Tall, Dark and Devastating. Suzanne Brockmann

beer on a coaster in front of her. And in front of the bar stool that Harvard had been occupying was a tall glass of iced tea. His usual.

      P.J. had to smile. So much for her theory about big, tough men.

      She pushed the beer aside and drank the iced tea, wondering what other surprises Harvard Becker had in store for her.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “HE LOOKS AWFUL.”

      “He looks a great deal better than he did last night in that ambulance.” His mother lowered herself carefully onto the deck chair, and Harvard was aware once again of all the things he’d noticed for the first time in the hospital. The gray in her hair. The deepening lines of character on her slightly round, still pretty face. The fact that her hip was bothering her yet again—that she moved stiffly, more slowly each time he saw her.

      Harvard’s father had looked awful—a shriveled and shrunken version of himself, lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to all those monitors and tubes. His eyes had been closed when Harvard had come in, but the old man had roused himself enough to make a bad joke. Something about how he’d gone to awfully extreme lengths this time just to make their wayward son come to visit.

      The old man. Harvard had called his father that since he was twelve. But now it was true.

      His parents were getting old.

      The heart attack had been relatively mild, but from now on Dr. Medgar Becker was going to have to stop joking about how he was on a two-slices-of-cheesecake-per-day diet and really stick to the low-fat, high-exercise regimen his doctor had ordered. He was going to have to work to cut some of the stress out of his life, as well. But God knows, as the head of the English department at one of New England’s most reputable universities, that wasn’t going to be an easy thing to do.

      “We’re selling the house, Daryl,” his mother told him quietly.

      Harvard nearly dropped the can of soda he’d taken from the refrigerator on his way through the kitchen. “You’re what?”

      His mother lifted her face to the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine, breathing in the fresh, salty air. “Your father was offered a part-time teaching position at a small college in Phoenix. It’ll be fewer than a third of the hours he currently has, and far less responsibility. I think we’ve been given a sign from the Almighty that it’s time for him to cut back a bit.”

      He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was just as calm as hers had been. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

      “Medgar wasn’t sure he was ready to make such a big change,” his mother told him. “We didn’t want to worry you until we knew for sure we were going to make the move.”

      “To Phoenix. In Arizona.”

      His mother smiled at the skepticism in his voice. “We’ll be near Kendra and Robby and the kids. And Jonelle and her bunch won’t be too far away in Santa Fe. And we’ll be closer to you, too, when you’re in California. It’ll be much easier for you to come and visit. There’s a fine community theater there—something I’m truly looking forward to. And last time we were out there, we found the perfect little house within walking distance of the campus.”

      Harvard leaned against the railing on the deck, looking out over the grayish-green water of Boston Harbor. His parents had lived in Hingham, Massachusetts, in this house near the ocean, for nearly thirty years. This had been his home from the time he was six years old.

      “I’ve read that the housing market is really soft right now,” he said. “It might be a while before you find a buyer willing to meet your asking price.”

      “We’ve already got a buyer—paying cash, no less. I called this morning from the hospital, accepted his offer. Closing date’s scheduled for two weeks from Thursday.”

      He turned to face her. “That soon?”

      His mother smiled sadly. “I knew that out of all the children, you would be the one to take this the hardest. Five children—you and four girls—and you’re the sentimental one. I know you always loved this house, Daryl, but we really don’t have a choice.”

      He shook his head as he sat next to her. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I haven’t had any time to get used to the idea.”

      “We’re tired of shoveling snow. We don’t want to fight our way through another relentless New England winter. Out in Arizona, your father can play golf all year long. And this house is so big and empty now that Lena’s gone off to school. The list of pros is a mile long. The list of cons has only one item—my Daryl will be sad.”

      Harvard took his mother’s hand. “I get back here twice a year, at best. You’ve got to do what’s right for you and Daddy. Just as long as you’re sure it’s really what you want.”

      “Oh, we’re sure.” Conviction rang in his mother’s voice. “After last night, we’re very sure.” She squeezed his fingers. “We’ve been so busy talking about Medgar and me, I haven’t had the chance to ask about you. How are you?”

      Harvard nodded. “I’m well, thanks.”

      “I was afraid when I called last night you’d be off in some foreign country saving the world or whatever it is that you Navy SEAL types do.”

      He forced a smile. His parents were moving from this house in just a few weeks. This was probably going to be the very last time he sat on this deck. “Saving the world just about sums it up.”

      “Have you told that captain of yours it ticks your mother off that you can’t freely talk about all these awful, dangerous assignments you get sent on?”

      Harvard laughed. “Right now we’re temporarily stationed in Virginia. We’re helping train some FInCOM agents in counterterrorist techniques.”

      “That sounds relatively safe.”

      P. J. Richards and her blazing eyes came to mind. “Relatively,” he agreed. “But it’s going to keep me tied up over the next seven and a half weeks. I won’t be around to help you pack or move or anything. Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle that—especially with Daddy laid up?”

      “Lena’s home for the summer, and Jonelle’s volunteered to help out, too.”

      Harvard nodded. “Good.”

      “How’s that young friend of yours—the one that just got married and had himself a son, although not quite in that order?”

      “Harlan Jones.” Harvard identified the friend in question.

      His mother frowned. “No, that’s not what you usually call him.”

      “His nickname’s Cowboy.”

      “That’s right. Cowboy. How could I forget? How’s that working out for him? He had to grow up really fast, didn’t he?”

      “It’s only been a few months, but so far so good. He’s on temporary assignment with SEAL Team Two out in California. He had the chance to be part of a project he couldn’t turn down.”

      “A project you can’t tell me anything about, no doubt.”

      Harvard had to smile. “Sorry. You’ll like this irony, though. Cowboy’s swim buddy from BUD/S training—a guy named William Hawken—is temporarily working with Alpha Squad.”

      “That’s that small world factor again,” his mother proclaimed. “Everyone’s connected in some way—some more obviously than others.” She leaned forward. “Speaking of connections—what’s the chance you’ll bring a girlfriend with you when you come to the new house for Thanksgiving?”

      He snorted. “We’re talking negative numbers—no chance at all. I’m not seeing anyone in particular right now.”

      “Still tomcatting around, huh? Gettin’ it on without