Page 62 of When You Are Mine

After a long day at the shop, Kerris went into their home office and grabbed her sketchpad. She always seemed to have the energy to create, no matter how tired she was. Her fingers were tracing a pattern of intricate scrollwork on a necklace when the aroma of her favorite Earl Grey tea wafted in. Cam bowed at the waist, offering the delicate cup and saucer.

“Jo wanted to stop through and hang out. Is that okay?”

“Sure, of course.” Kerris accepted the tea and Cam’s kiss on her hair.

Jo was a regular at the cottage, always popping in. She and Cam often talked even after Kerris went to bed. Kerris couldn’t resent the closeness they’d shared for so long.

“Good, since she’s bringing Tony’s pizza with her.” A pleased grin split his face.

“So you get out of cooking again. No credit, mister.”

“Do I need credit?” He slid his arms around her and brushed her lips with a tender kiss. “You’re mine, right, Kerris? Only mine?”

She pulled back with a frown. She had never broached the Kenya trip or the gift Walsh had sent that Cam never delivered, even though she knew she should. That was a can of worms she didn’t want to get anywhere near.

“Why do you always ask that? Have I done anything to make you doubt me?”

“No, of course not.” Cam tightened his grip around her waist. “I just…I don’t know what I’d do without you now.”

“You won’t ever have to figure that out, baby.” She wished she could chase away the lingering shadows in his beautiful eyes.

“Promise me,” he said with swift urgency, pressing her closer still.

“I promise.” She didn’t even blink, making sure he saw the resolve in her unwavering stare.

He seemed to slump a little, satisfied at what he saw in her face. He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, making his way over to his desk and opening his laptop.

“I can get a few things done on this design for our new client before the pizza gets here.” Cam turned on the small lamp Kerris had found for his desk.

“Me, too.” She returned her attention to the pad in front of her.

They both tuned inward, Kerris humming softly under her breath, and Cam slipping in his earphones and bobbing his head to a Tupac classic. He raised his head when the doorbell rang, slipping the buds from his ears and striding to the living room to let Jo in with their pizza. Their laughter drifted back, making Kerris smile. She continued sketching a few more minutes before gathering her tea to head inside. Their laughter tapered off when Jo answered the strident ring of her cell phone.

“Hi, Aunt Kris.” The residue of their laughter still colored Jo’s voice. “Slow down. I can’t understand you. What’s wrong with Walsh?”

Kerris couldn’t will herself to move. Every fiber strained toward Jo’s conversation with Kristeene Bennett.

“But how? Okay, okay. We’re on our way.” Jo jangled her keys and Kerris heard the door open again.

“What is it?” Kerris heard Cam ask the question, his anxiety clear.

“It’s Walsh,” Jo said, her tone clipped and strained, tears lubricating the words that cleaved Kerris’s heart. “He’s been kidnapped.”

The crash was probably small, but every shard of the teacup seemed to hit the ground, making Kerris jump. She looked down at the shattered cup at her feet, unsure of when it had slipped from her numb fingers. Her knees buckled, leaving her in a heap on the floor in the midst of the broken pieces. Her heart rattled against her chest. Fear wrapped around her, making every breath short and painful.

Cam walked in, his eyes roving the devastation of Kerris’s face.

“You okay, Ker?”

She picked up a few pieces of shattered porcelain, laying them in her palm.

“Be careful.” He rushed to the corner for the dustpan she often used to sweep in the office. “You heard?”

“Yeah, I heard,” she said, lips barely moving. “What do we know?”

“Only that he was taken in Haiti. We’re heading over to Ms. Kris’s now,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know you’re tired. You don’t have to come. I can update you later.”

Kerris shot a sharp look at her husband. She rose, slowly wiping the last drops of spilled tea from her hands, running her palms down her denim skirt.

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