All or Nothing

The image of that betrayal, of the pain and humiliation he must have felt, brought tears to her eyes she knew her overly stoic husband would never have shed for himself. “And the cookie?”

“I’m getting there. Conrad spent a couple of days in the infirmary—his dad hit him back and dislocated Conrad’s shoulder. The cops didn’t press charges on the old man because the son threw the first punch. Anyhow, Conrad’s first day out of the infirmary, I felt bad for him so I wrapped a cookie in a napkin and put it on his bunk. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t toss it back in my face, either.” He threw his hands wide. “And here I am today.”

Her heart hurt so badly she could barely push words out. “You’re killing me, you know that don’t you?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. He’s still an arrogant ass, but he’s a good guy if you dig deep.” He grinned. “Really deep.”

She looked back out at her husband playing ball with the kids. His voice rode the breeze as he shouted encouragement and tips, and she couldn’t help but think of the father that had never been there for him. No wonder he was wary of being a parent himself.

But if he could only see himself now. He was such a natural.

She’d dreamed of them having children one day, and she’d hoped he could be a good father. But she’d never dared imagine him like this. She should be happy, hopeful.

Instead she was scared to death. It was one thing to fail at her second chance with Conrad if she would have had to walk away from the same failed marriage she’d left before. But everything was different this time. What if she lost the chance to make Conrad genuinely happy? This chance to touch lives together in Africa?

That would level her.

An older boy booted the soccer ball across the field, a couple of smaller boys chasing it down. The ball rolled farther away, toward a moving truck stacked with water jugs. The vehicle barreled along the dirt road without the least sign of slowing even as the child sprinted closer on skinny little legs.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Dr. Boothe sprang into motion but there was no way he would make it to the child in time.

“Conrad!” Jayne screamed, again and again.

But he was already sprinting toward the kid, who was maybe six or seven years old. Conrad moved like a sleek panther across the ball field, faster than should have been possible. And in a flash, he’d scooped the child up with one arm and stopped a full ten yards away from the truck. He spun the kid around, sunshine streaming down from the sky around them. The little boy’s giggles carried on the breeze as if all was right in the world. And it was. Conrad had the situation firmly in hand.

Her heart hammered in her ears.

A low laugh pulled her attention away from her husband and back to Dr. Boothe. A blush burned up her face over being caught staring at her husband like a lovesick teenager.

God, her feelings for Conrad were so transparent a total stranger could read her.

What did her husband think when he looked at her? Did he think he’d won her over today? If so, she needed to be damn clear on that point. Yes, she was hopeful, but that didn’t mean she was willing to compromise on her dreams.

But what about his dreams?

This close brush with danger revealed her husband’s competence in a snapshot. She’d spent so many nights worried about why he hadn’t called home, but seeing him in action gave her a new appreciation for how well equipped he was for quick action in risky work. He was smart, strong and he had resources. Furthermore, he had lightning reflexes and a will to help others.

Was she being as selfish as she’d once accused him of being by denying him a job that obviously meant a lot to him? A job that was, she now understood, a conduit to forgiving himself for his past? Clearly Conrad needed his work as badly as she needed hers.

That realization hurt, making her feel small and petty for all the accusations she’d hurled at him. He’d deserved better from her then, more understanding. She couldn’t change the past and she didn’t know if they had a future together or not.

But she could control what she did today.

* * *

Conrad started the Land Cruiser, sweat sticking his shirt to his back from the impromptu ball game and the surprise sprint to keep the little Kofi from dashing in front of a moving truck. His head still buzzed with the kick of fear when he’d seen the kid sprint toward the vehicle, unaware of anything but reaching that soccer ball.

Thank God the worst hadn’t happened.

Playing with the kids was the high point of these visits for him, something he always did when he had time here. But today, he’d also needed the outlet after watching Jayne with Boothe, their heads tucked together as they discussed the ins and outs of the clinic.

The day had been a success in every way that mattered, and he was a petty bastard for his foul mood. He wanted to blame the stress on Zhutov, and God knows that added to his tension. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do but wait until the enemy made a move. And once that wait was over?

Hell. The need to take his wife home and imprint himself in her memory, deep in her body, took hold of him. And he couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t follow through on the urge to make love to her until they both fell into an exhausted sleep.

He put the car in Drive and accelerated out of the parking lot. His wife sat beside him with that expression on her face again, like she’d put him under a microscope. He prepped for what he knew would come next.

“That was amazing how fast you reacted when the child ran toward that truck.”

“I just did what anyone would have.” And he’d also had a word with the truck driver about the dangers of speeding past a playground. “Kofi—the kid—spends a lot of time here with his older brother, Ade. Their mother comes regularly for her HIV treatments.”

“Do you know all the kids’ names?”

“Some,” he answered noncommittally.

She sighed in exasperation. “You said before we got on the plane you would tell me anything. Did you mean that?”

“I should have put a limit on how many questions you could ask.” A flock of geese scattered in front of him.

“I’ll go easy on you then. What’s your favorite kind of cookie? I realize I should already know that, and I feel awful for having to ask when you have my favorite pastry memorized, but I realized I really don’t know.”

Cookie? What the hell? “Um, anything with M&M’s. I’m, uh, partial to M&M’s in my cookies.”

She smiled and touched his knee. Apparently he’d answered that one correctly.

“Next question?”

“Why don’t you wear glasses anymore? And why didn’t you ever mention that you used to? You’d think there would be pictures.”

“Boothe,” he said simply. Now he understood why they’d been standing under the awning so long. Boothe had been spouting out crap about the past. “I had Lasik surgery on my eyes so I don’t need glasses anymore. As for photos of me wearing them? They perished in a horrible accident, a trash can fire in Salvatore’s office. A fire extinguisher was sacrificed in the line of duty.”

Her hand stayed on his knee. “You have a sense of humor when you want to—sarcastic, sure but funny.”

She stroked higher up his thigh and he damn near drove into a ditch. He clasped her wrist and moved her back to her side of the car.

“You’ll need to put that thought on hold.”

Laughing softly, she hooked an elbow out the window, her blond hair streaking across her face. “I want to know more about your job with Interpol.”

Apparently the easy questions had just been to soften him up.

“What do you want to know?”

“I keep trying to wrap my brain around the whole notion of you and your friends living a James Bond life, and it’s blowing my mind. How did I miss guessing for four years?”

Because he was a damn good liar?

That didn’t seem like a wise answer. He measured out a smarter answer, balancing it with what was safe to tell her.

“We’re more freelancers, and we don’t take jobs often. It actually keeps the risk of exposure down.” But the longer he went between assignments, the more restless he grew. If this Zhutov case blew up in his face, would Salvatore cut him out or relegate him to some paper-pushing research? “I only worked six ‘projects’ in the entire time we were together. An assignment could take anywhere from a week to a month.”

She nodded, going silent while she stared out the window at an ostrich running on pace with them at forty-two miles per hour. Her deep breath gave him only a flash of a notice that she wasn’t giving up.

“Sounds to me like your Alpha Brotherhood has morphed into a Bond Brotherhood.” She tipped her face into the wind, her eyes closed, her neck arched and vulnerable. “Troy is definitely the Pierce Brosnan Bond type, with his charm and his metro-sexual style. Malcolm is the Roger Moore type, old school Bond with his jazz flair. I only recall meeting Elliot Starc once, but he fits well enough for the Timothy Dalton slot, rarely seen but very international. The doctor, Boothe, he’s the Daniel Craig Bond, the tortured soul.”