Make Me, Sir

“Oh.” What had he told them? Why hadn’t she asked more questions yesterday like, What exactly do the boys know about us?

He led her into the living room, where the two young men sat in the dark leather chairs. Z stopped beside the couch and said, “Jessica, this is Eric. He’s a senior this year”-he pointed to a tall, lanky blond-“and Richard, a junior.” Richard had black hair and brown eyes. Muscular. Both wore jeans. Richard’s T-shirt displayed a country- western band; Eric’s a metal chick band.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” she said, taking a seat on the couch. She leaned against the end, idly tracing a dent in the leather left from Sunday morning when Z had bent her over the arm, then… She jerked her hand away and straightened, feeling herself turn red.

Z chuckled and said, “I’ll get you a drink, Jessica.” The way his eyes danced with laughter, he knew exactly what she’d remembered. The jerk.

As he left the room with his silent gait, she turned her attention to the two young men. They were studying her closely.

Although Eric frowned at her, Richard grinned in obvious approval. “You’ve been seeing Dad for a year?”

“A bit more.” And nothing had changed in that year.

“How’d you meet?” Eric asked. His cold gaze assessed her, and his mouth twisted as if he thought her a whore who’d wandered off her street corner. She tried not to take it personally. He probably acted that way toward any of his father’s women.

“It was a dark and stormy night,” she started, winning a snort of laughter from Richard. “An armadillo lay in the center of the road, and when I braked, I skidded right into a ditch filled with water.”

“Did you miss the armadillo?” Richard’s brown eyes held concern.

He sounded as protective as his father. She gave him a warm smile. “I did. Then I walked here to see if I could call a tow truck.”

Z handed her a drink. He joined her on the couch and rested his arm across the back. “She bore a distinct resemblance to a drowned cat.”

The two boys laughed.

“Thanks a lot.” Jessica frowned at Z, but when her eyes met his, she remembered the rest of that night. How he’d taken charge, forcing her to take a shower, drying her off himself…everywhere…despite her protestations. He’d overwhelmed her-he still did, dammit.

The laugh lines beside his eyes crinkled as if he remembered as well.

“Yeah, well, Mom says hi,” Eric said, drawing their attention back to him. “She’s getting a divorce from that loser. Finally.”

“Finally,” Richard echoed. “She’s sure got screwed-up taste in men…aside from you, of course.”

Z inclined his head. “Of course.”

“I’ve noticed with divorced people that after the first marriage, the next choice is always crappy,” Eric said, aiming the cut right at her.

She tried not to wince, but even knowing how a son might resent his father seeing anyone new, the insult still hurt. She knew she hadn’t concealed her reaction well when Z squeezed her shoulder.

“Eric.” Z’s firm voice had the same effect on the young man as on the subs in the club.

Eric flushed. “Sorry.” He shoved to his feet and crossed the room, not quite stomping. “It’s just… Fuck, Dad, look at her. She’s our age. She could be your daughter, for Christ’s sake.”

Z sighed. “Only if I’d started making babies at eleven.”

She’d known meeting his children would turn into a disaster. Jessica forced a smile. “I appreciate the compliment, Eric. Especially since turning thirty this year really sucked.”

He didn’t look like he believed either of them.

Richard grinned at his brother. “Put your foot into it, dumb-ass.”

Eric scowled at him, then her. “Yeah, well. Sorry.”

No, you aren’t. She looked down at her hands as her stomach twisted around the lump that had formed. Maybe he had a point.

* * *

Hopefully the personnel office wouldn’t waste their time trying to hire her, Gabi thought as she walked out of the Tampa department store. The muggy air filmed her skin with damp until her inexpensive tan slacks and button- down shirt felt pasted on. With a disgusted sigh, she pulled the newspaper from her bag and checked the next stop on her job-hunting excursion. Oh joy-an auto repair shop needed a receptionist.

The job-hunting directive had come from the two agents leading the investigation. Kouros and his partner wanted her to appear unemployed so the kidnapper’d think no one would notice if she disappeared. But, please, she hadn’t liked looking for work even when she’d really needed a job.

She’d have to play this game for three more weeks. Unless the perp tried for her. The thought sent a shiver through her. Sure she had backup, but she knew too well arrests often went bad. She could get kidnapped like Kim.

I could die. Her life could end. Just…stop. She looked around. To never walk on sun- scorched sidewalks again, never see a limitless, blue sky, or hear a little girl giggle over an ice cream cone. She worked with the survivors of aggression every day, knew the devastation that accompanied senseless death.

Now she’d purposely put herself squarely in the path, like lying down in front of a train. She swallowed. At least this time, the violence would only be directed at her. If everything fell apart, no one she cared about would get hurt.

Because people did get hurt when bad things happened. Despite the heat of the afternoon, her skin chilled as she heard again the sharp blast of a pistol in a small room, heard Danny’s low grunt and the gut-twisting sound of a bullet punching through cloth and flesh. Red splattering out across everything. The way he’d hit the floor, limbs flopping-her scream wiping out the thud. The shock on his face made it all so much more horrifying. He hadn’t thought he’d die that day.

As her chest tightened and sickness welled inside her, she shook her head. Stop, just stop. She forced a long inhalation. Another. Rubbing her hand against the brick wall behind her, she let the abrasive pain anchor her in the present. In the here and now, where cars flowed down the street. Most were white. Then a yellow sports car. A red pickup. A horn beeped, and brakes squealed. Two teenagers, hair in dreadlocks, argued as they sauntered past. Then one threw back his head and laughed. Life goes on.

Shaking inside, she watched the noisy, energetic world around her. She’d gone a year without any flashbacks and had hoped they’d left completely. After all, Danny and Rock had died ten years ago. That day had been one of those life-defining moments, the day she’d discovered that horrible things really can happen and people you love can die. Suddenly. Violently.

After scrubbing her face with her hands, she strode down the sidewalk as if to outrun her memories. Not possible, but sometimes she could fast-forward to the end. How she’d cowered in a corner, unable to run, blood pouring down her cheek, more between her legs. A man had entered the tiny apartment. Silver-haired, deep lines beside his mouth, his face open and honest. His long-sleeved shirt clean and white, with no terrifying red splotches.

She’d whimpered like a hurt animal, unable to stop the pitiful sounds. When he had come closer, she pushed back against the wall, making herself smaller, tugging at her torn clothing as if it could shield her. He’d snapped something, and someone handed him a blanket. He’d stepped forward. She shook her head, no no no, but he had simply opened the blanket and dropped it onto her lap. And then he’d backed up and knelt a few feet away. Far enough that she had managed to breathe again. Could look at him. “My name is Abe, and I’m with the FBI, sweetie.” He’d waited a moment for her to understand, then said, “I’m here just for you. To help you. Let me take you someplace safe.”

There is good in this world to balance the bad.

She’d been given a gift-a person who understood, who listened, who helped put her life back together. And using him as a model, she’d become an FBI victim specialist-someone who could reach past the terror. Could listen. Could help.