He waited, and for a weak minute she actually considered leaning against one broad shoulder and telling him everything. Except she understood Danny too well—rather than just offer help as his father had done, he would take over, guns blazing into the middle of her mess.
Or worse yet, he wouldn't believe her about Kent's threats any more than her parents had. Either way, for the sake of the boys, she needed to keep him as far away from Kent as possible.
She stepped back. Away from Danny and the temptation of broad shoulders.
He nudged the pad toward her, no risky hand-to-hand exchange this time. "Here are numbers where you can reach me. If there's a pressing emergency, call this one. The copilot, Renshaw, lives in this complex with her fiancé."
"Spike?" She followed Daniel across the living room to the door.
"Right. Up on the second floor. He's off today and can be down in seconds," Daniel paused under the porch overhang. "Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Not just for the boys. For you too, okay?"
"Okay." She lied. And suspected he knew it.
Daniel loped toward his shiny blue truck. Apparently he took more care with his vehicle than his flight suits.
She stood in the open door, mug cradled in her hands, and let the heated ceramic warm the chill that increased as Danny backed up and drove away. She stared at his empty spot long after the truck's rumble faded.
Shaking off whimsy, she spun toward the condo. Her feet tangled on the arrangement of flowerpots by the neighbor's door. Mary Elise knelt to right one lopsided pot and scoop stray soil. She patted it back into colored planters filled with ferns, pansies and impatiens. Her hand stilled on a final one tucked in the back in an incongruous bland terracotta pot.
False Unicorn. She fingered the small greenish-white flowers, their blooms having held on beyond summer blooming season. She'd been so touched when Kent brought her a small pot similar to this once, the simple romantic gesture more special than the dozen roses he'd given her after the second miscarriage. Or so she'd thought. Then he'd explained how False Unicorn root supposedly increased fertility and prevented miscarriages.
By the end of the year, he'd bought her a window garden full of other such plants like red clover blossoms and blue cohosh. Not that he actually expected her to use them. He'd hired specialists, after all. Eventually, hope had withered along with words and creativity while her window garden blossomed in mocking contrast.
A chill iced up her spine. Rising, she searched the parking lot. Found nothing unusual. Her fingers slid from the tiny flowers and sought the warmth of her coffee mug.
Quit imagining things. The plant had nothing to do with Kent. She hadn't heard even a whisper from him in the year since moving overseas. He'd either lost her trail or the edge to his insane fury had dulled.
But those fears were difficult to shed. Trust was hard to recapture.
Mary Elise bolted inside, locked the door and tried to blot the image of the tiny plant outside. Tried. Failed. Hand gripping the knob, she sagged back.
Her gaze trekked across the living room to the bar separating it from the kitchen. Pop-Tart wrappers lay scattered across the counter with an open jar of peanut butter beside them.
Daniel's life might seem wrinkled and disorganized from the outside, but his disorder was a choice for comfort in a man totally together on the inside. While she knew her dry cleaned and wrinkle-free silks shrouded a woman with a mess of a life.
"Crap." Daniel bit out the crewdog-worthy curse with precision since there wasn't anyone but crewdogs to hear him in the squadron corridors.
In seconds he would receive an ass-chewing from the Squadron Commander for skirting rules. Technically Daniel hadn't busted a single regulation. But goodwill protocol on the other hand…Damn, but he hated playing politics. He left those niceties and games to his old man.
Or rather once had. Daniel ignored the pounding ache in his head and in a place some might call a heart while focusing on the more literal pounding yet to come.
He lengthened his strides along the industrial carpet, past photos of previous commanders, by a planning room filled with crew members at work—the kind of toe-the-line officers who made life easier for men like his father and Lt. Col. Quade. Voices drifted into the hall—Marcus "Joker" Cardenas and Jack "Cobra" Korba. Solid flyers, intense and by the rules.>Given he'd dodged her comfort last night, she didn't expect him to start sobbing on her shoulder by any means. Still she would be here for him. That much he would have to accept.
Danny folded his arms across his broad chest encased in a clean—albeit wrinkled—flight suit, obviously having finally accepted she wasn't going anywhere. "What? No tips on how I should have handled that?"
She shook her head and padded across gray-speckled tile toward the coffeemaker. Colombian roast and freshly showered Danny scenting the air made an enticing morning blend. "Why would you think that?"
"First day on the parenting job and I already flunked Kids 101." He braced a boot on the cabinet behind him and sagged back with a long exhale. "Do you think I should go after him?"
She forced herself to ask instead of advise. "What do you think?"
"Me? I want to get things settled. Now." He swiped an orange juice can off the counter and crumpled it in his fist before flinging it into a recycling bin with a resounding rattle.
A confrontation when they were both angry and on edge? Ick. She unhooked a dangling black mug to keep from grabbing his arm to stop him. To keep from grabbing him period. "Do what you feel is best."
"The kid's probably in there crying. Alone. I hate that for him." His boot jammed reflexively against the gleaming metal cabinet with a single thud. "But he would resent me more for seeing it."
Bingo, Danny. "I would imagine so."