conversation in another direction. He eyed her shirt and the curve of her full breasts.
“You’ve made me sweat plenty, babe.”
Lacey didn’t return his grin. “Don’t call me that. I hate that word.”
She turned and left and he inwardly cursed. Any inroads he’d made with her in packing the boxes had been lost.
He could regain that ground. Had to, because she needed to trust him again, this time with her life.
His cell phone quietly buzzed. Ace. His friend recommended a private firm he worked for on occasion when wealthy islanders held private parties.
Guy by the name of Marcus. We did a few details together. Knows the business end of a shotgun, but prefers to work with more reliable firepower.
Jarrett called the firm, who promised to send over a security detail in an hour.
Near the house he spied Lacey’s daughter skipping rope with two other girls. Jarrett didn’t follow his ex into the house. Deciding to give her time to cool down, both emotionally and physically, he headed for the girls.
Wearing blue shorts, blue tennis shoes and a white T-shirt with the logo of Marlee’s Mangoes, Fleur skipped rope. She did not smile, even as the other girls laughed and sang a song in French.
He wondered if she ever smiled.
Such a thin little girl. He rubbed his chest. Jarrett imagined how terrified the child had been to seen such violence and lose her mother. And how brave Lacey had been to step out and adopt her, give her a home instead of losing her to an orphanage where Fleur might not receive the help she needed.
He pointed to the jump rope the girls were twirling. “Mind if I join?” he asked in French.
The three girls stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Jarrett smiled. “I’m good, but I bet you can teach me a thing or two.”
That started the two twirling the rope to giggle. But little Fleur, with her skinny shoulders and solemn eyes, did not react. She stepped aside.
The two on either end of the rope moved closer to accommodate his height. Jarrett stood at the center and nodded. “I’m ready.”
They began turning the rope and he made a big exhibit out of bending over to accommodate the twirling rope, jumping slow and stomping on the ground. Every loud whomp evoked a giggle from the girls. Finally, he turned and stepped aside.
“This is tough,” he complained. “Fleur, can you show me how it’s done?”
Fleur still stared, but took his place. She began to jump rope and he nodded. “You’re fast. Let’s see how fast when I take over.”
Beckoning to one of the girls, he took the rope from her and began to twirl it. Fleur jumped harder and faster to the shouts of the girls.
And then he stopped and grinned at her. “You’re pretty good,” he told her. “You’re faster than me.”
Fleur blinked, but not before he caught a glimpse of something faint and precious in her dark eyes. Connection.
As he started to turn, Fleur saw the handle of the pistol tucked into his waistband. Her eyes widened.
He turned and saw Lacey standing on the porch, a smile on her face. “Fleur! Time for homework. Tell Michelle and Catherine you’ll see them tomorrow,” she called.
The two little girls ran away toward the mango factory, where a stream of women had begun to leave the shop.
Jarrett had a sudden memory. Touring Iraq, teamed with the marines. They’d infiltrated a nest of insurgents. He’d done his duty, but the kills that day had haunted him. And then he’d called home and heard Lacey’s voice, her low, sweet dulcet tones, and the tightness in his chest had eased a little. She’d told him the baby was doing fine, and she expected him at the sonogram when he got home in three weeks...
The thought of seeing their baby, making it real, had carried him through the next three weeks through blood and death and everything bad...
He turned to Fleur, struggling to regain his composure. “Hey, little one,” he said in perfect French. “Thanks for letting me play with you.”
She
“You’ve made me sweat plenty, babe.”
Lacey didn’t return his grin. “Don’t call me that. I hate that word.”
She turned and left and he inwardly cursed. Any inroads he’d made with her in packing the boxes had been lost.
He could regain that ground. Had to, because she needed to trust him again, this time with her life.
His cell phone quietly buzzed. Ace. His friend recommended a private firm he worked for on occasion when wealthy islanders held private parties.
Guy by the name of Marcus. We did a few details together. Knows the business end of a shotgun, but prefers to work with more reliable firepower.
Jarrett called the firm, who promised to send over a security detail in an hour.
Near the house he spied Lacey’s daughter skipping rope with two other girls. Jarrett didn’t follow his ex into the house. Deciding to give her time to cool down, both emotionally and physically, he headed for the girls.
Wearing blue shorts, blue tennis shoes and a white T-shirt with the logo of Marlee’s Mangoes, Fleur skipped rope. She did not smile, even as the other girls laughed and sang a song in French.
He wondered if she ever smiled.
Such a thin little girl. He rubbed his chest. Jarrett imagined how terrified the child had been to seen such violence and lose her mother. And how brave Lacey had been to step out and adopt her, give her a home instead of losing her to an orphanage where Fleur might not receive the help she needed.
He pointed to the jump rope the girls were twirling. “Mind if I join?” he asked in French.
The three girls stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Jarrett smiled. “I’m good, but I bet you can teach me a thing or two.”
That started the two twirling the rope to giggle. But little Fleur, with her skinny shoulders and solemn eyes, did not react. She stepped aside.
The two on either end of the rope moved closer to accommodate his height. Jarrett stood at the center and nodded. “I’m ready.”
They began turning the rope and he made a big exhibit out of bending over to accommodate the twirling rope, jumping slow and stomping on the ground. Every loud whomp evoked a giggle from the girls. Finally, he turned and stepped aside.
“This is tough,” he complained. “Fleur, can you show me how it’s done?”
Fleur still stared, but took his place. She began to jump rope and he nodded. “You’re fast. Let’s see how fast when I take over.”
Beckoning to one of the girls, he took the rope from her and began to twirl it. Fleur jumped harder and faster to the shouts of the girls.
And then he stopped and grinned at her. “You’re pretty good,” he told her. “You’re faster than me.”
Fleur blinked, but not before he caught a glimpse of something faint and precious in her dark eyes. Connection.
As he started to turn, Fleur saw the handle of the pistol tucked into his waistband. Her eyes widened.
He turned and saw Lacey standing on the porch, a smile on her face. “Fleur! Time for homework. Tell Michelle and Catherine you’ll see them tomorrow,” she called.
The two little girls ran away toward the mango factory, where a stream of women had begun to leave the shop.
Jarrett had a sudden memory. Touring Iraq, teamed with the marines. They’d infiltrated a nest of insurgents. He’d done his duty, but the kills that day had haunted him. And then he’d called home and heard Lacey’s voice, her low, sweet dulcet tones, and the tightness in his chest had eased a little. She’d told him the baby was doing fine, and she expected him at the sonogram when he got home in three weeks...
The thought of seeing their baby, making it real, had carried him through the next three weeks through blood and death and everything bad...
He turned to Fleur, struggling to regain his composure. “Hey, little one,” he said in perfect French. “Thanks for letting me play with you.”
She
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