Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,35

didn’t fit the calamitous scene. Sounded like Miss Shade was screaming. But not for help. Despite the carnage, he distinctly picked up on her uptight, “You let them get away?”

He didn’t detect anyone answering. She had to be on her cell. But holy hell. Let who get away? Maddie and me?

“But, but, but…” Maddie murmured around his fingertips. By then she was a mess of tears, smoky sweat, and adrenaline. He could feel her blood pounding through her veins.

“Be still,” he told her gently, striving to hear the entirety of Shade’s vicious rant. “To be honest, I’m really glad you’re not married anymore, but something’s not right with our client, Maddie. Please—”

“Get away from me! Let me go!”

Jameson clamped both arms tight around her, but someone jerked her away.

“Jameson! He’s got me. Help!”

“Let her go!” he roared into the dark, up on his feet now, his senses reaching out to understand what had just happened and who had Maddie.

Until something hard slammed into the side of his head. He fell then. Went down hard.

Chapter Seven

Bradley was a hungry little guy, and for whatever reason, Alex loved watching Kelsey breastfeeding his son. It had been the same when Lexie was born. It was after dinner, and he adored the sublime peek into eternity that childbirth offered. Fatherhood rested like a kingly mantle on Alex’s shoulders tonight. He was one lucky son of a bitch, and that little boy was a baby beast. Ten pounds, three ounces. No wonder he’d had a tough time being born. His mama was a tiny thing.

The only one missing tonight was the little girl he adored. Lexie would love this little guy. But she’d had fallen asleep somewhere between helping Mark and Libby’s girls making the fudge and the popcorn. Mark had called to say they were keeping her tonight and would bring her over first thing tomorrow morning.

“You’re still stalling,” Kelsey murmured sleepily.

Man, she was stunningly beautiful tonight. Motherhood fit her like a glove. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying hard to wipe the smile off his face. But what a day. Turned out Mel hadn’t spoiled a damned thing. He’d tried, but like everything else, he’d failed at that, too.

“Not sure what else there is to say. Pretty much covered everything when Mel showed up earlier.”

“Alex…”

He shook his head, more out of love for his wife than disgust with Mel. Drawing in a deep breath, he admitted the obvious. “You already know he wasn’t a good husband nor a fit father.”

And there Alex stopped, not wanting to go down this memory lane. It never ended well. It was like watching reruns of the Titanic sinking. Everyone always died, and the day he’d lost his mom was still an unfathomable ache he couldn’t forget and wouldn’t forgive. Maybe Mel hadn’t killed her, but he’d sure never cared what cancer had done to her. How she’d wasted away. How her beautiful body had turned skeletal, and how her honey blonde hair had fallen out in handfuls. How she’d cried herself to sleep some nights, and how lovingly Gramps and Gram had taken care of her until they’d had no choice but to transfer her to a hospice home for the dying.

Sucking in a deep breath, Alex released it on a slow sigh. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about Abigail. What’d she look like? Why didn’t her family take care of her when she got sick? What did she do while you were in school during the day? Is she the one who taught you to love books and how to read?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “She taught me to read and how to laugh. Mom and me visited Gramps and Gram quite a bit, you know, because Dad was always deployed—or so he’d said. Gramps built a treehouse up high in the willow outside his guest bedroom. That’s where we’d stay while we were there. Mom was blonde and willowy thin. Her parents both died before she’d met Mel. She used to climb out the window with me. Sometimes we’d just sit in that great big tree and talk and laugh. Old willows are jungles all by themselves.” Alex paused, once more wrapped up inside his mom’s arms, their bare legs dangling happily into thin air. “One summer day, she dragged a wooden chest into my treehouse. Said it was buried treasure, just for me. It was full of books. Used books of adventure, stuff boys liked. She loved to read.”