Baby Battalion. Cassie Miles

      “No.” But yes, she was. Her forehead was damp.

      “For goodness sakes, Tess. Go with the sexy bodyguard. If anybody deserves some zing in their life, it’s you.”

      Tess wiped her palms on her black slacks and tried to gather her composure. “He’s definitely sexy.”

      “He’s kind of a thug with all those scars, but there’s something about him. It’s pretty doggoned obvious that you like him.”

      “For all I know, he might be happily married.”

      “Oops, I hadn’t thought of that.” Trudy pivoted. “Let’s find out.”

      Before Tess could stop her, Trudy darted around the partition and up to Nolan. He was standing at the front desk, holding a clear-framed snapshot of Tess’s son at the top of a slide waving his hands in the air. He held up the picture. “Is this your boy?”

      She nodded. “That’s Joey. He’s four.”

      “I can see the resemblance to you.”

      “Not really,” she said. “He’s the image of his father, healthy and funny and more headstrong than is good for him.”

      Trudy piped up, “Do you like children, Nolan?”

      “Yes.”

      Trudy beamed her grandmotherly smile. “Have you started your own family yet? Is there a Mrs. Nolan Law?”

      “A missus?” He seemed amused by the concept. “Actually, there is no Mrs. Nolan Law.”

      “No time like the present to get started,” Trudy said. “You two should get going. I’ll take care of the office.”

      Tess started to object. “But I—”

      “If anything comes up, I’ll call or email or text. Run along.”

      Feeling like she’d been railroaded by the Trudy bullet train, Tess slipped into her suit jacket and coat, grabbed her briefcase with the laptop inside and followed Nolan out the door. She expected a rugged man like him to drive a Hummer. Instead, he had a classic black Mercedes.

      She buckled her seat belt and leaned back in the luxurious seat. “Where are we headed?”

      “A café in D.C.,” he said. “This meeting shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

      “I’d like to apologize for Trudy being so intrusive.”

      “Not at all,” he said. “She reminds me of my late grandma. A Southern belle who knew everything about everybody in her little town. Grandma always said she wasn’t nosy. Just concerned.”

      Aha! He had Southern roots. “I thought I heard a hint of an accent. Did you grow up in the South?”

      “I’ve lived all over. You?”

      “I grew up in a suburb of Chicago. My dad was a police officer, killed in the line of duty.” She pinched her lips together. She wanted information from him, not the other way around.

      He asked, “What brought you to Arlington?”

      “College. I wanted to be an art historian but got sidetracked along the way by the culinary arts.” And by Joe Donovan. Instead of going to graduate school, she’d married him and launched her career as a caterer.

      “Any regrets about dropping the career in art?”

      “None,” she said quickly. “I chose the right path.”

      Even though she’d lost Joe, the love they’d shared was true and deep. She’d experienced the kind of passion that poets write about. Not that she and Joe were gooey and sentimental. His greatest talent had been making her laugh. More than anything else, he had wanted her to be happy. If Joe could see her now, he’d tell her to give Nolan a chance. She glanced toward him, wondering if he’d ever take off those sunglasses.

      Nolan said, “Bart mentioned that your son was born after your husband went missing. That must have been rough.”

      “My son’s birth was the high point of my life, and I wish with all my heart that my husband could have shared that moment when I first heard Joey cry.” She couldn’t help smiling when she recalled the joy and relief she’d felt when she held her perfectly formed, newborn baby boy. Joey was so full of energy, wriggling and waving his arms. It was a wonderful moment. But she didn’t want to talk about herself. “Bart was with me. He’s a very special part of our lives. I’d like to know more about his abduction.”

      “Such as?”

      “Start at the beginning.”

      “There was an explosion at a day care center,” he said. “In the confusion, Bart was taken. His handicap van was missing, and his driver was killed.”

      Tess had heard this part of the story. “It seems like his van could be traced. Did it have GPS?”

      “There were tracking devices in both the van and Bart’s motorized wheelchair. Both were deactivated immediately. We found the van about a week later. A bomb had been exploded inside. There was no useful evidence.”

      “And no contact from the kidnappers,” she said. “I know Bart sees his doctors on a regular basis and is on a regimen of medications.”

      “None of his prescriptions have been used, but his meds are fairly common, easily purchased. None of his regular docs have heard from the people who kidnapped him.”

      “I worry that he’s not being properly cared for.”

      Nolan’s jaw tensed. The long scar that stretched from the edge of his nose to his earlobe defined his cheekbone. “I can’t promise you that Bart is all right. We don’t have any definite leads, and I don’t like to speculate.”

      She sensed that he was trying to shelter her from worry as though she was a delicate hothouse orchid. Such concerns were unnecessary. She’d been through a lot of pain in her life, starting with the death of her father when she was in her teens. The other cops on the force had tried to protect her and her mother by not talking about the way he died, but the closed casket pretty much said it all. Her dad had been shot point-blank in the face by a low-life drug dealer who was currently spending life in prison.

      Her mom refused to face what had happened, but Tess attended the trial for the drug dealer. Every single day in court, she stared at the bastard who killed her dad, and she experienced every shade of rage and hatred. Dealing with Joe’s death was more difficult; she couldn’t focus her anger and sadness on a faceless enemy.

      “I can handle the truth,” she said. “I’d rather know everything than not enough. You’ve been investigating for nearly a month. I assume you have suspects.”

      He turned toward her. His eyes were hidden by the dark glasses, but she could feel his gaze. “You’re stronger than you look.”

      “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now, talk.”

      “There’s a possibility that Bart was abducted by his son, Victor Bellows.”

      She was surprised. “I didn’t know Bart had any children.”

      “He was estranged from his son.”

      That didn’t seem like Bart at all. He was ferociously loyal and caring; he’d be a great father. “There’s more to that story.”

      “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Nolan said. “Bart’s son went into the military when he was eighteen. He did a tour in Iraq and got into trouble with the military police. Rather than be incarcerated, he went AWOL. The military classified him as MIA.”

      “How did you find out he was still alive?”

      “Victor was using an alias. We found blood at the site of the abduction. When we ran tests, we found a DNA match through the army database.”

      A