Donovan had been right; her father hadn’t rejected her. Unbidden, love welled up and filled her chest to bursting, along with an unreasonable anger at the situation and a deep regret that nearly broke her heart. Emotions bubbled like a volcano, threatening to spill over. If only she’d known…
She was torn between thanking Donovan for letting her know and hating him for hitting her with the agonizing knowledge of what she’d missed and the knowledge that he’d been the one to fill the void she’d left in her father’s life.
She was tired and too emotionally drained to look at the letters now. Placing them back on the stack, she noticed the lavender edge of the fourth envelope in the stack. The familiar color sent a cold shock through her and she fought a light-headed feeling as she picked it up. Her mother’s handwriting was unmistakable. She held the envelope as if it might burn her; if Donovan was right, it held the final betrayal by her mother, the one that had kept her father out of her life for fifteen years. The one that had severed the emotional attachment to her father that she was still trying to repair with her therapist.
She dropped the envelope and put her hand to her mouth. Without turning, she choked out, “Please go away.”
He did, without comment. She waited until he’d closed the door behind him to let the first whimpering sound escape her throat. More crowded behind it, but she refused to release them. She couldn’t do this now. Couldn’t face another trauma after the horrifying, exhausting day she’d had. Turning abruptly, she opened a suitcase and pawed through the contents, pulling out what she needed. Five minutes later she walked out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and ready for bed. She’d just pulled the covers back when a knock sounded at the door.
“Yes?”
As if it were an invitation, the door opened and Donovan stuck his head inside. His gaze flicked over her pajamas, summery but decent nylon shorts and top, then settled without expression on her face. “Forgot to tell you—be downstairs at seven.”
Evan had said it, too, but this time it registered. She glanced at the clock by the bed that read three minutes past two. “Seven?” she repeated incredulously.
“The sooner we figure out what Wally wanted us to know, the sooner we can get those hostages out. Once we have them, you’ll be safe, too. Then you can leave.” His gaze dropped to her body once more before he ducked out and closed the door.
She blinked at the door, feeling defeated and a little like a hostage herself. Deliberately ignoring the pile of letters on the desk, she got ready for bed and slipped beneath the covers. Reaching for the lamp beside the bed, her gaze was drawn to the letters again. How could she sleep not knowing? Damn it. In one quick motion she jumped out of bed, grabbed the lavender envelope, and slid back under the covers.
The letter was short and to the point.
Walter,
Please stop writing to Jessie. It is upsetting for her and only makes this time in her life more difficult. She does not wish to ever talk to you again, and I will not force her to answer your letters.
Margaret.
“Oh, Mom.” Jess breathed the words over a sob, then unable to prevent it, let the rest of the tears come. They were ripped from someplace deep inside, a backlog of anguish she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to, and she used the pillow and downy comforter to muffle the noise. Ten minutes later she fell into an exhausted sleep.
…
Donovan left her as fast as he could, trying to escape the images in his head. He’d been doing a good job of treating her as a source, as the daughter of his friend and mentor, until he’d seen her standing there in her skimpy nightclothes. He would have expected something practical from Jess, like flannel, forgetting that a woman from the Deep South probably didn’t own flannel. What he hadn’t expected was clingy baby-blue nylon that revealed the pert buds of nipples and far more of her long, shapely legs than he’d been able to admire in a skirt. Inappropriate images slammed into his brain and wouldn’t leave.
Normally, he’d enjoy the fantasy. Any healthy heterosexual male would, especially one with his lifestyle of exhausting training missions and sudden overseas trips that left his sex life pitifully deprived. The past year had been especially hectic, with little time to even think about women. Jess Maulier would be a perfect fantasy in any circumstances, so being attracted to her was understandable. But every time he envisioned those shapely legs in high heels, or her feminine curves rocking some skimpy lingerie, he also flashed on Wally’s face scowling at him in disapproval. Jess was his friend’s daughter, and Donovan was exactly the kind of man Wally had wanted to shield her from—a man who attracted danger and courted death on a regular basis. If any woman was off-limits for Donovan, it was Jess.