Baby Battalion

“Describe him.”

“Over six feet, thinning brown hair. Not a bad looking guy but he has those crazy eyes. Know what I mean? Those pale blue eyes that seem to stare right through you.”

Coltrane produced a high school photo of Victor Bellows. “Is this Wes Bradley?”

Jessop nodded. “He’s older now, but that’s him.”

It was confirmation. Victor Bellows—Bart’s only son—was involved in his father’s abduction. Either Victor was the kidnapper or he knew who was holding his father.

“I’ve got another question,” Coltrane said. “Do you know Bart Bellows?”

“I’ve heard the name.” Jessop’s manner shifted. He was edgy, not eager to talk about Bart. “He’s a billionaire, right?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Coltrane said. “We’re not here to enforce the law. But if you don’t cooperate, we’ll tell the CIA and Homeland Security about the weapons you’re holding in this warehouse.”

“If I talk, what do I get?”

Coltrane glanced over his shoulder at Nolan. “What can we offer?”

Nolan took out his cell phone. He had Omar Harris on speed dial. “As soon as I make this call, the CIA closes in. They’ll confiscate your weapons, but that shouldn’t be a problem for a patriot like you. These guns won’t end up in the hands of insurgents or thugs. All I can give you is fifteen minutes head start before I make the call.”

Jessop’s eyes darted. “That’s not much.”

“Take it or leave it.”

His mouth quivered. “There’s something big going down. It has to do with a case Bellows investigated in Afghanistan. It’s going to happen soon.”

“When?” Coltrane demanded.

“The next couple of weeks. Washington, D.C., is the location.”

Nolan felt a dark chill. Tess and his son lived in Arlington, too close to the threat. He held up his phone. “I need more. That’s too vague.”

“What do you mean?” Jessop wriggled, trying to free himself from the restraints.

“Something?” Nolan scoffed. “Something is happening in Washington? That’s about as useful as telling me that Santa Claus is coming to town. If that’s all you’ve got, I’m calling the law.”

“Don’t, please don’t,” Jessop begged. “I have a name. Just listen to me. The name is Greenaway.”

A blade of ice sliced into Nolan’s chest. Greenaway was the man who destroyed his life. Five years ago, Greenaway had threatened Tess and his unborn child. If he resurfaced, she was in imminent danger.

He had to find out more, had to stop Greenaway.

From the corner of his eye, Nolan saw the woman in the red dress moving. Too slowly, he turned toward her.

A gunshot exploded.

Blood spread across Jessop’s chest. He fell to his side in the dirt.

The woman dropped her gun. Where the hell had she been hiding that weapon? Her dress was so damn tight that she could barely walk. She raised her hands. “You can arrest me. I don’t care what happens.”

Nolan hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been prepared. “Why?”

“Jessop killed my mother. The bastard deserves to die.”

But not yet. Not when Jessop had information Nolan needed.

The possibility that Greenaway was involved changed the focus of Nolan’s search for Bart. He needed to be in Washington, D.C., as soon as possible, and he had to make certain that Tess was safe.

THE OFFICE FOR Donovan Event Planning was a small storefront near Ballston Common Mall in Arlington. After dropping Joey off at day care, Tess arrived at a few minutes after ten in the morning. She hung her burgundy coat and the jacket of her black pantsuit in the closet and went to the sleek Plexiglas front desk where she sat and closed her eyes for a two-minute meditation.

Getting herself and her son ready in the morning took a lot of energy. Though Joey liked playing with the other kids at his day care, she always felt a twinge of guilt about leaving him. It had never been her intention to be a single mother.

She inhaled through her nostrils and exhaled through her mouth. In her mind, she pictured a blue horizon above a still body of water. Clouds blew in, and the sky and sea faded to the white of a blank slate. A fresh start.

With her eyes refreshed, she rose from the desk and looked with pride at her clean line, modern office. The pale blue walls were hung with clear-framed photos of events, awards and a couple of personal pictures. The chairs at either end of the long white leather sofa were royal purple and lime green.

She enjoyed meeting with clients in this area where she wowed them with old-fashioned scrapbooks of prior events and a brand-new digital presentation that outlined her capabilities.

Behind a half-wall partition at the back of the office was the casual break room with a fridge, a counter and a little round table. There was also a play area for Joey, file cabinets and a scheduling board. Tess went to the coffee maker and got the first pot of the day started.

She heard the front door open and peeked around the partition. Her sense of serenity took an immediate hit when she confronted a muscular man with thick, curly black hair. Pierre LeBrune was the head chef for the catering company she was using for the Lockhart Christmas Eve event. Though he didn’t have an accent and probably wasn’t really from France, he dressed in splendid European style from his silk necktie to his flashy platinum Patek Philippe wristwatch.

She didn’t dare offer him her less-than-perfect coffee. “Good morning, Chef.”

“We have a problem, Mrs. Donovan.”

It wasn’t the first. Pierre had popped up at her office a half-dozen times over the past three months to nitpick. The company he owned with two partners was one of the top-notch caterers in Washington, D.C., and it was the first time she’d worked with them.

Usually Tess used the catering service she’d founded, but the Smithsonian insisted she choose from a list of caterers they had worked with before. Though inconvenient for her, she understood that all the cooks and servers needed security clearance to work after hours in the National Museum of American History, where so many patriotic artifacts were on display.

She gestured to the sofa. “Would you like to sit?”

He sneered at the furniture as though the white leather upholstery wasn’t good enough for him. “I won’t be here long. I have a problem with the meat supplier.”

“You have a beef with the beef?”

Ignoring her attempt to lighten the mood, he glared. “I prefer using my regular butcher. This Texas beef doesn’t rise to my standards.”

“I’m sorry, Chef. Our client is the governor of Texas, and she specified the supplier.” She added a compliment. “I know Governor Lockhart is looking forward to your sage-encrusted prime rib.”

He managed to preen and scowl at the same time. “What about the poultry supplier?”

“Also specifically requested. You’ll have to find a way to use free-range Texas chickens.”

“This is unacceptable. I have a reputation.”

He most certainly did. Everyone had told Tess that Pierre was a royal pain in the butt. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to please the client. Did you know that she’s being seriously considered as a candidate for president?”

“Oh.” His thick eyebrows lifted. “I had no idea.”

“Just be glad she didn’t demand barbecue,” she said. “You’re a culinary legend, Pierre. You’ll find a way to make this work.”

“Indeed, I will.”

He pivoted and left.

Had she bitten off more than she could chew with this super fancy sit-down dinner? An evening at the Smithsonian wasn’t her style. As her office manager, Trudy Benson, often reminded her, Donovan Event Planning was best suited to arranging birthday parties with clowns and petting zoos.

Expanding her business to include more sophisticated events was a good move financially, but it wasn’t easy. In a city where everything was measured in terms of influence and leverage, she had zero clout. Yesterday, the events coordinator at the Smithsonian had no trouble turning down her request to see the blueprints. If Tess was going to change her mind, she needed somebody important on her side. Bart Bellows would have been perfect for the job. He could have used his CIA contacts.

The minute she thought of using Bart, she was ashamed of herself. He’d been missing for weeks. Her little problems were nothing compared to what he was going through. God, she hoped he was all right.

She filled her coffee mug and checked out the huge whiteboard where Trudy kept the monthly schedule updated. Five days before Christmas, the Smithsonian dinner was the only event for the week. Next week, she had two small New Year’s Eve parties. Today, Tess would meet a client at lunchtime to plan a dinner party in January.

When she heard the front door open, she poured black coffee into Trudy’s mug and stepped around the partition. “Thank goodness, you’re here. I need your help.”

The person who had entered wasn’t perky, gray-haired Trudy Benson. He was the opposite. A tall, husky man in black slacks, a gray turtleneck and a black leather jacket, he was solid, powerful and totally masculine. Though he wore dark aviator glasses, she felt him staring at her.

Soundlessly, he crossed the floor and took the coffee mug from her hand. When his fingers brushed hers, electricity sparked between them. The buzz surprised her. It had been years since she’d felt that kind of reaction to a man.

She licked her lips. “You’re not Trudy.”

“But I’d be happy to help you. In any way I can.”

His low, raspy voice vibrated in the air between them. In that instant, Tess decided that he was the sexiest man she’d ever met. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional way. His face was rugged and scarred. His brow was heavy, and his nose looked like it had been smashed with a hammer.

She stammered, “Who are you?”

“Nolan Law.”

The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She held out her hand as she introduced herself. “I’m Tess Donovan.”

His grasp was firm. His hand was rough and calloused. His touch increased the spark she’d felt into a thousand-volt shock. She was actually trembling. “C-c-can I help you?”

“I’m handling security for Governor Lockhart’s event.”

“I thought Stacy’s fiancé was in charge.”

“The situation merits my attention,” he said. “With Bart gone, I’m in charge.”

Yes, you are. She’d take orders from Mr. Law any day of the week.

Chapter Three

When Trudy dashed through the front door of the office, Tess mentally pushed her back outside. She wanted more alone time with Nolan. His presence validated all those resolutions she’d made about moving on with her life.

“Bad news,” Trudy said as she hung her coat in the closet near the door. “That stuffed gopher my baby grandson wants for Christmas is nowhere to be found. I’m thinking I could chop the ears off a bunny and it might do.”

Pushing her curly gray hair into shape, she darted toward them, introduced herself to Nolan and tilted her head back to look up at him. “You’re a former marine. Am I right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I can always tell.” Her blue eyes twinkled. In her lace blouse with the sparkly Christmas-tree brooch, Trudy Benson was the very definition of cute little old lady. “My oldest boy was in the Corps for ten years before he settled down. Where were you stationed?”

“That information’s classified,” he said.

“You can tell me. It’s not like I’m a terrorist, even if I do have to take my shoes off at the airport. I’ll just assume it was the Middle East. Do you speak Farsi or Arabic?”

“Both.”

For a moment, Tess considered letting Trudy continue with her questions. Her adorable grandma persona gave her free rein to say things that would have sounded rude coming from anyone else, and Tess was curious about Nolan.

But she didn’t want to waste his time. “Mr. Law is handling security for the event at the Smithsonian.”

“I should have guessed,” Trudy said. “Corps Security and Investigations, the business that Bart Bellows founded. Is there any word on Bart?”

Tess stared into Nolan’s dark glasses. She hoped to hear something positive but feared the worst.

“I’m sorry,” Nolan said. “Nothing new.”

She sensed that he was holding back. Later, she’d push for more details. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Law. We have a problem with the security.”

“We’re going to be working together, Tess. Call me Nolan.”

His rasping voice struck an unusual note. At the same time, his cadence and pronunciation sounded familiar. “All right, Nolan. About this problem…”

“The blueprints at the Smithsonian,” he said. “I have a contact who can obtain the necessary security clearance. He needs to meet you.”

“When?”

“Now would be good.” He checked his wristwatch. “I’ll drive.”

Though she didn’t have pressing matters to handle this morning, Tess wasn’t a big fan of the spontaneous. She liked to have things planned and executed with tidy precision. “I have a meeting at one o’clock.”

“I’d be happy to drive you there,” he said.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

She took Trudy’s arm and retreated behind the partition. As soon as she was out of Nolan’s view, Tess exhaled a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. Her heart was beating faster. She felt warm all over. She whispered, “I can’t just drop everything and waltz out the door with him. Can I?”

“You really must.” Trudy patted her shoulder. “Nolan Law is the hottest thing that’s been in this office since we did a test run with that thirtieth birthday cake with all the sparklers and the tablecloth caught on fire.”

“May I remind you that we had to replace a chair after that disaster?”

“Are you sweating?” Trudy asked. “Am I seeing a sheen of perspiration?”

“No.” But yes, she was. Her forehead was damp.

“For goodness sakes, Tess. Go with the sexy bodyguard. If anybody deserves some zing in their life, it’s you.”

Tess wiped her palms on her black slacks and tried to gather her composure. “He’s definitely sexy.”

“He’s kind of a thug with all those scars, but there’s something about him. It’s pretty doggoned obvious that you like him.”

“For all I know, he might be happily married.”

“Oops, I hadn’t thought of that.” Trudy pivoted. “Let’s find out.”

Before Tess could stop her, Trudy darted around the partition and up to Nolan. He was standing at the front desk, holding a clear-framed snapshot of Tess’s son at the top of a slide waving his hands in the air. He held up the picture. “Is this your boy?”

She nodded. “That’s Joey. He’s four.”

“I can see the resemblance to you.”

“Not really,” she said. “He’s the image of his father, healthy and funny and more headstrong than is good for him.”

Trudy piped up, “Do you like children, Nolan?”

“Yes.”

Trudy beamed her grandmotherly smile. “Have you started your own family yet? Is there a Mrs. Nolan Law?”

“A missus?” He seemed amused by the concept. “Actually, there is no Mrs. Nolan Law.”

“No time like the present to get started,” Trudy said. “You two should get going. I’ll take care of the office.”

Tess started to object. “But I—”

“If anything comes up, I’ll call or email or text. Run along.”

Feeling like she’d been railroaded by the Trudy bullet train, Tess slipped into her suit jacket and coat, grabbed her briefcase with the laptop inside and followed Nolan out the door. She expected a rugged man like him to drive a Hummer. Instead, he had a classic black Mercedes.

She buckled her seat belt and leaned back in the luxurious seat. “Where are we headed?”

“A café in D.C.,” he said. “This meeting shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

“I’d like to apologize for Trudy being so intrusive.”

“Not at all,” he said. “She reminds me of my late grandma. A Southern belle who knew everything about everybody in her little town. Grandma always said she wasn’t nosy. Just concerned.”

Aha! He had Southern roots. “I thought I heard a hint of an accent. Did you grow up in the South?”

“I’ve lived all over. You?”

“I grew up in a suburb of Chicago. My dad was a police officer, killed in the line of duty.” She pinched her lips together. She wanted information from him, not the other way around.

He asked, “What brought you to Arlington?”

“College. I wanted to be an art historian but got sidetracked along the way by the culinary arts.” And by Joe Donovan. Instead of going to graduate school, she’d married him and launched her career as a caterer.

“Any regrets about dropping the career in art?”

“None,” she said quickly. “I chose the right path.”

Even though she’d lost Joe, the love they’d shared was true and deep. She’d experienced the kind of passion that poets write about. Not that she and Joe were gooey and sentimental. His greatest talent had been making her laugh. More than anything else, he had wanted her to be happy. If Joe could see her now, he’d tell her to give Nolan a chance. She glanced toward him, wondering if he’d ever take off those sunglasses.

Nolan said, “Bart mentioned that your son was born after your husband went missing. That must have been rough.”

“My son’s birth was the high point of my life, and I wish with all my heart that my husband could have shared that moment when I first heard Joey cry.” She couldn’t help smiling when she recalled the joy and relief she’d felt when she held her perfectly formed, newborn baby boy. Joey was so full of energy, wriggling and waving his arms. It was a wonderful moment. But she didn’t want to talk about herself. “Bart was with me. He’s a very special part of our lives. I’d like to know more about his abduction.”

“Such as?”

“Start at the beginning.”

“There was an explosion at a day care center,” he said. “In the confusion, Bart was taken. His handicap van was missing, and his driver was killed.”

Tess had heard this part of the story. “It seems like his van could be traced. Did it have GPS?”

“There were tracking devices in both the van and Bart’s motorized wheelchair. Both were deactivated immediately. We found the van about a week later. A bomb had been exploded inside. There was no useful evidence.”

“And no contact from the kidnappers,” she said. “I know Bart sees his doctors on a regular basis and is on a regimen of medications.”

“None of his prescriptions have been used, but his meds are fairly common, easily purchased. None of his regular docs have heard from the people who kidnapped him.”

“I worry that he’s not being properly cared for.”

Nolan’s jaw tensed. The long scar that stretched from the edge of his nose to his earlobe defined his cheekbone. “I can’t promise you that Bart is all right. We don’t have any definite leads, and I don’t like to speculate.”

She sensed that he was trying to shelter her from worry as though she was a delicate hothouse orchid. Such concerns were unnecessary. She’d been through a lot of pain in her life, starting with the death of her father when she was in her teens. The other cops on the force had tried to protect her and her mother by not talking about the way he died, but the closed casket pretty much said it all. Her dad had been shot point-blank in the face by a low-life drug dealer who was currently spending life in prison.

Her mom refused to face what had happened, but Tess attended the trial for the drug dealer. Every single day in court, she stared at the bastard who killed her dad, and she experienced every shade of rage and hatred. Dealing with Joe’s death was more difficult; she couldn’t focus her anger and sadness on a faceless enemy.

“I can handle the truth,” she said. “I’d rather know everything than not enough. You’ve been investigating for nearly a month. I assume you have suspects.”

He turned toward her. His eyes were hidden by the dark glasses, but she could feel his gaze. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now, talk.”

“There’s a possibility that Bart was abducted by his son, Victor Bellows.”

She was surprised. “I didn’t know Bart had any children.”

“He was estranged from his son.”

That didn’t seem like Bart at all. He was ferociously loyal and caring; he’d be a great father. “There’s more to that story.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Nolan said. “Bart’s son went into the military when he was eighteen. He did a tour in Iraq and got into trouble with the military police. Rather than be incarcerated, he went AWOL. The military classified him as MIA.”

“How did you find out he was still alive?”

“Victor was using an alias. We found blood at the site of the abduction. When we ran tests, we found a DNA match through the army database.”

A father kidnapped by his own son? She hated to think of the betrayal. There must be another answer. “The fact that his blood was at the scene doesn’t prove that Victor is the kidnapper. He might have been trying to protect his father. Like you, he might be searching for Bart right now.”

“Anything’s possible.” But Nolan sounded skeptical.

“I know Bart was in the CIA for a long time,” she said. “He must have a lot of enemies.”

“True.”

“If Victor took him, he might be keeping his father out of sight to protect him.” She wanted to believe that Bart’s son wouldn’t hurt him. “How much do you know about Victor Bellows?”

“Under his alias, he was involved in some bad stuff. It’s hard to believe that Bart’s son would grow up to be a criminal, but that’s what it looks like.” He paused to take a breath. “I have reason to believe that Victor is here in Washington.”

“That’s the actual reason you’re in town, isn’t it? If you weren’t looking for Victor Bellows, you would have left security for Governor Lockhart’s event to Stacy’s fiancé.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What other reason could there be?”

“Maybe I came here to meet you.”

Was he flirting with her? Tess had been out of the dating game for such a long time that she barely recognized the signs of male attention. “To meet me? Why? What have you heard?”

“I might have heard that you’re a charming woman with black hair and eyes like sapphires. Someone might have told me that you’re creative, smart and efficient. According to rumors, you’re the total package. You can even cook.”

She felt her jaw drop. “Is that so?”

“Thus far, I’m not disappointed.” A grin twitched the corner of his mouth. “But I haven’t tasted your mushroom and asparagus risotto.”

How did he know that was her best dish? When she was working as a caterer, she could always count on her risotto. Apparently, he knew more about her than she did about him. That disparity had to end.

Near the Marine Memorial, he merged onto a main route to cross the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge. Nolan drove like someone who was familiar with D.C. and Arlington.

“Doesn’t look like you need directions,” she said.

“I’ve spent time in this area.”

“At the Pentagon?” she guessed.

He shrugged and said nothing. Pulling information from him was like plucking tail feathers from a chicken. He seemed determined to maintain an aura of mystery, which should have been irritating. Instead, she was intrigued.

Gazing through the windshield at gray skies, she said, “Cloudy day. Do you really need those sunglasses or are they a necessary accessory for security men?”

Another grin. “Are you teasing me, Tess?”

“I dare you to take them off.”

He stopped for a red light, turned to her and whipped off the dark glasses. For less than five seconds, his gaze met hers. Then the sunglasses were back in place as his attention returned to the traffic.

She wasn’t so quick to recover. Shocked, she jolted back in her seat. She was drowning, struggling to catch her breath. Why was this happening to her again? Was she losing her mind?

In Nolan’s eyes, she saw a ghost.

Her fingers clenched, and she dug her nails into her palms, hoping the stab of pain would wake her from this insane illusion. It wasn’t possible. Joe Donovan was dead.