Everyday, Average Jones. Suzanne Brockmann

and kissed her and kissed her….

      “Hi, Melody, this is Mrs. Beatrice from the Appleton Public Library,” said the cheery voice on the tape, interrupting Melody’s thoughts. “The book you requested is here. We’ve got quite a waiting list for this one, so if you aren’t interested any longer, please give me a call! Hope you’re feeling better, dear. I heard the heat’s due to break in a day or two. I know when I was carrying Tommy, my eldest boy, I simply could not handle any temperature higher than seventy-two. Tom Senior actually went out and bought an air conditioner for me! You might want to think about something like that. If you want, I could send both Toms over to help you girls install it. Call me! Bye now!”

      Girls. Sheesh.

      That’s my girl.

      With determination, Melody pushed that thought out of her head.

      The machine beeped, and a different voice, a male voice with the slightest of drawls, began to talk.

      “Yeah, hi, I hope this is the right number. I’m looking for Melody Evans…?”

      Melody sat forward. Dear God, it couldn’t be, could it? But she knew exactly who it was. This was one voice she was never going to forget. Ever. Not until the day she died.

      “This is Lieutenant Harlan Jones, and Mel, if you’re listening, I, uh, I’ve been thinking about you. I’m going to be stationed here on the East Coast, in Virginia, for a couple of months, and um…well, it’s not that far from Boston. I mean, it’s closer than California and it’s a whole hell of a lot closer than the Middle East and…”

      On the tape, he cleared his throat. Melody realized she was sitting on the edge of her seat, eager for his every word.

      “I know you said what you said before you got on the plane for Boston back in March, but…” He laughed, then swore softly, and she could almost see him rolling his eyes. “Hell, as long as I’m groveling, I might as well be honest about it. Bottom line, honey—I think about you all the time, all the time, and I want to see you again. Please call me back.” He left a number, repeating it twice, and then hung up.

      The answering machine beeped and then was silent.

      “Oh. My. God.”

      Melody looked up to see Brittany standing in the doorway.

      “Is this guy trying to win some kind of title as Mr. Romantic, or what?” her sister continued. “He is totally to die for, Mel. That cute little cowboy accent—where’s he from anyway?”

      “Texas,” Melody said faintly. Lieutenant. He’d called himself Lieutenant Harlan Jones. He’d gotten a promotion, been awarded a higher rank.

      “That’s right. Texas. You told me that.” Britt sat down across from her. “Mel, he wants to see you again. This is so great!”

      “This is not so great!” Melody countered. “I can’t see him—are you kidding? God, Britt, he’ll take one look at me and…”

      Brittany was looking at her as if she’d just confessed to murdering the neighbors and burying them in their basement. “Oh, Melody, you didn’t—”

      “He’ll know,” Melody finished more softly.

      “You didn’t tell him you’re pregnant?”

      Mel shook her head. “No.”

      “You didn’t tell him you’re having his baby—that he’s fathered your child?”

      “What was I supposed to do? Write him a postcard? And where was I supposed to send it? Until he called, I didn’t even know where he was!” Until he called, she didn’t even know if he was still alive. But he was. He was still alive….

      “Melody, that was a very, very, very bad thing to do,” Brittany said as if she were five years old again and had broken their mother’s favorite lamp by playing ball in the house. “A man has a right to know he’s knocked up his girlfriend!”

      “I’m not his girlfriend. I never was his girlfriend.”

      “Sweetie, you’re having this man’s baby. You may not have been his girlfriend, but you weren’t exactly strangers!”

      Melody closed her eyes. No, they were anything but strangers. They’d spent three days in that hotel room in that Middle Eastern city whose name she couldn’t pronounce, and another three days in Paris. In the course of those six amazing days, they’d made love more times than she could count—including once in the miniature bathroom on board the commercial flight that had taken them north to France.

      That was her doing. She’d wanted him so badly, she couldn’t bear to wait until they touched down and took a taxi to their hotel. The plane was nearly empty—she’d thought no one would notice if they weren’t in their seats for just a little while.

      So she’d lured Jones to the back of the plane and pulled him into the tiny bathroom with her.

      After three days, she had learned enough of his secrets to drive him wild with just a touch. And Jones—he could light her on fire with no more than a single look. It wasn’t long before the temperature in that little room skyrocketed out of control.

      But Jones didn’t have a condom. He’d packed his supply in his luggage. And she didn’t have one, either….

      Making love that way was not the smartest thing either of them had ever done.

      Brittany went to the answering machine and rewound the message, playing it again and writing down the phone number he left. “What does he mean by ‘I know you said what you said before you got on the plane for Boston….’? What’s hetalking about?”

      Melody stood up. “He’s talking about a private conversation we had before I came home.”

      Brittany followed her out of the room. “He’s implying that you were the one who broke off whatever it was you had going.”

      Melody started up the stairs. “Britt, what I said to him is not your business.”

      “I always just assumed that he dumped you, you know. ‘So long, babe, it’s been fun. Time for me to go rescue some other chick who’s being held hostage.”’

      Melody turned and faced her sister, looking down at her from her elevated position on the stairs. “He’s not that type of man,” she said fiercely.

      She could practically see the wheels turning in Brittany’s head. “Now you’re defending him. Very interesting. Fess up, Sis. Were you the one who dumped him? Jeez, I never thought you’d turn out to be the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.”

      “I’m not!” Melody started up the stairs again, exhaling noisily in frustration. “Look, nobody dumped anyone, all right? It was just a…fling! God, Britt, it wasn’t real—we hardly even knew each other. It was just…sex, and lust, and relief. A whole lot of very passionate relief. The man saved my life.”

      “So naturally you decide to bear his child.”

      Melody went into her bedroom and turned to shut the door, but Brittany blocked her.

      “That’s what you told him before you got on the plane home, isn’t it? That crap about sex and lust and passionate relief? You told him you didn’t want to see him again, didn’t you?”

      Mel gave up and sat down wearily on her bed. “It’s not crap. It’s true.”

      “What if you’re wrong? What if this man is your missing half, your one true love?”

      She shook her head vehemently. “He’s not.” God, over the past seven months, she’d asked herself the same question. What if…?

      It was true that she missed her Navy SEAL. She missed him more than she was willing to admit. There were nights that she ached for his touch, that she would have died for a glimpse of his smile. And those amazing green eyes of his haunted her dreams.

      But