Warrior's Second Chance. Nancy Gideon
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The one that involves you and your daughter. You’re safe, she’s safe for now, as long as you play the game.”
“Who makes the rules?”
“Ticktock, Barbie. Better get packing.”
“Wait! What is it you want me to do?”
“I’ll call you when you get to the Wardman. And Babs, they are lovely girls. You should be proud.”
The line went dead.
She sat for long, tense minutes staring at the receiver as if it would yet speak some answer to her. Silence. The only sounds were the tortured gasps of her breathing.
Then, the mellow bongs of the grandfather clock in the living room sounded, tolling out the time and how quickly it was passing. Ticktock.
Without thinking, Barbara dialed. A moment passed. Then, at last, a connection.
“Hi, Mom. You should be here to rescue me from this unruly mob of twelve-year-olds. I’d rather be facing a box of angry jurors.”
Tessa’s voice, cheerful and alive. Barbara clutched the phone, struggling against a maternal demand that she scream an alarm across the miles that separated them. But Allen was there, watching. She inhaled and let it out in a slow controlled stream before speaking.
“Things going that well. No one said motherhood was a cakewalk.”
“It’s not for sissies. You could have warned me what I was getting myself into. The other moms have had a dozen years to get used to the idea and I’ve only had a few months. But you know what? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
Emotion thickened in Barbara’s throat as she pictured her toughly independent daughter over-wrought by the pleasures of parenting. Pleasures that had slipped quietly and almost unnoticed away from the two of them during Tessa’s growing-up years. She blinked back the burn of tears as she phrased her words, knowing someone was nearby, watching Tessa’s reactions to whatever she said. “Enjoy yourself, but be careful. Chicago can be a dangerous place. You need to be ready to protect those little girls against anything. And yourself, too.”
“Are you suggesting I should have packed my piece to go on a school field trip?” She laughed. Then the ever practical side of her personality took over. “Don’t worry, Mom. Jack trusted me to make sure nothing ever happens to Rose and I take that very seriously. I’d never let him down.”
“I love you, Tessa.”
The impulsive statement was met with the silence of surprise. There was still too much healing to do between them for Barbara to have expected a reply. So instead, she filled the uncomfortable void with lighthearted small talk. It wouldn’t do for Tessa to guess the truth about the danger she was in. Not when she was vulnerable, unprepared and unarmed and caring for a group of children. Because Barbara knew her daughter, knew she would rush headlong into a confrontation that could cost her her life and the life of the child she loved. Those were the risks she, herself, would take to keep them safe and unsuspecting.
“Tell Rose I said hello and not to eat too much junk food.”
“Ha! You tell her. Twelve-year-olds think sugar is a primary food group. How are things holding together at the office?”
“Fine,” she lied. “Everything’s under control here. You just concentrate on having a good time.”
“On keeping my sanity, you mean. Gotta go. See ya later this week.”
Sitting there, listening to dead air as her inner spirit wept, Barbara made a promise to do anything necessary to see her daughter safely home.
Even if that meant making a deal with a devil.
“Are you sure you can handle everything until Jack gets back?”
From the front-row seat of his wheelchair, Michael Chaney watched his son’s mother-in-law pace the length of the office as if it were a fashion runway. She was the most sophisticated creature the ex-cop had ever known. All class, all the time. Not intentional, just instinctual. That classiness had been passed down to the woman his son married, along with a not-so-delicate grit. Despite the polish, despite the poise, that sandpapery grit was showing on Barbara D’Angelo like the ragged edge of a crooked slip hanging below her stylish hemline. Something was wrong. Something that had to do with the suitcase and matching overnight bag she dragged into the office behind her. Something to do with the airline ticket she held clenched in one white-knuckled hand. But because he was an ex-cop, as well as her friend, he approached the situation carefully.
Michael snorted at her question. “I’ve handled worse than eight badass bodyguards-in-training. Stan’s working with them this week, probably beating them over the head with his cane to keep their attention focused on surveillance equipment instead of that hot little pilot with her long, long legs.”
That won a rueful smile. “Sounds like you’ve been doing some surveillance yourself.”
“I’m crippled, not dead. I’ll handle the phones and the interviews, and Stan will keep the probbies in line. Hey, no worries.”
But he could sense worries aplenty behind her artfully made-up surface. Barbara knew it. And she couldn’t afford to rouse his suspicions.
He’d know if she made one tiny slip. Family was the only thing that would wear concern into her flawless face. Nothing was wrong there that he knew of and she had to see that he continued to believe that. As far as he knew, Barbara was loving her stint behind the desk of Personal Protection Professionals. Who would have guessed? Less than a year ago, she’d been a regular on the society page, hosting elaborate fundraisers for charities and her husband’s political aspirations. Her biggest worries then had been whether the hired kitchen staff could keep up with the demand for shrimp puffs. Then a gunshot ended that superficial existence.
All Michael Chaney knew, from what she’d told him, was that at fifty, she was a widow whose résumé was as trophy wife. She had no skills, no passions, no purpose. Her sons lived on different sides of the country and her daughter might as well live on another planet for the distance that separated them. She was alone for the first time in her life, though she’d been lonely for years. Hard to believe, but she’d made him into a believer.
And then Jack Chaney proposed marriage to her daughter and a business arrangement to her.
She’d been surprised, doubtful and, more than that, genuinely excited. A job opportunity. A chance to be a part of something real and important and growing, like her relationship with her daughter now that the secrets between them had been torn wide open. Office manager for Personal Protection Professionals, or Lone Wolf’s Warriors, as Tessa liked to call it after Jack’s former black ops code name. They’d rented space in the center of a run-down strip mall, wedged between the hot pink vertical blinds of a hair salon and the flickering neons of an income tax service. The sign was still so new the paint looked wet. Her job was to coordinate between the training compound that housed Jack and his family, and the office; paying bills and spearheading the background checks with the elder Chaney and Stan Kovacs, his partner from their days on the streets before a criminal’s bullet put Michael in a wheelchair. And though this was the first paycheck-earning job she’d ever had, Barbara took it seriously. She wouldn’t let Jack’s unsubstantiated faith in her down for anything.
And one of the things she’s promised him was to take care of his new wife and their adopted daughter when he was away. And she wouldn’t break that promise.
Barbara finally gave up her aggressive travels and collapsed gracefully into a utilitarian office chair. She looked like a Saks Fifth Avenue marionette with the strings abruptly severed; inside, her emotions were just as tangled. “Where is Jack, anyway?”
“Someplace in Mexico doing a favor for his buddy Russell. He’s not very good at cards and letters when he’s in the field, but he’ll check in when he’s supposed to. Anything you want me to tell him?”
There it was. The opening Barbara had waited for. The chance to unload the tension and