Firstborn. Lindsay McKenna

her eyes, Annie placed her hand across them. Her heart swelled with anguish for Jason. No wonder he didn’t trust! Allowing her hand to fall away, she opened her eyes and stared at him. He sat there tensely, as if expecting a blow. “That’s really terrible. You were badly abused by them.”

      He chuckled darkly. “You’ve said a mouthful, Ms. Dazen.”

      “Did your parents get you therapy?”

      “Oh, yeah…all kinds. The shrinks said I had PTSD, posttraumatic stress disorder.” He flexed his fingers and chuckled again. “No surprise there.”

      “And how did you do with the therapists?”

      “Not well, I guess. I didn’t trust them.”

      “Of course not. They were adults.”

      “That’s right,” he said grimly.

      “You probably felt abandoned by adults in your time of need. And the adult who held you prisoner hurt you badly.”

      “Yep, that about sums it up.”

      “And have you had problems trusting adult males since that time?”

      “A little,” Jason muttered, looking away. “I’m not on good terms with my father, either.”

      She hurt for him, because she saw undisguised pain over that admission not only in his narrowed blue eyes, but in the thinning of his full mouth. “I’m sure your father tried to regain your trust?”

      “Oh, yeah. He did….”

      “But?”

      “It didn’t take. I was—I am—angry at him for what happened. He should have protected us, his family. Instead, he was arrogant and felt we were safe enough in Washington.”

      Annie sighed. “What about your mom? How did she get through this mess?”

      “She had a lot of years after the kidnapping when she wasn’t really available to us kids. I mean—” he opened his hands “—she was raped. I’m still angry over that. I see what it did to her…and how it’s affected all of us….”

      “And now?”

      “She’s pretty much worked through the worst of it, although I still see it in her from time to time. I’ve learned what rape does. It’s a terrible thing. It murders part of a person and you never get back that piece again.”

      “It sounds like the drug lords got the revenge they wanted.”

      “And then some.”

      “Your father must have been affected by this, too? You said he was tortured?”

      Jason nodded. “Yeah, nonstop. You can see the scars on his arms and legs when he’s in a bathing suit or a short-sleeved shirt.”

      “And how has he recovered from the kidnapping?”

      “Better than any of us, but then, he’d been wounded in the head during the Vietnam War, and had amnesia for years after that. The U.S. government screwed him, too. He didn’t know who he was, and eventually joined the French Foreign Legion. Several years after that, he suddenly got his memory back and went home to the U.S.

      “From there, he met my mother, Laura, and they were finally able to find the men responsible for branding him as a traitor, and to get his named cleared. My dad is a hero to a lot of people.” Jason looked away. “So, my two cents’ worth is that because of his past experience, he was able to roll with the kidnapping better than my mother or myself. He seems the least affected by what happened.”

      Annie nodded. “Thank you for telling me this. I promise it will go nowhere, but it helps me to understand you.”

      She saw him lift his head and study her, and instantly, her heart flew open. The look in his eyes was one of relief and hope. There was no more anger or distrust there. How badly she wanted to get up and throw her arms around Jason. Annie sensed that being held was exactly what he needed—and that, since the kidnapping, he’d never let anyone beyond those armored walls he’d built up.

      Somehow, Annie knew he’d let her in. And that realization was as startling as a lightning bolt.

      Chapter 5

      “Have you found out anything, Morgan?” Laura asked as she laid out china plates of a colorful floral pattern on the kitchen table. It had been two weeks since she’d talked to Jason, and she hadn’t heard a word from him since. She didn’t know who worried more about their son, her or Morgan.

      Wiping her hands on her peach-colored apron, she moved back to the counter. Today, Kamaria was being watched by their baby-sitter, Crystal Harding, a local woman from Phillipsburg who dearly loved the little tyke. Crystal and Kamaria were in the toddler’s bedroom at the other end of the large, two-story home, having Kamaria’s favorite lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while watching reruns of Mister Rogers on television.

      Scowling, Morgan went to the drain board and picked up the bowls of salad Laura had made for them. “I just got off the phone with Red Dugan,” he said as he placed the wooden bowls on the table.

      “And?” Laura shot him a questioning look as she placed pink linen napkins and silverware next to the teak bowls. Morgan pulled out her chair and she sat down. One of the many things she loved about her husband was his gallantry. She knew it came from the fact that he’d been a Marine Corps officer, a throwback to another time, but she loved his sensitivity toward her in this way. Smiling to herself, she realized she was most likely a throwback, herself.

      Watching as Morgan sat down at her left elbow, she waited impatiently to hear what he had to say about Jason. Because of her husband’s broad intelligence network, which spanned the world, and his contacts with the higher-ups in every military branch, it was easy for him to pick up a phone to check in on Jason or Katy without their knowledge.

      Picking up a bottle of light Italian dressing, Laura un-screwed the cap. With the advent of menopause, she found she gained weight quickly, so was dieting to help keep herself in shape. As she squirted some dressing on the colorful salad, she felt a tad guilty about Morgan initiating this behind-the-scenes checking on their children. But in Jason’s case, Laura was glad he had the contacts. Jason usually called weekly, but that was it. He rarely wrote a letter. Then again, she didn’t know many military men who wrote letters to their parents. Phone calls usually had to do. Jason didn’t e-mail her, either….

      Katy wrote e-mails all the time from her secret operating base down in Colombia, and Laura was always eager to hear from her. Laura worried about her daughter, who lived in constant peril while flying the Seahawk helicopter and delivering Marine Recon teams to key locations to help Colombian government soldiers fight the rebels. And soon Jason was going to be in Afghanistan. The idea made her stomach knot. She grimaced and passed the bottle to her husband.