The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,150

as a new father, and once he did, things would get easier. Though, right now, he had a hard time believing that.

And I’m not the only one struggling to find that balance.

He reached his house, a little craftsman cottage. He returned his grip to the handlebars, bounced up the curb, and pedaled to the front porch. The house was oddly dark. Crickets chirped in the bushes. A few fireflies flickered.

He hopped off the bike and carried it one-handed up to the porch. Now that he had stopped, the humidity of a D.C. summer swamped over him, like a wet, hot blanket. He pictured the cold beer in the fridge, believing he’d earned it, even if he lost this race with the sun.

Still, that loss wasn’t entirely his fault. Back at Sigma command, Painter had a laundry list of details he needed Gray to address, mostly tied to all that had happened last month.

Over in Italy, Father Bailey was coordinating an international effort to rebuild Castel Gandolfo, but that work took some delicacy, especially with what was hidden below those ruins. Bailey had wanted some guidance on how best to proceed, both to maintain the secrecy of the Holy Scrinium and to safeguard any treasures that might be recovered. Such hesitancy was likely born of a feeling of insecurity. After learning of Monsignor Roe’s many betrayals, Bailey seemed to be second-guessing himself.

Gray understood that. He had never suspected Roe was capable of such treachery. He remembered how, upon their first meeting, he had considered the monsignor to be some incarnation of Vigor Verona, one of Gray’s most trusted friends in the past. So, he had to cut Bailey some slack for being shaken up. In fact, Gray realized he might have misjudged the young priest from the start. While Bailey certainly did not fill the shoes of Vigor, he might very well grow into them one day.

Maybe.

Gray locked his bike on the porch, waving a cloud of mosquitoes from his sweating face. His work was made all the harder because the porch light was off. He straightened, hearing distant music from a backyard barbecue and the drone of a television across the street.

Whereas his house was silent as a grave.

He turned to the door, his heart suddenly pounding. He quickly entered and found the living room dark. He headed across the dining room. Ahead, there was no sound of clattering cookware coming from the kitchen. He hurried through the swinging doors to check it out.

Nothing.

He clenched a fist. He knew Seichan had been struggling of late. Could she have finally left and—

“Over here!” Seichan called from outside, shouting through the back door from the yard. “You’re late!”

Despite the scolding, he sagged with relief and hurried outside.

A picnic blanket had been stretched across the lawn, adorned with large pillows. On top of one, Jack rocked on his back. He was dressed in a blue onesie with a yellow monkey on it. When Seichan had come home with it a week ago, Gray hadn’t said a word. Back in Morocco, Seichan had returned Aggie to Charlie with clear reluctance.

On the pillow, Jack tried to grab his toes with a red-faced earnestness.

That’s my boy. Never willing to give up the good fight.

To the side, a low table glowed with a camp lantern. Seichan stood, bent at the waist, her back to him. He enjoyed the view. She straightened and turned around, holding aloft two halves of a cupcake, each with a candle flickering there.

He smiled, getting it. “For Jack’s half birthday.”

She shrugged and drew closer, offering him one.

“I thought you decided not to celebrate it,” Gray said as he took the cake.

Earlier, when she had informed him about her decision, he attributed it to some fundamental change in her mind-set about child-rearing and motherly responsibilities, a reflection of her letting go of the need to be a tiger mom all the time.

“It’s red velvet,” she said. “With cream cheese frosting.”

“You made it?”

“Bought it.” She frowned. “You think I have time to bake a single cupcake? And if I made a dozen, there goes your diet.”

True.

She drew him to the picnic blanket, and they settled onto pillows with Jack between them. They made wishes and blew out each other’s candles. They leaned against one another, listening to crickets, watching fireflies flit.

“This is nice,” Seichan murmured.

“Yes, it is.”

She glanced over to him. “For now.”

He nodded, recognizing she would never be a mother who only baked cupcakes and planned elaborate half-birthday parties. It was clear she had