Page 25 of Bringing Chelsea Home

“Shot and left for dead.” He sounded as if he were biting off the words.

“And the person who betrayed you?” Anger stirred in Elaine. “He was known to you?”

His reply was a harsh bark of laughter. “She,” he corrected. “Marda Kitts was with a British special forces unit, but she’d been working with the enemy for years and none of us knew it.”

“And you were lovers?” Elaine guessed.

“Damn, Prescott, you are good.”

He came to sit beside her. “The Obando kids were so freaking excited to be coming to America. The final plans were in place, and we were going to fly to the capitol city and then to Atlanta where their father’s family lives.”

“Marda’s treachery was not your fault,” Elaine insisted. “You said she’d been working there for years and fooled everyone. You weren’t the only one.”

“Yeah, well maybe I let my hormones get in the way of seeing Marda for what she really was,” he said bitterly. He stripped off his gloves and threw them aside. “And because of that, Alejandro is dead and the Obandos could very well be too.”

“You don’t know that,” Elaine insisted. “Any more than you know those poor children in the news story are your friends.”

“Kids being used as soldiers,” he whispered. “Or sex slaves. Damn them all to hell. Izzie the little girl was only five when they took her.”

He buried his face in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees as his shoulders shook and choked back his sobs. Tears she didn’t even try to stop for this brave, kind-hearted man, streamed down Elaine’s face as she put her arm around his shoulders and leaned so their heads were touching.

As if her touch was the final permission he needed, Griff turned to gather her in his arms and wept, the sobs racking his body. Knowing any words would be useless, Elaine simply held him and let him cry. How long had it been since he allowed himself to release the horrors he must have seen?

After a while he sat back, dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and scrubbed his face again. “Damn,” he said.

“You needed that,” Elaine said, taking the handkerchief and patting her cheeks dry. “Good thing you remembered this. Do you suppose Patrick has saved us any dinner?”

His low-throated chuckle warmed her heart. So did his grin. “I hope so,” he said, taking the soaked cloth and returning it to his pocket. “A session at the batting cage can give a guy an appetite.”

“And a girl,” she teased. “I’ve used batting cages before. As Abigai Adams said, ‘remember the ladies.’”

“Always.” He leaned in to kiss her, a feathering caress of lips against lips, warm and inviting. She sighed and palmed his face, wishing the moment could last.

But then she broke away. “We need to go see what Patrick is up to,” she said. “Before he eats everything.”

“Copy that,” he agreed. Pulling on his shirt, he picked up his gloves, took her hand and led her back to the suite.

Inside, the pungent smell of sizzling scallions and ginger filled the air, and in the kitchen, they found Patrick adding bite-sized pieces of chicken and shrimp to the pan.

“You need to check your phone, dude,” he said, pointing a wooden spoon at the table. “Hank is blowing it up and wasn’t too pleased when I didn’t know where either of you were.”

“Needed a little batting practice,” Griff explained. “Helps with the shoulder injury, you know?”

“Right.” Patrick’s drawled but gave his attention to chopping the waiting peppers and onions.

“What did Hank want?” Elaine asked as Griff reached for his phone.

He studied the screen and then released a long sigh. “Our people on the ground, said. “Children killed were not–repeat NOT the Obando children. Keep your phone with you at all times.”

And then, not caring what Patrick might think, he took Elaine in his arms, touching his forehead to hers. The feel of her against him was a comfort and a blessing. The only sounds were of a knife’s rapid, successive strokes on a cutting board, the hiss of sizzling oil and the near silent scraping of the spoon against the pan.

Then he stepped back and asked, “So what kind of wine goes best with stir-fry?”

CHAPTER13

Early Saturday Morning

“So,where the hell did he go?” Griff asked. Beside him, Elaine’s mouth was tight with worry. They’d risen a short while ago, but when the scent of Blue Mountain coffee did not rouse Patrick from his room, they’d gone to his room and found it empty.

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