anything or anyone. He was the type of man who put the fear of God into others. But he was invincible, wasn’t he? He had not only survived Vietnam, but he had somehow managed to remain sane and return to warfare on an international level as a soldier of fortune.
What—or who—was Egan afraid of?
She trembled, her whole body convulsing in one long, uncontrollable shiver. If Egan was afraid, then she had reason to be terrified.
“Why didn’t you tell me that I had a son?” he demanded.
“What?” She tried to pull free of his tenacious hold, but he held her fast.
“If I’d known about Bent, I could have found a way to protect him, to protect both of you!”
“I don’t understand, dammit. What are you talking about? Why would Bent and I need protection?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again.
Maggie had never thought this day would come. Not really. Oh, she had once fantasized that Egan would learn about Bent and how he would come to her, profess his undying love and claim her and her son for his own. But those daydreams had died a slow, painful death. After waiting five years for Egan’s return, she had finally agreed to marry Gil. Another monumental mistake she’d made.
“Why would I have told you? You’d made it perfectly clear that you and I had no future. You didn’t want any type of commitments in your life. No wife. No children. That is what you said, isn’t it?”
Egan released his grip on her shoulders, but quickly draped his arm around her and led her into the living room. She went with him quite willingly, not having the strength to argue.
“God, Maggie, I’m so sorry.” He stepped away from her and gazed into her eyes. “You’ll never know how sorry I am. You’re the last person on earth I’d want to hurt. I can’t blame you for not telling me about Bent. But heaven help me, I wish you had.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“More than you know.”
“More than—are you saying that you would have cared, that you would have wanted to be a part of our lives?”
“I’m saying that if I had known I had a child, I would have found a way to prevent what happened to Bent.”
“What—what happened to Bent?”
“A man who hates me, a man with whom I endured months of hell in a Vietcong POW camp, a man who has spent over twenty-five years searching for a way to destroy me, has kidnapped our son.”
Chapter 3
Maggie couldn’t feel her body. Numbness claimed her from head to toe. She could hear the roar of Egan’s words as he continued speaking, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Suddenly the room began to spin around and around. Maggie reached out, grasping for Egan, but before she could grab him, she fainted dead away.
Egan caught her before she hit the floor, lifted her into his arms and carried her to the sofa. By the time he laid her down and placed a pillow under her head, she opened her eyes and moaned.
“Oh, God.” She tried to sit up, but Egan placed his hand in the middle of her chest and forced her to lie still.
“Are you all right?” He hovered over her, wishing so damned hard that he didn’t have to put her through the nightmare that lay ahead of them. It was unfair that Maggie was suffering because of him.
“I’m all right.” When she looked into his eyes, she smiled weakly. “Really. I’m okay. I don’t know what happened. I’ve never fainted before in my entire life. Not even when I was pregnant with— Oh, God! Bent!” She reached up and grasped the front of Egan’s shirt. “Bent’s been kidnapped by someone who wants to destroy you. This man knows…he knows that Bent is your son. But how?”
Egan helped Maggie to sit up, then eased his big, lanky frame down beside her on the tan-and-cream striped sofa. He ran his hand across the smooth silk fabric, but what he wanted to do was pull Maggie back into his arms. Comfort her. Tell her how sorry he was that this had happened. Beg her to forgive him.
“You put my name on your son’s birth certificate,” Egan said. “Cullen got hold of a copy. And he also has pictures of Bent. He told me that the boy looks a lot like I did when I was eighteen.”
Maggie nodded. “Bent does resemble you. He’s only fourteen and already six feet tall. He has your gray eyes. Your black hair.” Maggie’s quivering hand lifted ever so slowly and reached out toward Egan’s face. “Why, Egan, why?”
They stared into each other’s eyes, each seeking understanding, each sharing a realization that no parent should have to accept.
“He—he…this man you call Cullen, he’s going to kill Bent, isn’t he?”
Maggie’s hand dropped to her side. She sat very still. Egan could hear the sound of her breathing. Silence hung between them like a heavy veil.
“I won’t lie to you, Maggie.” He had never lied to her. Never pretended to be anything other than what he was. Never made her promises he knew he couldn’t keep. “I’m sure that’s Cullen’s plan.”
Maggie gasped loudly and the agony on her face was almost more than Egan could bear. For just a split second he had to close his eyes and shut out the sight of her.
“But Cullen won’t harm Bent,” Egan said. When Maggie’s eyes cleared and she looked to him for hope, he amended his statement.