8
It was late afternoon when the pilot set down at the Nairobi airport. K.C. had a car waiting to take Clarisse to the compound.
“I’m calling in my relief pilot, just in case,” the pilot told her with a gentle smile. “I don’t think you’ll be going back to Manaus today. But...”
“But it’s best to cover all your bases,” Clarisse agreed sadly. “Thanks very much.”
He nodded. “Good luck. I hope everything turns out well.”
“So do I,” she agreed.
The driver took her out of Nairobi and down long roads to the game park that Rourke owned. K.C. had already said that was where they were taking him. All the way, she worried about her reception. She remembered how it had been in the past, how Rourke had hated her, how he’d spoken to her. It would be so much worse now, after the happiness he’d given her in Manaus, to go back to those sad days. But, after all, he was still alive. She had to remember how it had been when she didn’t know. He was alive. That was what really mattered.
She laid a gentle hand on the small bump under her dress where her child lay. She’d already decided that she would tell no one, not even K.C., about the baby. If things didn’t work out, if she had to leave, it would be just as well if everyone thought Ruy was the father of her child. She couldn’t risk having K.C. let something slip. The old Rourke, if he knew it was his child, wouldn’t have been above a court battle to take the child from her. He could be ruthless. She simply didn’t dare take the chance. The baby was all she would have of him, for the rest of her life. And she wasn’t going to let Rourke take him away from her.
Just the same, she hoped all the way down the dusty road to the game park that her fears were going to be needless. Surely he’d recognize her. He had to!
* * *
The driver parked at the front door. Rourke’s house was huge. It had porches all the way around with luxurious furniture, just meant for lounging. The roof was tin, red and shiny. The fences around the property were sturdy and high. Behind one, Rourke’s lion, Lou, sat chewing on a big beef bone. He looked up briefly into Clarisse’s eyes before he went back to his bone.
K.C. met her on the porch. He looked devastated.
She joined him on the top step.
“He doesn’t remember that I’m his father,” K.C. said quietly. “Dear God...!”
She hugged him gently. He looked as if he needed comforting. “Give it time,” she said softly. “It’s early days yet.”
He managed a smile. “You look terrible,” he remarked.
She sighed. “It hasn’t been the best few weeks of my life, either. At least he’s alive, K.C.,” she reminded him. “At least, there’s that.”
“Yes.”
Voices came from inside the house. A woman’s voice, laughing.
Clarisse’s face went pale.
K.C. drew in a breath. “Charlene,” he said under his breath. “She was here with her father, a business associate of mine, when Rourke came home. They’ve...become close. God, I’m sorry!”
“What could you have done about that?” she asked with a sad smile. “It will be all right.” She grimaced. “I guess it’s time to face the music.”
“I’ll go with you. Moral support, at least.”
“Thanks.”
They walked inside, into Rourke’s room. He was lying on the bed, under the covers. His broad chest was bare. A bandage was wrapped around it, under his arms, with heavy padding over the left side. There were stitches high on his head, just below his hairline. She winced.
Rourke looked up and saw her as she approached the bed.
For a few precious seconds, she hoped against hope that the sight of her might trigger the memories, might help to bring them back, bring him back. But so quickly, those seconds passed.
His one pale brown eye narrowed, but not with pleasure. A sarcastic smile tugged at his hard mouth. “And just what the hell are you doing here, Tat?” he drawled. “Were you thinking you’d come running and do a spot of nursing, like the time in Nairobi when I lost my eye? Sorry, I don’t need help from you. Charlene’s looking after me, aren’t you, love?” he asked the other woman, who was very young and obviously smitten.
“Sure,” Charlene said shyly. She smiled at Clarisse.
Clarisse was beyond smiles. She moved a little closer. She felt wobbly. “I’m glad you’re all right, Stanton,” she said.
“Are you? Why?” He looked at the hand she raised to her short hair and he sat straight up in bed. His eyes glittered with fury. “Where the bloody hell did you get that ring? Give it here!”
Shocked, she felt him grab her wrist and turn it, forcing her to sit beside him on the bed as he tore the engagement ring from her slender finger.
“How did you get it?” he demanded hotly. “You stole it, did you? There’s no way in hell I’d have given my mother’s engagement ring to a tramp like you!”
It was far worse than Clarisse had expected it might be. She got to her feet and moved away from the bed, back toward K.C., who was livid.
“Your manners need a little work,” K.C. said curtly.
“You’re one to talk about manners, mate,” Rourke told the older man. “Did you invite her here?”
K.C. ground his teeth together.
“Get her out of my house,” Rourke said in a voice that was soft in rage. His one pale brown eye glittered. “Right now!”
Clarisse swallowed down her anguish and managed a smile.
“I’m sorry,” Charlene mouthed and grimaced.
Sympathy from her replacement hurt as much as Rourke’s rage.
“Get out!” Rourke shouted at Clarisse. “And don’t you ever come near me again, you harlot! Go pile into bed with one of your conquests...!”
K.C. had Clarisse out the door and onto the porch before Rourke could add to what he’d already said.
“Here, now, it’s all right.” K.C. comforted her. “I should never have let you come. I was afraid he wouldn’t know you. But I had hoped...”
“Yes. Me, too.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Head injuries are tricky—you know that.”
“I do know. I had one of my own, in Barrera. I still don’t remember some things about what happened there.” She drew away, pale but composed. “I’m going home, K.C.”
“I had my pilot bring in a new crew, a fresh one,” he said, confirming what the pilot had already told her. “Want to stay at my place overnight and fly out in the morning?”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I want to go home.”
“I understand. God, I’m so sorry!”
She took a long, shaky breath. “I’m sorry for you, as well,” she said gently. “You and I both had started down a new path with him.” She smiled sadly. “Well, at least I know how things are now. I’ll stop living in dreams. But he’s alive, K.C.,” she added solemnly. “That’s the only really important thing. I never really believed it would work out, not even when he proposed.” She sighed wistfully. “It’s a way of life, having him hate me. I suppose I’m used to it. Keep well, K.C.”
“You, too. If you ever need help...” he added awkwardly.
She just smiled. She turned and walked away. She didn’t even look back.
* * *
She and Ruy Carvajal were married in a civil service in Manaus two days later. She was almost angry enough to send a news clipping of the ceremony to Rourke. But it would have accomplished nothing. It was just as well to leave things the way they were. After all, she couldn’t force him to love her, no matter what she did.
She settled comfortably into marriage with Ruy. But she moved into his house. The memories in her own were killing her.
Peg came to see her soon after the ceremony, to be told about Rourke’s injury and the subsequent estrangement. She was obviously curious about why Clarisse had rushed into marriage with a man she’d known for years, but she didn’t say anything. And if she had suspicions, she didn’t voice them.
“It would never have worked out, despite my pipe dreams,” Clarisse told her friend quietly. “Rourke and I have known each other...oh, so long,” she laughed. “I was eight when my parents moved next door to K.C.’s house. That was in the days when K.C. still made his living as a mercenary, and he was gone a lot. He had houses all over the world. I believe he still maintains one in Mexico. But his main house is just outside Nairobi. Rourke was always hanging around the little village, trying to sneak back into a commando group.”
“How old was he?” Peg exclaimed.
“He was thirteen.” Clarisse laughed and shook her head at the other woman’s surprise. “Rourke was...mostly orphaned at the age of ten. His father was killed during a mission with K.C. Rourke’s mother was still alive until about a month after my father was stationed at Nairobi, at the embassy. She couldn’t do anything with Rourke, so when he was ten, he signed on with a rebel group and learned the lifestyle. By the time K.C. got back from endless missions, Rourke was leading a band of insurgents. K.C. grabbed him up, forcibly carried him back to his mother and dared him to leave home.”
“I’ve never met Mr. Kantor, but I’ve certainly heard of him,” Peg said.
“Most of what you’ve heard is true,” she said ruefully. “Although he’s mellowed a bit since those days.” She sat forward with a sigh. “Rourke’s mother was a sweet woman, but she was very ill. My family lived next to K.C.’s place in a house the embassy rented for us. I was with Rourke when his mother...died,” she added, hesitating. It was just as well to let her friend think that Mrs. Rourke had died of natural causes. “I sat with Stanton all night. He wouldn’t let anyone else near him.”
“You go back a long way.”
“A very long way. I was just eight years old, but I’d already attached myself to Stanton.” She laughed. “I was fascinated with him. He was very mature for a thirteen-year-old and I adored him. He never seemed to mind that I tagged along behind him wherever he went. K.C. said once that the only reason Stanton didn’t fall back in with the militia was that he knew I’d go right along with him, despite any interference from grown-ups.”
“Had he lost his eye at that age?”
She shook her head. “He lost it when I was eighteen, just after Christmas...” Her face was drawn with pain at the memory. “I raised Cain until my father put me on a plane for Nairobi. I sat and nursed Stanton while they fought to save his eye and his life. He was badly wounded. I never knew why. He was good at what he did, and he was usually careful. One of his comrades said he’d been drinking.” She shook her head. “Until then, I never thought he took a drink of hard liquor.”
“Anyone can be pushed beyond his or her limits,” Peg said quietly.
“I suppose so. Anyway, I sat with him in the hospital. K.C. wanted to, but there had been a lot of gossip just after Stanton’s mother died, about K.C. being his father, and K.C. didn’t want to start it all up again by staying with Stanton in the hospital. I even asked Stanton about it once and he didn’t speak to me for ages afterward. He was touchy about it until just recently, when K.C. had a DNA profile done and found out that Rourke really is his son. It’s a long and sad story,” she added, when Peg looked shocked. “K.C. lost the only woman he ever loved to the church. She’s a nun. He wanted to marry her. He got drunk and Stanton’s mother felt sorry for him. She loved him very much.” She lowered her eyes. “So many people loving the wrong people. You and Winslow got lucky,” she added with a sad smile.
“We did,” Peg agreed. She studied Clarisse’s pale face quietly. “Your husband is very kind. But he’s a great deal older than you.”
“Yes.” Clarisse’s eyes were haunted. “He married me to give my child a name, Peg,” she said in a husky whisper. “And you must never, never tell anyone.”
“Dear God,” Peg ground out, and tears wet her eyes. “I’m so sorry!”
Clarisse drew in a harsh breath. “Yes. I’m sorry, too, but Stanton remembers nothing about being here with me. Nothing at all. My mother’s reputation would suffer if I had a child out of wedlock. People remember her here with reverence, even though she’s long dead. I can’t...compromise her memory in such a way. And I am very fond of Ruy.”
“He must be an extraordinary person,” Peg replied with a smile.
“He is. He can’t have a child of his own. So this one will be precious to him.”
“And to you.”
Clarisse’s hand went protectively to her stomach. “I’m going to be so very careful,” she said in a breathless whisper. “I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want this baby.”
“Will you tell Rourke, one day?” Peg asked.
Clarisse smiled wistfully. “He’d never believe it was his. He’s back in the old days, accusing me of having affairs with endless men.” She drew in a breath. “Hurting me was a habit he got into. It was to protect me, at the time, from a relationship he thought was forbidden. He may still believe it. Or he might just remember that he hates me, but not why.”
“Will he ever remember?” Peg asked.
“There are some cases of spontaneous remission,” Clarisse said. “Sometimes partial memory returns. Usually there will be some missing spots. He’ll remember his childhood, he’ll be able to memorize things and remember things that happen to him now. But that period of time just before he was injured may be lost forever. Nobody really knows. There are no magical cures.”
Peg touched her hand gently. “I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
Clarisse’s hand returned the gentle pressure. “And I’ll keep you in mine. When is your baby due?”
“Four months,” Peg said gleefully. “Winslow and I are over the moon. So is my dad.”
Clarisse wished that she had family to be excited about her child. But there was nobody left. “I know you are.”
“How about yours?” Peg asked gently.
“Six months,” she laughed. “I can hardly wait!”
“I know exactly how you feel,” Peg said with a grin.
* * *
Ruy was a good husband. He took her sightseeing on the weekends, when his work permitted. He was an artist, as a hobby, and his portraits were unbelievably good. He painted Clarisse when she was six months pregnant, and her face was radiant and soft, her eyes a clear blue in her beautiful face. He painted her in a green silk dress, like the one she’d worn that long-ago Christmas Eve when Rourke had kissed her with unbelievable passion.
She loved the portrait. For Ruy it was a true labor of love. He tried to hide it, but he was fascinated with his pretty wife. He enjoyed showing her off to his friends and distant relatives. Everyone thought the child was his, of course, which saved his reputation among the people he knew. Clarisse had his name and a safe place to wait for her child.
She’d had just one phone call from K.C.
“I thought you’d like to know that he’s back on his feet and recovering well,” he told her quietly. “His memory is still gone, but today he came out with something unexpected and spoke of the job he’d been on, searching for a kidnapper. They did get the guy, even if the shoot-out cost them two agents and almost killed my...son.”
“He still doesn’t know about you, either?” Clarisse asked gently.
“No.” He sighed heavily. “I want so badly to tell him. But the doctor is uncertain. He says the fact that Stanton remembers anything from that period of time is encouraging. He says other memories may follow, even if it takes time.”
“He might remember one day, then?”
“He might.” There was a pause. “How are you? I heard about the marriage through the general.”
She smiled. “Yes, I married Ruy Carvajal. I’ve known him for many years. He’s a good and kind man. He’ll be a wonderful father.”
“I was...going to ask you. There were rumors of a child...”
“Yes,” she said.
There was a hesitation.
She knew what K.C. wanted to know, but it was a risk she couldn’t take. “Ruy is over the moon. So am I. We’re arguing over names,” she added with a forced laugh. “And wondering if he’ll favor me or Ruy.”
“I see.” His voice was resigned. It sounded hollow, devoid of hope.
“How about Charlene?” she asked with deliberate indifference.
“Stanton got engaged to her a couple of weeks ago,” he said stiffly. “About the time I was talking to Machado. He mentioned that you’d been ill.”
Her heart jumped. “Did you tell Stanton anything? About the marriage, the baby...?”
“Nothing. He won’t have your name mentioned,” he confessed heavily. “I did manage to tell him that Peg Grange had gone to see you and said you and Ruy Carvajal were very close. I didn’t say you were married. He went deathly quiet. The next day he proposed to Charlene.” He let out a breath. “He doesn’t love her. She’s terrified of him up close. She spends her life traveling with her father and his very attractive business partner. I think Stanton bulldozed her into the engagement, but he won’t speak of setting a wedding date any more than she will. I think it’s...well, payback.”
She felt the words to the soles of her feet. “I got involved with Ruy. He’s getting even.”
“In a nutshell,” he said curtly. “It’s the sort of thing he does. He’s my son and I love him, but he’s no angel.”
“Yes. I know that.”
“I’m so damned sorry, Clarisse,” he said through his teeth.
“So am I, more for you than for myself,” she replied softly. “At least my son will know who I am...sorry.”
“Don’t be. He’ll be a fine youngster. I would...like to know when he’s born,” he said a little hesitantly. “I’ve known you for so many years. I could be his godfather...what do you think?”
She laughed through tears. “I’d be honored.”
He swallowed. Hard. “Thanks.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Take care of yourself, K.C.”
“You, too. Good night.”
She hung up, fighting tears. K.C. was nobody’s fool. He knew Rourke from the ground up, and he’d have at least a suspicion about who the father of her child really was. She couldn’t admit it, and he wouldn’t ask her to. But she wanted K.C. to be in the child’s life, even if Rourke could never be.
* * *
She and Ruy lived quietly together, looking forward to the child’s birth. Peg had already had her little boy, John, and stopped by to show him to Clarisse and Ruy. They were delighted to get to hold him. Clarisse was on pins and needles anticipating the arrival of her own child. There were tests that could determine sex, but she and Ruy didn’t have them done. She wanted it to be a surprise.
But in the eighth month of her pregnancy, something unforeseen happened. Peg phoned her and sounded apprehensive.
“Something going on?” Clarisse asked gently, because Peg sounded really upset.
“You know that we had Arturo Sapara on ice here in the Medina prison for treason, a life sentence without hope of parole?” Peg asked.
“Yes. It was a dream come true for many people, including me.”
“Well, he had a group of mercs come into Medina this morning and take him right out of the prison courtyard with a helicopter in broad daylight.”
Clarisse sat down, hard. “He vowed bloody vengeance on anybody who had a part in his arrest, including me,” she said.
“You, your husband, me and my family, the general’s, even the poor old jailer who let you go.”
“I guess we’ll all be wearing bulletproof vests and sleeping with firearms under our pillows.” Clarisse tried to joke.
“Coming at people head-on is not Sapara’s style at all,” Peg said coldly. “He’s a coward. He’ll hire people to do his dirty work for him. You keep your doors and windows locked and be very suspicious of any visitors you don’t know.”
“I will.” Clarisse’s blood ran cold. “What about Stanton?” she asked worriedly.
“General Machado talked to K. C. Kantor,” she replied. “K.C. said if the ex-dictator wanted to come after Rourke, he’d better bring a full battalion, because he’d call in markers from all over the world and Sapara would be carried back to the Barrera prison in a shoe box.”
She laughed involuntarily. “That sounds like K.C. all right.”
“He wasn’t going to mention Sapara’s escape to Rourke, however. He was afraid it might be too much information, if he had to explain it all to him. It won’t matter anyway because K.C. will have him covered like tar paper. Listen, you need to get out of Manaus,” Peg said. “You can stay with my dad in Jacobsville...and Cash Grier and his wife Tippy offered you their spare bedroom.”
“If I came, I’d put your poor father right in the line of fire, sweet girl,” Clarisse said gently. “I’d take the Griers up on that offer in a heartbeat. Nobody frightens Cash Grier, from what I’ve heard. But I can’t leave. It’s too close to my time, and my obstetrician already has me coming in every week...”
“Oh, Clarisse,” Peg moaned. “What’s wrong?”
She drew in a breath. “Nothing, I hope. He and Ruy consulted and wouldn’t tell me a thing. But Ruy watches me like a hawk and won’t let me even exercise.”
All sorts of things ran through Peg’s worried mind. “If you need us...”
“I know that,” Clarisse said softly. “You’re the only friend I have. I’d do anything for you, too.”
“I know.” Peg hesitated. “Winslow has a friend who’s on vacation down here. Suppose we send him over to see you?”
Clarisse laughed. “Ruy would have a fit. It would reflect on his manhood if I thought he couldn’t protect me.”
“I suppose it might sound that way,” Peg said, miserable. “But what if he didn’t know?”
“If he didn’t know... I suppose he couldn’t say anything,” Clarisse agreed with a faint laugh.
“You won’t know him, but he’ll be around.”
“What does he look like?”
“Tall, dark and handsome,” Peg teased.
“I’m married to one of those,” Clarisse laughed.
“So you are! Anyway, he’ll keep an eye on both of you. But be careful. Nobody even knows where Sapara is right now.”
“You’d better believe that Interpol and a handful of letter agencies from the States will be on his tail today,” Clarisse replied, “including the general’s best spy network.”
“That’s true. Listen, when the baby comes, I really want you to consider going to Texas.”
Clarisse thought of her child. Ruy would never agree to leave Manaus and she couldn’t very well go without him. She was afraid that Sapara might want revenge even on the newest member of her family when he was born.
“I’ll think about it.” Clarisse put her off. “Thanks for being so concerned about me.”
“It’s what friends do,” came the warm reply. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“You be careful, too.”
“Always.”
* * *
Clarisse told Ruy about Sapara’s escape, although not about the man Winslow Grange was going to send over to watch them.
He drew her against him gently and held her. “I am so deeply sorry for the way things have worked out for you,” he said quietly. “I had hoped that perhaps Rourke would regain his memory, even if it meant I would lose you in the process.” He drew back and smiled down at her. “You are so sad, my darling. It should be the happiest time of your life.”
She reached up and touched his cheek, smiling at him with real affection. “It is the happiest time of my life. I have a baby on the way and a handsome, kind husband who cares for me.”
He brought the soft hand to his lips and kissed it. “Fate has been unkind to us both.”
“The baby will make a difference,” she replied, and smiled with pure joy. “I can’t wait to see if it’s a boy or a girl,” she laughed.
He grinned. “Neither can I. I must make a house call or two. Then we might have a very small glass of wine and watch television.”
She pressed close to him with a sigh. “I’d like that.”
He smoothed her hair and kissed it. “I won’t be long.”
“All right.”
* * *
Clarisse saw a shadowy figure on the porch just before Ruy came home. It seemed to hesitate at Ruy’s bedroom window for a minute or two, after which it faded back into the shadows. There had been an odd sound, too, like a jar being unscrewed.
She was certain it was the man Grange had sent to watch out for her and her husband, so she didn’t mention it to Ruy. Not for anything would she upset him or make him feel incapable of taking care of her.
* * *
He was sluggish at breakfast a few mornings later.
“You don’t look well, Ruy,” she said, with some concern.
He laughed. “I had to put up mosquito netting, for the first time in ages. I think I got bitten several times over the weekend in my bedroom.”
“Oh, dear,” she said worriedly.
“I can take quinine if it looks like malaria coming on,” he assured her with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m a doctor. I know how to take care of myself.” He frowned. “Clarisse, we haven’t had mosquitoes in the house, ever.”
“I know.” She was going to call Peg and ask her about their bodyguard as soon as she had a minute. Surely, there was no connection...
“I feel...unwell...” Ruy fell out of the chair.
* * *
The next few hours went by in a dizzy haze. Clarisse phoned a mutual friend, also a physician, who came right over and did tests. Ruy had to be moved to the hospital. The fever came on rapidly. It was high. He had the other symptoms of malaria, as well—shaking chills, delirium, nausea.
“You should not be here with him,” the doctor said worriedly. “The baby is due soon, Clarisse, you can’t put him at risk.”
“I can’t leave Ruy,” she protested, torn between two human beings she adored with all her heart. “I won’t leave him. He wouldn’t leave me, no matter what the risk,” she added on a sob. She was clinging to his hand while technicians moved around him, doing necessary things. “He’s had malaria before,” she said. “But it was never like this...!”
“I have rarely seen a case like this,” the other doctor replied quietly. He didn’t add that the cases he had seen were invariably fatal. The blood test had revealed a plasmodium that was rarely seen in Manaus, a particularly dangerous strain. “Has Ruy been out of the Amazon recently?” he added.
She shook her head. “He went to Argentina, but that was five months ago. He hasn’t been out of Manaus since then.”
“Not to Asia or Africa or any known mosquito-infested areas?”
“Goodness, no,” she said uneasily. “Why do you ask?”
He only smiled. “I’m grasping at straws, perhaps. If you won’t leave him, I’ll have them roll a bed in for you.”
“I’m not leaving him,” she said firmly.
“Very well.” He smiled. “You are very like your mother, Senhora Carvajal,” he said gently. “She was like that also, a kind and compassionate woman.”
She bit her lower lip. “Thanks.”
He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If you develop a fever...”
“I’ll be the first to tell you. Honest.”
He nodded.
* * *
She hoped that Ruy would recover. But he only worsened. She held his hand, talked to him, thanked him for the kindness he’d shown her. She begged him to live. But he lost ground. The next morning, while she slept, he slipped quietly away into the unknown darkness.
* * *
She sobbed brokenly when they told her. “But he can’t be dead,” she whispered, shivering. “He can’t be...!”
The physician felt her forehead and ground his teeth together. He called for an orderly. By the time the gurney came, Clarisse had fainted dead away.
* * *
Peg Grange and her husband, Winslow, sat in the waiting room, hoping for news of Clarisse. Finally, Grange got up and went looking for the doctor. He came back, grim-faced.
“Whatever killed her husband is about to take her out, too,” he said curtly. “They’re going to go ahead and take the baby. If they wait, they may lose them both. The physician said that what killed Ruy was a strain of malaria that was usually fatal when it causes cerebral malaria. He doesn’t understand how Ruy got it. Clarisse said he was a fanatic about keeping the property sprayed for mosquitoes.”
Peg looked at him with horror.
He drew in a breath. “It would be a vicious, cowardly way to kill someone. Just like Sapara.”
She nodded. “Don’t you know someone in tropical medicine in London?” she asked suddenly.
His eyebrows arched. “Radley Blackstone,” he said. “Yes, I do.” He pulled out his cell phone and got busy.
A day later, Blackstone flew in to Manaus and went straight to the hospital. He barely took time to shake hands with Peg and Winslow before he and the physician on Clarisse’s case went back through the swinging doors where critically ill patients were kept.
“Should we call Rourke?” Winslow asked quietly.
Peg bit her lower lip. She shook her head. “He doesn’t remember anything,” she said. “And Clarisse has never admitted that the child is his. She’s told everyone it was her husband’s.” She looked up at him. “They might both die, in spite of everything.”
Winslow looked at her with his heart in his eyes. “If it was me, and I was Rourke, I’d never get over it if you died and I never knew you had my child under your heart.”
She touched his cheek with her small hand. “I know. But he doesn’t remember anything. He hates Clarisse. K.C. said he won’t even mention her name or let anyone talk to him about her.”
“What a hell of a mess,” he said shortly.
“Yes.” She hesitated. “Perhaps you should call K.C. anyway.”
He nodded slowly. “Perhaps I should.”