Dangerous Devotion E-Book

Valerie Hansen

• Herausgeber: NYLA
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 301

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

Jessica was just 18 when she married the love of her life: handsome, strong, independent, Greg Dixon, who promised to always be there for her. What he didn't tell Jessica was that he was an undercover agent, sworn to bring down a dangerous drug cartel.In too deep, Greg had no choice but to fake his own death – the only way he could protect her – leaving Jessica alone to raise their son.  Seven long years have passed since Jessica was told she was a widow…and now Greg is back, more magnetic than before, but with shocking news: someone high up in the CIA is dirty – and Jessica and their son are in terrible danger!From the majestic Ozarks to exotic jungles, from hometown to the unknown, Jessica and Greg are running against the clock. Their love and faith put to the test, just how far must they go? And is Jess's devotion to Greg more dangerous than the relentless enemy at their heels?

Leseprobe

Dangerous Devotion

Valerie Hansen

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Also by Valerie Hansen

About the Author

This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dangerous Devotion

Copyright © 2013 by Valerie Hansen

ISBN: 9781617509056

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

NYLA Publishing

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http://www.nyliterary.com

“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.”

Isaiah 40:31

Prologue

Flames from the burning hacienda leaped high, roaring, crackling. Killing his dreams. Smoke blotted out the moon. Glowing, falling embers stung the man’s flesh like a swarm of angry bees but his grief masked the pain.

“Dios!” A howl of anguish began in his deepest soul and echoed off the lush vegetation of the Colombian jungle that surrounded the fortress-like compound. He had escaped just in time. His favorite son had not. That was all that mattered.

Hoards of armed men were swarming over the grounds, inside and beyond the electrified fences. He had done everything he could to protect his family; guards, alarms, the most expensive surveillance equipment his drug smuggling profits could buy, yet those efforts had failed.

His already stony heart hardened further. Someone would pay for this assault. If it took him the rest of his life, he would wreak vengeance on the American spies who infiltrated his organization and ruined everything.

Chapter One

Agent Greg Dixon consciously slowed his breathing and sent up a silent prayer for patience. The hardest part of his job was always the waiting, the watching.

He shifted his feet in the lush, green, California grass outside Jessica’s bedroom window as he recalled his last official assignment. Memories of the humid South American jungle were painful, at best. That moist air had closed in around him like a heavy blanket. Stifling. Cloying. Oppressive.

He could imagine the rotting vegetation beneath his boots, the insects buzzing around his sweaty face, the vines clawing at him as he’d cheated death by creeping through the undergrowth to freedom while the hacienda burned behind him.

Greg mentally shook himself. There was little similarity between this balmy night and his time as a prisoner of a Colombian drug lord.

“So why am I complaining?" he muttered, disgusted with himself.

He should be thanking God that he’d made it back to the States. At least he wasn’t being forced to crawl on his belly through snake-infested mire to escape the well-armed drug cartel he’d been sent to locate. And, he wasn’t in danger of being shot on sight, either.

Of course, in Colombia, all he’d had to worry about were smugglers, hostile guerillas, crooked national troops and politicos on the take. Here, he’d have to face the woman he’d once pledged to love forever, and explain why their happily-ever-after marriage had had to end almost before it had begun.

Greg drew his sleeve across his forehead to wipe away fresh perspiration. If he hadn’t been so worried about Jessie’s current safety he’d have turned this job down cold rather than stir up old memories. How she must have wept when she’d been told he wasn’t ever coming back.

Picturing Jessica as his young, innocent bride was a false perception. And dangerous. He’d seen recent photos of her. She looked anything but naive with that satiny, reddish-blond hair and those sparkling green eyes... not to mention a womanly figure that had apparently followed the birth of her only child.

His jaw muscles clenched. Jessie’s dossier revealed she’d had a son by some guy he’d never heard of. Learning that had bothered him far more than he’d let on to anyone, even himself. Yet who could blame her? She was young and lonely and she’d been convinced her husband was dead.

Glancing at the luminous dial of his watch, Greg realized twenty minutes had passed. Jessica’s bedroom light had gone out an hour ago. She should be asleep. At least he hoped so. If she awoke and raised a fuss before he reached her, quieted her and explained, his advantage would be gone.

He’d removed the window screen earlier. Creeping closer to the side of the single-story dwelling, he slowly eased the window open, paused a few moments to be sure his quarry hadn’t stirred, then pulled on a black ski mask before he levered himself up and into her bedroom.

The first thing Greg was conscious of was the familiar, fresh-washed scent. His mental and physical reaction was intense. Gut-wrenching. Revealing. Coming to see Jessica after all this time, no matter what the extenuating circumstances, was clearly his biggest mistake since exposing the crooked Colombian agents and having to flee into the wilds in a hail of bullets.

Greg straightened from a crouch. What choice did he have? Lives hung in the balance. And if Jessica could be persuaded to help, it would simplify a lot of things as well as protect her and her child. All he had to do was awaken her and explain his mission before she panicked and screamed or conked him on the head with a baseball bat and called the cops.

If Greg hadn’t been trying so hard to remain quiet, he might have laughed aloud at the thought.

Jessica Dixon was drifting in the netherworld between sleep and wakefulness, picturing her beloved son while trying to avoid disturbing, related thoughts. For the most part, she was succeeding.

Keeping her child’s real father a secret had been the right thing to do, she insisted, feeling pride and a surge of accompanying inner strength. The trials she had been through in the past eight years had hardened her in a positive way. Even her own father had seen the change for the better and come around to her way of thinking before...

Suddenly wide awake, Jessica stiffened and held her breath, listening. That noise! What was it?

She froze. A slight breeze whispered across her face. There should have been no air stirring like that. So why was there a draft?

Barely opening her eyes she focused on the area directly in front of the only window. Instead of the white lace curtains and a smattering of stars beyond, she saw a shadow outlined by eerie ripples of moonlight.

Her first thought was that maybe little John Michael had had trouble sleeping and had tiptoed into her room for solace.

In micro-seconds her rational mind rejected that idea. This shadow was no slim, seven-year-old boy. It was man-sized. And it was getting larger as it came closer!

Tense beyond words, Jessica feigned sleep. What should she do? What could she do? If she tried to escape, her innocent son might hear the ruckus and try to come to her rescue. Above all, she mustn’t put the little boy in danger, especially if all this man wanted was to burglarize their house.

Her hands balled into fists, her nails cutting into her palms. What if this intruder wasn’t a simple thief? What if his intent was to harm someone? Her teeth clenched. If he dared touch her or her son she was going to make him pay, no matter what the personal consequences.

Jessica’s muscles ached, then began to spasm from being held so tightly in check. Breath whooshed in and out of her lungs. Her heart hammered. If only she had a weapon handy! Anything to shift the odds to her favor.

To her chagrin she realized that her love-your-neighbor, live-and-let-live principles had been whisked away the moment she was truly threatened.

The man’s shape now blotted out the window. Jessica held back as long as she could, then inhaled deeply, ready to lunge for the bedside lamp and hurl it at him.

At that moment he leaped.

Jessica gulped air, intending to scream.

The prowler landed across her bed and clamped a large, strong hand over her mouth before she could make any real noise.

Frantic, Jessica did exactly what her instinct to fight back insisted; she bit him.

“Ouch!”

Cursing, the intruder switched hands, using a leather-gloved palm to replace the bare, injured one. “Cut it out, Jess!”

Thrashing wildly, she writhed beneath his weight. He’d thrown one leg across hers and was trying to hold her still. She fought back. Managing to free an arm she pounded his head and shoulders.

The blows did nothing to stop the assault. She gasped. Struggled. Increased her efforts until her knotted muscles screamed in pain.

“Jessica, stop it,” the man hissed in a low, hoarse voice. “It’s me, Greg.”

Several seconds passed before her subconscious took in what he’d said.

Wide-eyed, she held perfectly still. That voice! Staring into the dimness she tried to make out the features behind the ski mask. Was this another dream? Or had Greg really come back into her life the way she used to pray he would?

The moment he relaxed the pressure on her mouth, she twisted free. Her first instinct was to scream. Her second was anger. Unbelieving, she rasped, “You’re dead.”

“Do I look dead? It’s really me, honey.”

“Prove it.”

Greg levered himself up very slowly. “Promise you won’t try to get away?”

Her nod was not meant to be a commitment. Far from it. What she wanted was the opportunity to flee.

“Okay. I’m going to reach over and turn on the light by your bed. I won’t hurt you. Understand?”

Another nod. Time seemed to halt. The room was spinning. So was her head. She hadn’t seen or heard from Greg Dixon for eight long years. His bosses had insisted he’d been killed while on a mercy mission to bring food to some third-world country. She was even receiving a widow’s stipend.

And now she was supposed to believe he’d come back to life and sneaked into her room in the middle of the night? For what possible reason? Certainly not to take up where they’d left off when they were newlyweds, she chided herself. The Greg she’d known and loved when she was seventeen wouldn’t be the same person after all that time. She’d certainly changed. Thank goodness.

Blinking in the brightness of the bedside lamp, Jessica focused her frightened gaze on the knitted mask. “You’re not Greg,” she said, breathlessly. “You can’t be. I went to his funeral!”

She heard a wry chuckle as he gave the mask a yank and uncovered his head, revealing the thick, wavy, brown hair she remembered so well. His darkly-mysterious eyes removed all doubt he was exactly who he claimed to be, yet her conscious mind was unready to believe him.

“No. It’s not you.”

Then he began to smile. It was Greg. Her Greg. Her husband. Who was supposed to be dead.

She pressed her elbows to the mattress and edged away from him. Some answers to prayer were simply impossible to accept – and this was one of them.

Part of her wanted to throw her arms around Greg’s neck and hold on tight to keep him from vanishing again. Another part wanted to slap his face for putting her through such agony.

Before she could decide which option won, Greg leaned closer, brushed a kiss against her cheek, then eased himself away. “I’m glad to see you too. How’ve you been, honey?”

His nonchalance was maddening. “Don’t you honey me,” she said, smacking his shoulder. “And get off my bed!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She eyed his totally black outfit as he straightened and stood. “Do you know what you put me through when you disappeared? How I suffered?”

“That couldn’t be helped.” Greg sobered. “It was for your own good.”

“My own good?” Jessica raised herself into a sitting position and glared at him. “If you wanted out of our marriage you could have just told me so.”

“I never said I didn’t want to be married to you. Things happened. Dangerous things. The only way I could be sure you’d stay safe was to make everyone believe I’d died. Even you, Jessie.”

“Oh, sure. I suppose this wonderful plan for our lives wasn’t even your idea.”

“It wasn’t. I only went along with it because it was the only way to protect you.”

“How noble.” She pulled a face and folded her arms across her chest. “Assuming I buy that excuse – not that I’m saying I do – why did you suddenly decide to come back after all this time?”

“I’m here on business,” Greg said soberly.

“Terrific. My husband abandons me for eight years and I don’t see him again until his mysterious boss sends him on an errand. Wonderful. So, why are you dressed like a Hollywood-style cat burglar and why did you break into my room in the middle of the night?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Shorten it.”

Greg shrugged and smiled down at her. “Can’t. Sorry.”

“Then go away.”

“I can’t do that, either, Jess. At least not till I’ve done what I came to do.”

Her fingers tightened involuntarily on the bedclothes and she pulled them higher. “And what would that be?”

His chuckle was self-deprecating and brief. “Nothing personal, honey, although I have to admit, seeing you again does remind me what a good time we had on our honeymoon.” He sobered. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to continue our discussion in your room like this, do you? Why don’t you get dressed while I go make us some coffee? I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

That said, Greg strode silently to the bedroom door, opened it, and disappeared down the hall.

Jessica sat very still, the covers clasped tightly to her chest. If this was a dream, it was the most realistic one she’d ever experienced. As a matter of fact, nothing this bizarre had occurred in even the most outlandish of her romantic fantasies.

Her head snapped around to stare after Greg. Wait a minute. He’d said he was going to make coffee. How did he know where her kitchen was when he’d never set foot in this house before?

She reached a hand toward the bedside telephone, intending to call the police, then paused, undecided. Greg was the one man in the entire world she had fully trusted, once, and that feeling lingered in spite of the shock he’d just given her. Besides, she was nearly as curious as she was stunned and angry.

Jessica swung her legs over the side of the mattress, throwing the bedclothes aside in a jumble. She quickly pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt.

Could Greg have been watching her house, spying on her? And if so, how much more did he know or had he guessed? Did he suspect the secret she’d done her best to conceal?

Before she threw him out of her kitchen and out of her life for good, she was going to learn his true motives.

She had to. Or she’d never have another second’s peace of mind.

The familiar, welcoming aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafted down the hall as she padded barefoot from her bedroom, pausing only briefly to look in on her sleeping son and ease his door closed so he wouldn’t be disturbed.

Greg was waiting for her with two mugs of hot, instant coffee. He gave her a cursory once-over, smiled and handed the closest cup to her. “Compliments of your microwave. Shall we sit down?”

“I suppose so.” Suddenly more ill-at-ease and wary than before, Jessica placed herself opposite him and pointed to a chair across the round, oak, kitchen table. “You sit over there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And stop toying with me, Greg. I should have called the police the minute you left me alone and you know it.” She ran her free hand over her mussed hair and smoothed it back, remembering belatedly that she hadn’t even stopped to brush it.

“I know. But you didn’t.”

“How do you know I didn’t?”

“Did you?”

She made a sour face. “No.”

“I figured as much. That was the main reason they sent me to contact you instead of relying on a stranger.”

“Strangers? Hah! You mean like those guys in suits who showed up to assure me they were going to take care of everything after you were killed? Did you know they helped me find a job? I’ve been getting a small widow’s pension from your old firm, too. How can that be if you’re still alive? Do they have spare money to throw around?”

“Something like that.”

Jessica sipped at her coffee without thinking and jumped when it burned her lips and tongue. She carefully set the mug on the table in front of her and cupped her hands around it so he wouldn’t see them tremble. “When are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

“The details aren’t important, Jess. The less you know, the better off you’ll be. I just need a favor.”

“Like what?” She was scowling and peering across the table at him.

“You’re the personnel director at Imaginative Imports. I want you to get me a job there.”

“Are you crazy? You ditched me right after our wedding and put me through hell. You just broke into my house and scared the you-know-what out of me. Why would I help you after all that?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do and you’re an honorable person.”

That smarted. “I used to be. What makes you think I still am?”

“You are. You even teach Sunday School.”

She tensed, her eyes widening. “How come you know so much about me?”

“I have my ways. You got your stepbrother, Mark, a job in the warehouse last month. All I’m asking is the same consideration.”

“How did you find out about Mark?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just trust me.”

She snorted derisively. “Oh, sure. Like I trusted you to love, honor and cherish me till death do us part?”

“I never meant to break those vows, Jess.” Greg’s jaw muscles clenched and released. “You know that.”

“I thought I did.”

Resentment tinged her usually pleasant voice. Reaching for the sugar bowl, she added a spoonful to sweeten her coffee and stirred it to stall while she tried to come to terms with confusion and feelings of abandonment.

“Getting back to your reason for this visit,” she said. “Why, exactly, do you want me to recommend you for employment at I.I.?”

“I need to be on the inside. It’s vitally important.”

“To whom?”

He hesitated, then looked deeply into her dark, jade- colored eyes, willing her to listen. “The government. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Mine? Ours? The U.S. government?”

Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Of course it’s the U.S. You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jessie drawled. “I’m sitting at my kitchen table in the middle of the night, having coffee and chatting with my dead husband. I think I’m doing pretty well, considering.”

“You’re right. You are. The problem is, if I don’t manage to weasel my way into I. I. I’ll have to try other methods to gain entry behind the scenes. That’ll take time, which we don’t have.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure, Dixon. Tell me another fairy story. I’ve worked at Imaginative Imports for years. That outfit is as straight and as honest as I am. They don’t need anybody, especially Uncle Sam, looking over their shoulders.”

“In that case, no harm done,” he countered. “Get me that job and let my investigation prove how ethical everybody is.”

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t suppose you have a badge or anything to show me you’re telling the truth this time, do you?”

“Not on me, no.”

“That figures.” Jessica was as disgusted with herself for listening to his far-fetched story as she was with him for telling it.

“I’m asking - no, begging - you to trust me.” Greg set his coffee aside and reached across the table to place his warm hands over hers. “You have nothing to lose, Jess. No one at your office will have any idea we were ever connected in the past, and when my job is done, I’ll disappear. I promise. Nobody will suspect you had a thing to do with the outcome of my investigation, whatever it is.”

She was fighting to speak evenly while his touch seared her fingers and sent shock waves rocketing through her already over-stressed body. “Except I’m supposed to recommend that you be hired.”

“I plan to walk in off the street tomorrow just like any other out-of-work guy. I’ll hand you my resume, you can interview me or whatever you usually do, and then put me to work. That’s all there is to it.”

“Suppose we don’t have any openings?”

Greg stiffened, his grasp on her hands growing firmer. “But you do. One of your warehouse men was killed yesterday in a freak auto accident. I want his job.”

Eyes widening, Jessica stared at him. “How do you know about that?”

“I read it in the newspaper.”

Taking a deep breath, she told herself she must be crazy to even consider granting his off-beat request. Yet if she refused, Greg might hang around, trying to convince her to help him. What if he remained in her life long enough to suspect the truth about John Michael? She couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Will you promise never to bother me or come to my house again?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “If I help you, will you promise me that?”

“Yes.”

Jessica pulled her hands from his grasp and got to her feet. “Okay. Be at Imaginative Imports tomorrow at ten, sharp. Tell the receptionist you’re looking for work and she’ll send you to me.” Feeling suddenly wobbly, she leaned against the back of her chair for support.

“Thank you,” Greg said softly. “You’ll never know what a valuable service you’ve performed for your country.”

“Just go. Get out of here, will you? I’m actually starting to believe your wild story.”

Greg smiled. “Still as stubborn as ever, aren’t you, honey?” He smiled as he turned, muttering, “And a lot more beautiful.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” Striding purposefully away, he started back down the hall toward her bedroom instead of exiting by way of the back door as she’d expected. Jessica was right behind him. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’ll leave the same way I got in,” Greg said in a hoarse whisper. He flicked off the lamp so the room was dark except for the light filtering in from the hallway and the moon-glow on the lawn.

“Is that necessary?”

He turned, faced her, and grasped her shoulders. “This isn’t a kid’s game we’ll be playing, Jess. The people I work for are supposed to be the good guys, and sometimes they’re not a whole lot better than the scum on the other side.”

“Then why do you...”

“When I figure that out, I’ll let you know,” he said, his voice husky.

Jessica’s control faltered for a split-second and her body inclined itself toward the barely-leashed power she sensed in him.

That was enough. Greg leaned closer and lowered his lips to claim a brief kiss. As they touched, their mutual reaction was an explosion of unexpected yearning and remembered passion.

Breathless, he broke contact and set her away from him, continuing to hold on to her shoulders to steady them both. “For old time’s sake,” he said. “Tomorrow, you won’t know me.”

Her trembling fingertips rose to touch her lips as he released her completely. “I don’t know you now, Greg.”

“Good.”

He managed a smile in parting, then stole silently to the open window, peered outside for a few moments, and slipped noiselessly into the night.

Jessica stood perfectly still in the middle of the darkened room. Keeping her company was the vivid memory of her first love, her husband, the man who had given her the most precious gift of her life - a son.

Could Greg have been telling the truth? Perhaps. And perhaps he was simply lying to get his way, to take advantage of her gullibility the way he had in the past.

Jessica huffed, her jaw thrust out confidently, stubbornly. If Greg Dixon thought she was still the naïve, easy-going girl she’d once been, he was in for a serious shock.

She only hoped there were no more surprises waiting for her that were half as bad as the one she’d just experienced.

Chapter Two

All the way to work the following morning, Jessica wondered what had possessed her to promise Greg anything, let alone complicity in some reckless scheme.

She should know better. She did know better. His unexpected appearance in the middle of the night had left her too jangled and upset to think straight, that’s all. She could only hope the whole episode had been a bad dream.

Nervous, she checked the time on the clock mounted above the cubicle to her left. It was nearly ten o’clock. Maybe her prayers had been answered and Greg was going to stand her up after all. Part of her hoped he was, while another part yearned to see him again.

She jumped as the telephone on her desk rang. Forcing her voice to be calm she answered, “Imaginative Imports. Jessica Dixon, speaking.”

“Mrs. Dixon, this is Ms. Swenson at Rushmore Elementary. I tried to telephone earlier this morning, hoping to catch you before you left for work, but your home phone seems to be out of order and this was the only other number on file. I’m afraid we need to see you immediately.”

Johnny again. Jessica sighed. “All right. I’ll stop by as soon as I get off work.”

“That won’t do, Mrs. Dixon. Not this time.”

“But...”

“I’m sorry. The school psychologist insists.”

“Psychologist?” Jessica’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t give permission for my son to see a psychologist.”

“Exactly our problem,” Ms. Swenson said. “We can expect you soon, then?”

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” Her teeth clenched as she hung up the phone. As if she didn’t have enough on her mind thanks to last night’s visitor! This was getting ridiculous.

Jessica stood, smoothing the flowing skirt of her Kelly green dress and readjusting the belt before making her way to the floor supervisor’s office.

“Excuse me, Mr. Loran. I hate to bother you but I need to ask a personal favor.”

Earl Loran put down the spreadsheet he was looking at and raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“It’s my son, again,” Jessica said. “The school just called.”

“Is the boy sick?”

“No, he’s fine. I won’t guarantee his well-being once I get my hands on him, though.” The exaggeration was untrue, of course, but voicing it distracted her from the severity of Johnny’s recent behavioral problems and made her feel a little better.

“This is the second time this week, Jessica.”

“I know, sir. I don’t know what else to do. What do other single parents do in similar situations?”

“They leave work, I suppose,” Loran said with undisguised contempt. He waved a hand at the door. “Go. Get the kid and try to straighten him out. But this is the last time this week. Understand?”

Since it was already Wednesday, she figured the odds were in her favor. “Right. Shall I take the rest of my day’s work home with me instead of driving all the way back when I’m done at the school?”

“If you want. Now go, before they throw the little...,” he paused, obviously to censor his language, “guy, into detention or something.”

“Thanks.”

Turning on her heel, she started back to her desk. The idea of her only child in so much trouble made Jessica’s stomach knot. She’d tried to be a good mother. Why did it seem as if her best efforts weren’t enough? Maybe if she and her young stepbrother, Mark, hadn’t been raised separately she’d be able to understand the twists and turns of the male mind. Then again, maybe not. She’d known Greg Dixon about as well as any woman could know a man and she certainly had misjudged him.

She came to an abrupt halt at the door of her cubicle. Oh, no! Greg was due any minute. In her concern for her son, she’d temporarily forgotten. What if Greg showed up to apply for a job and she wasn’t there to make sure he got it?

Stalling for time, her mind spinning, she opened the lower drawer in her filing cabinet to retrieve her purse and car keys. The clock now showed ten after ten. Greg was late.

Jessica gritted her teeth. Well, emergency job appointment or no emergency job appointment, she had problems of her own to solve and places to go. If the man truly had wanted a position at I.I. he should have at least had the courtesy to show up on time.

She scooped up the files piled on her desk and stuffed them into a slim briefcase, then hurried toward the company parking lot. No telling how long it was going to take her to talk the principal out of expelling her son this time. Not that John Michael didn’t deserve it for some of the stupid stunts he’d pulled in the past, like stuffing his socks down a toilet in the boy’s lavatory and flooding the entire west end of the gym. That one was a classic; one Greg would have appreciated, she thought, wincing at the comparison. As a youngster, Greg had been in plenty of mischief, too.

Contemplation of her childhood sweetheart was bittersweet, making her glad he had not arrived before she was called away.

She had little time to rest in her thankfulness. Rounding a corner, she ran smack into his broad chest, knocking herself off-balance.

Greg caught her expertly and righted her. “Whoa. Where are you going?”

“Home. I mean to school.” Since he seemed so well informed about most things in her life, she figured he also knew she was a single parent. Apparently, he did.

“The boy? Is he hurt?”

“Hurt? Whatever gave you that idea? No. He’s fine. Well, relatively fine, anyway.” She glanced past him to the parking lot. It was empty except for the two of them. “I thought you said you were going to pretend you didn’t know me.”

“I was.” Greg released his hold. “I am. I just wasn’t prepared to dodge you when you slammed into me.”

“Sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry.”

“Why?”

“The authorities at my son’s school keep threatening to expel him. I have to go talk them out of it.”

“Think you can?”

“Probably. I have before.” She cast a furtive glance at the office building she’d just left. “Look. Go in and ask to leave your application. I’ll see to it first thing tomorrow, okay?”

Greg laid a steadying hand on her arm. “You sure you’re all right? You look kind of pale.”

“It’s the result of parenthood, Dixon. Something you wouldn’t understand. I’ll feel better once I have my little darling home where I can talk some sense into him.”

“Okay. Good luck,” he said, stepping back and thrusting his hands into his pockets.

“You, too.” Jessica forced herself to ignore the rugged image of Greg in his jeans and black T-shirt, a dusky shadow of stubble on his cheeks and chin.

Turning away, she hurried off in spite of her visceral desire to remain right where she was till at least the next millenium.

It wasn’t until she’d climbed into her car and started for the school that she let herself admit most of her uneasiness and misgivings came not from her son’s dilemma, but from the nearness of the one man who had always been able to turn her usually sharp mind to something akin to lukewarm oatmeal simply by looking at her with those coffee-colored eyes of his.

The drive to the school seemed interminable. Jessica spent most of it asking God for patience and trying to draw calm from her prayers in order to concentrate on her son’s problems. Between dealing with Johnny and maneuvering to try to avoid Greg when they were likely to be working for the same firm, there was little doubt her hair would soon be snow-white.

When she finally pulled into the elementary school lot in San Gabriel, she locked her car and headed straight for the principal’s office. Breezing into the foyer, she leaned on the counter to greet the secretary. “I’m Jessica Dixon. You called about my son, John Michael?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dixon.” The stern-looking woman reached to hit the switch that opened a hidden latch. As the low gate that separated the inner office complex from the reception area opened, she gestured. “Go right in. They’re waiting for you.”

“They?”

“Your son and our district psychologist.”

Jessica was livid. “I told you when you called. You don’t have my permission to examine Johnny like that.” What did they think they were pulling?

Straight-arming the indicated door, she burst unannounced into the drab little office. Everything was painted shades of dull beige and the carpet looked as if it had been woven of the same dirt and sand that covered the playground. The blinds were closed to admit little outside light. The word, dungeon, immediately popped into her head.

Jessica’s heart lurched. Johnny was seated in a corner by the window, looking thin, wan and apprehensive. His legs were too short to reach all the way to the floor and his knuckles were turning white on the bare wooden arms of the chair. He stared at his mother.

A man wearing thick glasses and a rumpled brown suit sat in the principal’s place behind the cluttered desk. Jessica nodded to him and took the seat he indicated with a sweep of his pudgy arm.

Thick-glasses rose and extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Aaron Frye, the school counselor. Mrs. Dixon, I presume?”

“Yes.” Inbred courtesy was all that made her reach to shake his meaty hand. “Suppose you tell me what’s going on here.”

John Michael slid lower in his chair, obviously wishing he were somewhere - anywhere - else. Noting her son’s growing uneasiness, Jessica asked him directly, “What happened, honey?”

“No... nothing.”

Frye cleared his throat. “Really, Mrs. Dixon, I must insist you let me work with the boy so we can get to the bottom of his unacceptable behavior once and for all. I have the necessary permission form right here.” He pushed a paper toward her. “If you’ll just sign...”

“No. If my son needs psychological help I will be the one to get it for him,” she said, dismissing the man’s overtures. “I appreciate that you were simply doing your job but I can take care of this.” She got to her feet. “Come on, honey. Let’s go home.”

“Well, I ...” Frye adjusted his thick glasses lower on his nose and peered over them at the quiet youngster making his way to his mother’s side. “This time, it was a problem with homework, as nearly as I can tell. Your son was apparently trying to organize a full-scale rebellion among his classmates and he started a fight, instead. It’s hard to imagine that such a complacent-looking child is really responsible for all that mayhem. Still, I’m afraid he did confess. Repeatedly.”

“Which means he’s honest. That should certainly count in his favor, doctor. Thank you for your time.”

Taking Johnny’s hand, Jessica ushered him out the door, through the safety gate and into the fresh, spring air.