it was better David had died. Jack could no more imagine the David he knew being a decent father than he could imagine it of himself. Then again, as he’d recently learned, if a man lived long enough, he had a chance to redeem himself.
Had David done that? With Hannah, he’d earned the trust of a pretty remarkable woman, so maybe he had.
“Is she awake?” Hannah asked from the doorway.
Startled, he turned with a guilty smile. He’d been about to run a finger along Aubrielle’s cheek, curious to know if she was as soft as she looked.
“I think she’s waking up,” he said, and backed away from the crib as though the baby was a ticking bomb about to detonate. Hannah glided past him on the way to her child, the scent of flowers lingering in her wake. She’d changed into black slacks and a black sweater that offset her porcelain skin. Her reddish hair was wet and unexpectedly wavy. She looked fresh and sexy. He had to remind himself to take a breath.
“I know you must have a lot to do,” she said as she reached into the crib and picked up her daughter. She turned to face him and said, “Thanks for the help tonight.”
“Cut it out,” he said.
“Jack—”
“We’re going to talk. I’m not going anywhere until we do.”
She sighed heavily. “I have to nurse the baby. You could wait in the living room—”
“No, you do what you have to do. I’ll turn my back if you want, but we’re going to talk now.” He turned his back and crossed his arms.
After a few seconds of rustling sounds and the creak of rockers, she said, “I’m not going to talk to your back, Jack. Go ahead and turn around.”
He did, leaning against the doorjamb. Hannah was modestly draped in a pink blanket. All Jack could see of Aubrielle was one tiny foot and an equally tiny hand. Determined to set things straight, he said, “You need help, Hannah.”
“No.”
“Whatever is going on is over your head.”
“If you mean I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt me, yes, you’re right.”
“You know what I find kind of puzzling?”
She looked at him as though worried what he’d say next. “What?”
“You didn’t call the cops about the window.”
“What could they do?”
“Investigate. Take the note and try to trace—”
“White paper and cut-out words? A rock?”
“Ever heard of fingerprints? Tire tracks out on the drive? Neighbors who saw something?”
“Jack, what do you suppose is the first thing the police would do?” When he shrugged in response, she continued. “They would investigate you. You’re new in town. Why are you here, how do you know me, etc. Maybe your false identity would hold up under closer scrutiny, maybe it wouldn’t.”
“That concerns me, not you,” he said.
“Because you’re at my house, it concerns me, too, and what concerns me concerns my baby.”
“Your grandmother can’t file a claim with her home owner’s insurance if she doesn’t report the attack,” he said reasonably.
“She’s afraid to make a claim on her insurance because she’s afraid they’ll cancel her policy. I have an emergency fund. I’ll buy her a new window.”
He let it drop.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she added. “If you leave now, I’ll call the cops and tell them about the window and how I’ve felt as though I’m being watched. I’ll give them the rock and the paper. We won’t have to inform the insurance company if Grandma doesn’t want to, but the authorities will be advised. You’ll get your way.”
He shook his head. “Not until you’re honest with me. I want to know who you’re protecting. I figure it must be someone at the Staar Foundation.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not that again—”
“I haven’t told you what I saw out in the jungle,” he said.
The baby started crying. Hannah deftly manipulated baby and blanket against her chest and stood. “Turn around so I can fix my bra,” she said.
With an internal smile, he did as she asked. Funny how shy people could be around someone they’d once been so blatantly intimate with.
“Okay,” she said, and patting the baby’s tiny back, demanded, “What did you see?”
He pushed himself away from the jamb. He wished she’d come closer to him so he could speak in a whisper instead of across a room. The things he had to say weren’t the kind of things a man wanted to shout.
As she resettled in the rocker, he looked around the room until he spied a small wooden toy chest. Pulling that close to her chair, he parked himself on top of it, forearms resting on his thighs.
“First of all, the guerillas knew about me. About my training and the fact that I’d been a mercenary for a short time a while ago. They treated me differently than the others, singling me out. At first I thought it was because I spoke the language, but then I realized they were kind of grooming me, seeing if I might turn tail and help them.”
Her eyes grew wide. “What did you do?”
“I had nothing to do with them until after they killed the other hostages. Then I considered the possibility that if I ever wanted to escape, I had better seem to be more cooperative. So I turned into a model prisoner and kept my eyes open.”
“I don’t—”
“I’m going to cut this short. I think the Staar Foundation is the front for the GTM, that they are supporting terrorist schools and camps. I have to find out who is involved and how deeply.”
“That’s absurd. Santi Correa and his son, Hugo, would never—”
“How do you know? How do you really know that?”
She was silent for several seconds. “Couldn’t you just tell our government or the Tierra Montañosa government about your suspicions and let them investigate?”
“The minute the GTM realized I escaped, you can bet the camps I was shown disappeared, but they’re still there, further underground or in a different spot. They were working up to something big. Right before I left, they were practicing some sort of mock invasion or takeover of some kind.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they practiced entering blocked-off areas that represented buildings and killing and subduing mock representations of people. As for telling our government—governments don’t move fast, they launch studies. Just verifying my true identity and being viewed as a credible witness given the way I entered the country would take forever.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, “I can see you’re truly concerned about this, but it has nothing to do with what’s happening to me—”
“Doesn’t it? Are you sure?”
He could see by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t sure at all.
He took her free hand in his. “Hannah, even if this is unrelated to you, the fact remains you and your family are in danger. You have to take the threat seriously. You’ve mentioned small things going wrong, but these things today aren’t small, they’re meant to terrify you. The bomb could have easily been big enough to destroy your car and everyone near it. The rock through the window could have been a bullet. Since you aren’t aware of what you’re doing that has someone reacting this way, you can’t even stop doing it.”
“If I go to the police