The Captive's Return

But damn, telling Keagan's then fiancee, Darcy, about the crash, their prisoner status, had been one of the toughest things he'd ever done. He knew the hell of losing someone and those front-door visits to all the families of the downed crew had catapulted him back to losing Sara.



Just remembering had his feet itching to see her again. Watch her breathe. Hold her.



Not thoughts conducive to keeping his mind on business.



Keagan forked his fingers through his spiked hair. "Your people were pretty freaked out when you left and didn't return."



Now that surprised him. He knew he wasn't a popular leader.



"You are respected."



"Do you read minds on the side?"



"Only at carny shows."



Lucas laughed, soft, hoarse, but damn welcome. Tension unkinked in his shoulders. "Update me. What the hell happened that everything blew up so fast?"



"Padilla launched an attack on Chavez's compound hours ahead of our planned insertion time. While they battled it out, the Delta boys moved in and of course didn't find the target for the smash and grab. So they exited, let the two factions kill each other off, then moved in to clear up the mess at the end. We found enough evidence of drug and arms trafficking for the Cartinian government to lock Chavez away for the rest of his life."



"So we can all breathe easier." Sara and Lucia especially. Tio Ramon could go straight to hell as far as Lucas was concerned.



"Once we find him."



Crap. "We didn't get him."



Keagan shook his head, thudding his empty coffee mug on the desk. "He slipped out before we could secure the compound. He's got panic rooms and underground tunnels that would blow your mind."



Lucas jerked a thumb toward the closed door. "About the smash and grab, she is the woman from the satellite images."



"I figured as much. She looks like the photo of the target." He creaked back in the chair. "So? Is she your wife?"



"Yes. It's Sara. Sarafina Tesoro." He rubbed the empty ring finger that had never sported a band but somehow he still felt the phantom weight of one anyway. "Quade."



Keagan waited, undoubtedly curious about Lucia. As an agent, he had every right to question him, but still he waited for Quade to offer up the info. The guy wasn't all about blabber like some gossipy types. Keagan understood the value of silence and giving a person a chance to pull his head together.



Odd that they would be alike in temperament when they couldn't be outwardly any more different—the agent with tattoos, spiked hair and bleached tips. Lucas finished his coffee. He'd learned long ago not to judge a person by appearances.



"The child is hers." Time to make it official and reservations be damned. "And mine. Sara was pregnant when I left the country."



"You didn't know." Keagan stated the fact rather than asked. He was good at this.



"No."



"Must be a helluva shock."



Lucas scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "Not the easiest work week I've ever had."



"Work?"



Really good. Keagan had a way of picking up on that one word. Lucas narrowed his eyes.



Keagan raised his hands in surrender. "What's your read on her situation?"



"You trust my take?"



Keagan eyed the bandage on Quade's arm with deliberate focus, then looked up again. "Not completely. It's tough to work when your wife's involved. Emotions run high, perceptions are clouded by... well, you know. I have a little experience in that arena."



The agent had met his future wife on a mission when Darcy Renshaw—now Keagan—flew him on a covert op to Guam. While they hadn't been married then, Keagan's point was still made.



"All right. I'll tell you what I know and hope you can make more sense out of it all than I can."



Lucas detailed the compound explosion from his angle and their trek through the jungle—minus his major idiot moments of weakness around Sara. Keagan probed for nuances, leading him through with skilled interrogation techniques. Damn, the guy was adept at twisting a conversation right from the start —



Wait.



Keagan had never fully answered the question about his crews. And what was that about waiting for everyone to be accounted for? "Keagan?"



Clear blue eyes gave away nothing. "Yes, sir?"



"I asked you about my crews and you only said that you'd spoken with your wife and Hunt had assumed command."



"You're good, sir. We could use your attention to detail over in the OSI."



"Answer my damned question." Tension overrode exhaustion with the certainty that Keagan had held something back to ensure the interview went smoothly first.



The agent's chair creaked as he leaned forward, closer as if nearing to brace him for bad news. Lucas knew the studied technique well.



"We got wind of the imminent attack by Padilla and you still weren't back from your walk. One of your crew members slipped out to look for you."



No. Damn it all. Hell, no. Weights slammed down on his shoulders, the weight of lives depending on him, people he'd let down because he couldn't keep his head together when it came to Sara.



His worst fear unfolded in front of him. He couldn't lose another person on his watch.



His mind raced through the crew rosters—the pilots, Hunt, Keagan, Rokowsky, Seabrook. Loadmasters, Tag and Gabby. In-flight mechanics, too.



"Not Hunt." Because he'd assumed command. "Not your wife, either."



Or the guy wouldn't be sitting here so calmly. He would be out there tearing apart the jungle personally as any man would do for his woman.



Keagan inched forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. "No, sir. Captain Seabrook didn't come back."



Sara rubbed Lucia's back, soothing her daughter even though she slept soundly.



The doctor swore Lucia would be fine. She'd received the spider anti-venom in time. But Sara still needed the comfort of contact like during those early days with her baby in neonatal ICU.



The door creaked open across the room. Lucas stood in shadows, backlit by the hall bulb. Lean and tall, he filled the open doorway, his head nearly skimming the top of the frame. He'd showered, changed into someone's khaki cargo shorts and a plain black T-shirt—far too tempting when she still felt so shaky.



"Did you take care of your debrief?" He nodded, stepping into the room, the dim bedside lamp dispersing the shadows to reveal a man as weary as she'd ever seen him. "I've done everything I can for my people until morning."



"Waiting is difficult."



He nodded again, only half with her. What had happened in that debrief? "Lucas? Are you sure everything's all—"



"How's she doing?" he interrupted, subject closed. He could comfort but heaven forbid he accept any.



"Restless, but sleeping."



"I can sit with her now."



Of course he could. He could do anything.



"I'm okay."



"You need to take a break, snag a shower or get something to eat."



"I'm fine." She stared at her child rather than the overburdened man tempting her to wrap her arms around him.



"You smell."



Ouch. So much for vanity. "Gracias, but that won't be a problem if you leave."



"You should watch what you eat." His footsteps thudded on the wooden floor, the chair on the other side of the bed creaking as he sat. "We haven't had the best of diets the past couple of days."



"You're suddenly an expert on diabetes?"



"Cheap shot, but I figure you're due one, probably a dozen if you want them."



Surprised at his admission, she looked away from her daughter over to Lucas sprawled in the spindly chair. His shoulders slumped, head hanging, elbows braced on his knees while his hands rested on the back of his neck.



"Are you all right?"



"What did the doctor say about your diabetes when you saw him?" He threw his shoulders back, ignoring her question. No surprise there.



"My blood sugar was a little low, but everything is under control now." Of course with hindsight, she saw that she may have been reckless in not telling Lucas about her condition. But he'd been injured because of her and she'd worried that he...



Time to stop making excuses. "How is your arm?"



"Stitched. No permanent damage."



"Then everyone is well and accounted for."



He winced and somehow she knew it had nothing to do with his arm. What was wrong with him? Would he ever talk to her, really talk?



Leaning forward, he took one of Lucia's hands, studying it like a mystery.



"I'm sorry, Sara," he said low, still fixated on Lucia's hand.



Now that stunned her silent for a heartbeat. She continued to rub her snoozing daughter's back. "For saying I was a drug addict or doubting Lucia's your child?"



"Both."



As much as he'd hurt her, he'd always been fair, and oh how that made it difficult to fight with him. "I apologize for not telling you about the diabetes. That was shortsighted of me. I'm used to downplaying it to keep Ramon from becoming more protective and taking away what little freedoms I had."



She breathed past the insidious smothering sensation. "I was also afraid you would insist on carrying the backpack as well as Lucia and reopen the wound on your arm. I worry about you, too."



His eyes shut tight, his head hanging again. "I shouldn't have said what I did about Lucia, and I shouldn't be barking at you now."



She deserved the apology, and she knew he was honorable enough to deliver it, but something about his stillness bothered her. "You were only saying what you thought, which I wish you'd done in the first place."



"Why?" A dark smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "You would have been just as pissed off then."



She rose and skirted around the bed to kneel in front of him so she could read his eyes, what little he would let her see. "It's not about me being angry. It's about Lucia. I wouldn't have told her you're her father if I'd thought for a second you were having doubts about taking responsibility for—"



His head snapped up. "I never said I wouldn't take responsibility, damn it. I'll support her and y—"



She pressed a finger to his mouth. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I meant taking responsibility for her heart."



He gripped her wrist. "Help me believe it."



A part of her wanted to list the explanations again. Maybe he would hear and listen this time. But she knew better. There were no new details to relay. He never forgot a thing, he just wasn't ready.



This was about more than wanting a man full of romance. This was about trust. "I can't do that for you, Lucas. You can't take responsibility for someone else's heart when you're not even ready to admit you have one of your own."



He didn't answer, much less look at her. He was as closed up as she'd ever seen him.



She rocked back onto her heels with a sigh and shoved to her feet. "I believe I'll take you up on your offer to sit with Lucia while I shower."



She backed from the room, her eyes pinned on Lucas's hunched back. She had reason to be angry with him, every right.



So why was it so hard to keep from wrapping her arms around him to take on burdens she knew he would never share?



No heart?



Lucas wished that was true, because then he wouldn't be sitting here by Lucia's bed feeling as if somebody had detonated a bomb right in the middle of his chest.



Lucia would be fine. Relief threatened to knock him on his butt, this kid somehow immeasurably important to him when last week he hadn't known she existed.



Except in the middle of that relief, he'd still hit rock bottom. He'd almost lost Lucia. Sara had been shielding him. And one of his pilots, Nola Seabrook, was missing.