Special Forces Father - By Mallory Kane Page 0,1

he’d forgiven Robert Delancey for the drunken rages that had been his and his siblings’ relationship with their father throughout most of his life.

But the one person he needed the most was Kate. Not that he deserved her. He’d walked out on her twice. The first time he’d stomped out in a fit of anger that had matched the worst his dad could dish out. He’d marched straight from her dorm room to the army recruitment office and enlisted on the spot. The second time, when he’d called her during a rare furlough prior to being shipped overseas, she’d kicked him out. Not in anger, that wasn’t Kate’s style. No. She’d calmly explained that a one-night stand every few years when he happened to be in town was not her idea of a relationship. She’d told him not to call her again. And he hadn’t.

During those horrific five months in captivity, as the rivers of his memories had flowed over him, providing rare and precious moments away from the hunger, cold, filth and torture, he’d discovered that his most treasured memories were of her. And he’d realized that not fighting for her love that last time he’d seen her had been the biggest mistake of his life.

No matter where she was now or who she was with, he needed to find her and apologize for walking out. But he needed something else, too. He needed to look into her eyes and see if the love that had once shone in them for him had really died, or if there was still a spark of it left.

He didn’t hold out much hope for a spark. Things had not gone well on that last trip. Okay, some things had not gone well. Other things had gone exceptionally well. He’d come home on leave for the first time in two years and called her to see if he could buy her dinner or something. She’d agreed.

The dinner at Commander’s Palace had been excellent. The or something had been mind-blowing.

By contrast, the next morning had turned out awkward and sad. When Travis had stood at her door telling her he’d call her whenever he could, she’d waved a hand.

“Don’t bother,” she’d said in her direct, no-nonsense way. “A drop-in every couple years is not my style.”

Her words echoed in his head now as he gripped the wheel more tightly and eased the accelerator forward until the little car was doing seventy. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Eight o’clock in the evening. Even with bathroom stops and a few hours’ sleep at an interstate hotel, he ought to be in New Orleans within twenty-four hours.

What would he say when he saw Kate? A better question might be what was she going to say when he showed up on her doorstep?

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Dr. Kate Chalmet picked up Myron Stamps’s police file. She’d been appointed by the Orleans Parish District Attorney’s office to evaluate Senator Stamps, who was pleading temporary insanity in the aggravated assault of Paul Guillame, his former political adviser. She’d cleared her calendar so she could prepare, since the trial was scheduled to begin in ten days.

Kate knew that the senator had shot Paul Guillame during a shoot-out at Paul’s house. “Shoot-out,” she muttered, shaking her head. Sounded more like a John Wayne movie than an incident in the Lower Garden District in New Orleans. But that’s exactly how the police had described it.

She opened the file and glanced over the initial report, which was filed by the first officer on the scene, Halan Matson. She skimmed it.

Upon entering at 4330 Tchoupitoulas Avenue, we observed the exchange of gunfire between four apparent occupants taking cover in the kitchen area of the house and two armed men in the dining room. At that time, we observed that at least one of the occupants was armed.

We entered and arrested the two armed men, both of whom had suffered superficial gunshot wounds. At that point Detective Lucas Delancey arrived and took charge of the scene.

The name Delancey stopped her. Pressing her lips together, she took a deep breath and told herself to see it as Smith or Jones or Rumpelstiltskin—anything but Delancey.

The report described the two gunmen being checked out by EMTs, then taken into custody and Harte Delancey and Paul Guillame, two of the occupants, being transported to local hospitals.

Harte Delancey. Lucas Delancey. The case was awash with Delanceys. She gritted her teeth. Jones. Smith. Stiltskin. The names of the