Heart of the Night

Gena trembled at that thought. “Have you heard something? Tell me, Eli.”

He shrugged. “It’s just a feeling, chère.”

Gena’s pulse burned a beat through her temple. “You can’t just come in here and say that. What do you know?”

“More than I knew back then,” he retorted. “I know I have a son and now I’m going to take care of him, no matter what CHAIM thinks.”

Figuring he was just trying to scare her, Gena reminded herself that she’d been the one watching over Scotty for a long time now. “And what would you have done back then, if you’d known? I think I can answer that. You went out on a vigilante mission and no one could locate you. And by the time they’d found you, it was too late. You were in no shape to do anything, and if you’d known, you would have come back—”

“Back to my wife and my child,” he finished. “You don’t know what I went through.”

“I think I do,” she said, compassion softening her words. “I lost my husband to CHAIM, remember?” She could talk of pain and longing, but she wouldn’t give him any more ammunition to use against her. “That kind of pain paralyzes a person. You almost went mad with grief and anger. Devon wanted to protect you and Scotty. Maybe his motives weren’t pure and maybe his reasoning was out of whack, but his heart was on your side. He agonized over his decision, but he was trying to help.”

Eli slammed his hand down hard against the table. “You and Devon have no idea what agony is. No idea at all.”

Gena didn’t know how to reach him. Since the cold night her brother had called her all those years ago asking her to take in Scotty, she’d heard all about the Cajun from Louisiana. She knew the Disciple was the most dangerous of the whole CHAIM team, knew he hadn’t joined CHAIM so much as a true believer, but as someone who only wanted to measure up to his absent father’s heroic status. He’d only wanted to prove to his bitter grandfather that he was worthy. But Eli’s heart had never been centered on the true cause of CHAIM, to help and protect Christians in danger through amnesty, intervention and ministry. Eli lived for the danger, but from what she’d heard, he sure didn’t seem to live to serve Christ.

“Eli,” she said, hoping to make him understand, “you’ve come so far. You survived a near-breakdown, a gunshot wound from your grandfather and…Lydia told me you’ve been studying your Bible and trying to find God’s love in your life. So why are you doing this?”

He sat like a giant statue, his face chiseled in rock, his eyes shining with the hardness of unearthed coal. “I want my son with me. I never had the luxury of a father growing up. I want him with me, no matter what.”

Gena cupped her hands together as if in prayer. “Do you hear yourself? No matter what? What does that mean, exactly? That you’ll do whatever it takes to just pull him away from me, without any consideration for his feelings or mine? Did you even bother to think this through? Does Devon know you’re here?”

“Devon has no right to stop me.” He leaned back, frustration coloring his tanned skin as he raked a hand over his dark shaggy hair. “And let me see if I can answer your questions to your satisfaction. Number one—I’ve had plenty of time to consider everyone’s feelings in this situation, including my own. Number two—I’ve had nothing else to think about since the night my grandfather died and I got shot—the night your brother informed me that I had a son. And number three—Dev does not know I’m here. That man is busy planning his wedding to Lydia. Why bother him with all the details of my torment and my shame?”

Gena put her hands on the table. “I need to call him.”

Eli had her hands in his before she could get out of the chair and to the phone. “Do not call your brother. This is between me and you. Here, right now. That’s why I left without telling him.”

“You didn’t tell him because you know what he would have said.”

“You’re right there, belle. I don’t have to take orders from Devon Malone.” He held her hands in his with an iron grip, but it wasn’t a cruel hold. More like a plea for her to stop. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you or the boy. I just wanted to…see him.” His hands went soft over hers. “I just wanted to see him and make sure he was safe.”

Tears pricked at Gena’s eyes. She could see the love Eli had for Scotty there in the shadows around his dark eyes. She knew that same fierce love inside her heart. And she had no right to Scotty, no legal right. Eli could take him by force, or he could just take him. Period. How could she fight that? Worse, how could she fight the pain and torment this man had felt for the last few years? For all of his life.

“I won’t call Devon yet,” she finally said, the heat from his hands making her too aware of him. “But I can’t let you take Scotty away from me. I can’t. I love him so much. Please think about this. You can sleep on the couch tonight, and we’ll talk again in the morning. But understand I’ll be guarding him all night long.”

She watched as his soul went into war. Gena could see it all there like a storm cloud on his face, the pain, the shame, the anger and then as the deep slashes of fatigue caught up with him, the resolve. “You don’t have to guard the boy from me, catin. I am not a thief in the night. I’m just a father who wants to…know his son.”

“I understand that and I want that for you,” she said, a shudder of deep relief sliding down her spine. “If you’d like to stay here in Captive Cove for a while, I can let you have one of the other cottages. There’s a small one right next door. It’s yours for as long as you want.”

“How about for a lifetime?” he said, the words a harsh whisper.

Gena didn’t know how to respond to that question. This man was so different from anyone she’d ever met. He was like the night, dark and mysterious and dangerous. His clipped Cajun accent and the way he spoke the English language with such a colloquial French twist, made her heart do funny little things. Lydia had warned her about Eli. Not about the dangers inside the man, but about the vulnerable darkness that he tried so hard to hide. It was there now in his eyes, in his expression, in the way he sat staring at her like a caged, wounded animal.

And she had always had a soft spot for hurt creatures of any kind. “Eli, you can stay and get to know your son, but on my terms. All right?”

“Do I have any other choice?” he said, getting up to stalk to the sink. “Captive Cove! Now that is a fitting name for this place if ever there was one.” Then he turned and came to tower over her. “But you need to understand one thing yourself. I’m only doing this your way for the boy’s sake. Got that?”

She bobbed her head. “We can agree on that, at least.”

He lifted a hand in the air. “Just give me the key to the cottage. I don’t want to stay in here.” He shrugged. “If he wakes up and finds me here, he’ll have questions. Questions that should have been answered years ago.”

Gena felt that jab toward her life here with Scotty hitting her with ice-pick precision. He resented her, but he had to tolerate her in order to see his son. She didn’t know why that should hurt so much, but it did.

“I’ll get the key,” she said. “You’ll find everything you need in the cottage—linens, some food staples, coffee and wood for a fire. We can get the rest when this storm clears up. Until then, you’re welcome to have your meals here. And we’ll explain things to Scotty after he’s had time to get to know you.”

He pulled his gaze away from her to stare out the window. “When will this weather clear?”

“I’m not sure. The weatherman predicted a lot of snow. It could be tomorrow or days from now.”

He rolled his eyes, indignant with this confinement. Eli Trudeau was not a man to be locked away or shut inside. He looked like he belonged out in nature, walking, hunting, stalking, staring at the moon. He had a heart of the night.

Gena prayed she could bring some light into his battered soul.

Eli pushed his head back against the soft pillows on the old four-poster bed, then closed his eyes, memories of Leah moving like wind through his tired mind. He could see her there walking along the bayou behind their little house, her long blond hair falling away from her face, her hand on her already-protruding belly as she smiled down at the child she carried. But that vision was quickly replaced by the one he couldn’t keep out of his mind, the one he could only imagine because he hadn’t been there—the sight of his beautiful wife lying in a sterile hospital room hooked up to wires and tubes so that their child could stay alive long enough to be born.

Eli jerked his head up, wiping his eyes as if to get rid of the horror of that image. Staring into the crackling fire across the room, he thought, Do you know how much I loved you, chérie? Do you know that I would have fought all of them just to be by your side?

Too late now for that. But not too late for a chance to be a father to his son. And so he waited, hearing the clock strike midnight, hearing the gentle falling of snow all around the little house and the falling of the last burned log in the grate, hearing the ocean crashing madly against the shore. He waited and watched and listened as if he were on the most dangerous mission of his life. And maybe he was. He just had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling about things.

He wouldn’t sleep. He knew that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep. Eli found no peace in his dreams or in his waking hours.

He’d traveled thousands of miles just to find his son, but his soul had traveled a long and rocky road just to find a little redemption. He’s seen that redemption tonight, shining like a beacon in his son’s dark eyes.

“Scotty,” he said out loud. “What kind of name is that?” He tested it. “Scotty Trudeau.”

Did they even let him go by the name Trudeau? Probably not. Scotty Malone? “Scotty,” he said again into the darkness of the neat, comfortable room. The name echoed like a child’s giggle against the walls.

Outside the wind howled and laughed, mocking Eli’s attempts to wrap his mind around fatherhood. It was bitter cold, but he felt a hot sweat moving over his body like a fever. He gripped the patterned quilt on the bed, wondering if he was going back into that dark place inside his own head again.

“Can’t go there,” he reminded himself. “They’d force me to go back to Ireland.” And he was not going back there, ever. How the Shepherd lived there was beyond Eli’s comprehension, but at least his friend and fellow CHAIM agent had been kind when Eli had tried every trick in the book to break out of the ancient stronghold that had held him captive for months. “Retreat? More like a padded, emerald-green prison.”

Pushing that time and those memories out of his mind, Eli tried to pray. He’d promised Lydia he would pray each time he got an urge to do something stupid—like leave New Orleans and come all the way up the coast in the middle of winter to see his son and make sure he was safe and sound. But his prayers were more of a haphazard merging of words. Help. Hurt. Anger. Pain. Scotty. Scotty. Leah. Gena. Help me. Help them. Lord, help us all.

Gena. She hated him. He had felt that hatred like clouds of swamp mosquitoes whirling around them earlier when she’d handed him the keys to this cozy cottage. And how could he blame her? She might hate him, but she surely loved his son. Her son.

His son.

“What now?” he asked himself. “How are you going to get out of this one?”

His cell phone rang. Not many had his number, so he figured this was urgent. When he saw Lydia’s number flashing, he let out a sigh, then answered. “Chère, you are for sure like an old mother hen.”

“Only because I love you,” Lydia Cantrell said in her drawling Georgia accent. “Eli, Kissie called. She said you took off without saying goodbye, and she doesn’t know where you went. Please tell me you didn’t—”

“I didn’t do anything crazy,” he said, knowing what she was asking. And because he couldn’t lie to Lydia, he said, “I’m in Maine, ma petite. I’ve seen the boy.”

She whispered a soft prayer. “Oh, Eli. Why didn’t you let us know you were going? You didn’t scare Scotty, did you? You didn’t do anything you’ll regret, right?”

“I told you, it’s cool. Everything is okay, except this infernal cold and snow. I hate cold and snow.”

But Lydia was beyond listening to his complaints and well into her interrogation mode. The woman would have made a great CHAIM agent. “You didn’t try to take him from Gena, did you?”

Skipping the part about disarming the alarm system and waiting in the broom closet, he said, “I thought about it, but Gena put me on my back and pinned me down until I cried ‘uncle.’”

“Good for her. You know, she’s trained in self-defense.”

“You don’t say? It’s all right now, though. We talked pretty for a while and now I’m as cozy as a kitten in my little cottage by the sea.” He shivered as he said that, his gaze hitting the dying embers of the fire.

“I hope so. Devon doesn’t know I’m calling you, but I’ll have to tell him. And I want to tell him you’re being a gentleman. You promised me if you ever went to Maine, you’d only go to visit Scotty.”

“I’ve been known to break my promises, oui?”

“You won’t break this one,” Lydia said in her smug, proud Lydia way. “I know you won’t.”

“You know me so well then?”

“I think I do. You want to make your son proud. You can do this, Eli. I’m praying you will.”

“You might want to save those prayers, catin. I’m not doing so good right now.” He pinched his nose. “I want my son.”

“Eli, don’t talk like that. Think about how you’d confuse Scotty. You can’t do that. He’s a little boy. He doesn’t understand. You have to take this slow.”

“He doesn’t know his father.”

“It’s hard, I know,” she said, “but…you have to be very careful. You have to give Gena time to accept that you’re there. And you have to be gentle with Scotty, okay?”

“I’m not a gentle man. And I’m not a gentleman.”

“But you can be, you big brute. You can be. Will you try, for me?”

Eli got up to pace around the bedroom. “Ah, now, don’t go laying that on me, Lydia. You know you are one of the few to sway my cold, hard heart.”

“Then consider this my way of swaying,” she said. “Do I need to call Devon and put him on you?”

“Non. I can’t take his lectures tonight.”

“Okay, then. We have an understanding. You are going to be a good father, Eli. No, make that a great father. I have faith in that. But first, you have to learn what being a father is all about.”

Eli swallowed back the pride of hearing that from such a true Christian woman. “Why do you fight for me, Lydia?”

“Because you fought for me once, remember?”

“More like, I fought against you, trying to save your life.”

“You did save my life and now it’s my turn to save yours. I’m going to say prayers for you right now. Oh, and you’d better be here for our wedding in February.”

“That is one promise I will keep. Sweet dreams, mon amie,” Eli said. “Tell Devon he is a lucky man.”

“He’s a blessed man,” Lydia countered. “There’s a difference.”

Eli hung up with a smile, thinking she always had to have the last word.

“And I’m a blessed man, too, for knowing you,” he said. But it would sure be hard living up to Lydia’s sweet expectations.

Eli went to the big window next to the bed and opened the heavy curtain. He could see a single light burning upstairs in the big cottage where his son was sleeping. He wondered what it would be like to live there with Scotty, to watch his son laugh and cry, to play catch in the backyard, to go fishing out in that deep water. What would it be like to be a real father to Scotty?

“Only one way to find out,” Eli said, smiling for the first time in a long time.

At least he knew Scotty was safe here tonight. That meant a lot to him even if he did resent his son being here. But what about tomorrow or the next day?

As he watched the house, a massive cloud moved over the water and turned the night a dark, moonless gray, causing shadows to dance against the tall trees and craggy rocks. A shudder clutched his spine like spider webs, sticky and unbreakable, trapping him with a new kind of fear. A little prickle of awareness and apprehension caused the hairs on his neck to stand up. He went from fatigued and worn out to wide awake and on full alert.

What if Eli’s worries came to pass? What if Scotty wasn’t safe here? What then?

THREE

“Look out your kitchen window.”

Eli stood in the small den, watching the house across the snow-covered yard. When Gena appeared looking wary and surprised at the window a few feet away, he waved to her. “Is the boy up yet?”

“He has a name,” she said, her voice low. “You can’t keep calling him the boy, you know.”

“Is my son up yet?” Eli retorted, his voice gravelly. He had not slept well, but then he never slept well.

“He’s getting dressed for school.”

“I’ll take him. Give me directions.”

“No, you will not take him. You’re a stranger to him, Eli. Just give me some time to figure out how to handle this.”

Eli let out a sigh, his eyes scanning the yard. In the light of a crisp white morning, this place looked serene and peaceful, as if it’d been purposely set up for a Christmas card. But it hadn’t seemed that way late in the wee hours when he’d seen every shadow and shape as something sinister and dangerous. He didn’t like this antsy feeling that had brought him here, but he was glad he’d followed his instincts.

“I’m coming over,” he said, disconnecting and moving away from the window before she could respond. He did turn in time to see the frustration on her face.

Let her be frustrated. He wanted to get to know his son, but more importantly, he wanted to protect his son. Because he hadn’t been there when his wife and child had needed him the most. That reality ate at him day and night, always. But he was here now.

Closing his eyes to the dark, swirling memories, Eli took another swig of coffee and wished he had some strong Louisiana coffee instead. This brew would have to suffice for now. He grabbed his coat and headed out across the crunchy snow, noticing the vulnerability of this quiet cove. A sheer drop of cliffs off into a frigid ocean on one side and a copse of trees that blocked the view to the road on the other. Not good, not good at all. He felt an urgent need to get his son out of here, but he reminded himself Scotty had been safe here for six years.

But that didn’t matter in Eli’s eyes. He’d heard some rumblings when he’d been down in New Orleans recovering from being shot. Since the news of his grandfather’s involvement in a South American drug cartel had come to light this summer, he’d felt deep in his bones that more trouble was on the way. His instincts had never let him down before, not even after Leah had disappeared six years ago and he’d gone off the deep end. Not even after CHAIM officials had forced him to go into confinement in Ireland for a few years to cool off and get his head straight, and not after he’d left and come home only to find out someone wanted him dead. That someone had been his own estranged grandfather. His instincts had been right on all those accounts, starting with the bad feeling he’d gotten when the team had first hit the ground in South America all those years ago. And things had gone very wrong down there. Eli had the distinct feeling that the situation still wasn’t all cleaned up and tidied.

The Peacemaker would have seen to that.

Even though the Peacemaker was dead and buried and his South American crime group dissolved, the man had probably left henchmen everywhere to carry on his dirty deeds. And if the Peacemaker’s cohorts had any inkling that he had a great-grandson…well, Eli didn’t want to think about that. What if someone, somewhere, was just biding time, waiting to make a move on him or his child?

Maybe Dev was right, he thought as he knocked on the front door. As long as Eli had been out of the picture and tucked away in that retreat in Ireland, Scotty had been relatively safe. But once Eli had reappeared on the CHAIM radar last summer, he’d also set himself up for retribution from past enemies because he’d never been one to win friends and influence people. And now that meant his son could become a target. Somehow, he’d have to make Gena see that Scotty was better off with him.

But when she opened the door hard enough to shake the bright red ribbon on the fragrant evergreen wreath, a brooding frown on her pretty oval face, Eli got the impression that Gena wouldn’t listen to any worries he might have.

Gena was fully prepared to slam the door back in Eli’s too-good-looking-for-his-own-good face, but knowing her son was about to come barreling down the stairs, she didn’t do that. This was Scotty’s father, after all. And in spite of her sleepless night, Scotty and Eli both deserved a chance to get to know each other.

“What did you tell him?” Eli said as he muscled past her, then pivoted to glare at her. “I mean, about his father? Does he even ask?”

Gena glanced upstairs, then motioned toward the kitchen. “I never lied to him, if that’s what you’re asking. I have always told him that his father had to go away and that he might not be able to come back.” She looked down at the floor. “He held out hope, I think, that one day he would see his father.”

Eli thumped his fingers on the newel post. “Well, guess what, catin, I’m here now. Time to confess all.”

Gena’s heart did a little pulsing jump. “Eli, please?”

Before she could plead her case, Scotty called out, “I’m hungry, Mom. Did you make pancakes?”

Gena stopped in the entryway, her gaze locking with Eli’s. “Not now,” she whispered.

Then Scotty appeared at the top of the stairs, backpack in hand, his hair rumpled as usual. “Who’s that?”

Gena watched as Scotty sized up the big man standing near the stairs and she also watched Eli’s face transform from a scowling mask of restraint and resolve to a genuine smile of curiosity and awe. And she saw a sudden solid terror in those usually fearless eyes, too.

“This is—”

“I’m Eli Trudeau,” Eli said, lifting a hand toward Scotty, his voice verging on shaky. “I’m a…friend…your Uncle Devon knows me.”

Scotty dropped his backpack and raced down the stairs. “Did you know he’s marrying Miss Lydia? I love Miss Lydia. She sends me things—books, CDs, candy. She’s so funny. Have you heard her accent? She talks slow ’cause she’s from Georgia. I’m gonna be in their wedding.”

Gena watched Eli’s face light up. Wow, the man could be a real lady-killer if he worked at it. Shaking that notion right out of her head, she concentrated instead on trying to decide how to explain Eli’s presence to her son. “Scotty, aren’t you forgetting your manners? Can’t you say hello at least.”

“Hello,” Scotty said, looking sheepish and shy. Then, “Do you know Miss Lydia?”

Eli bent down to eye level with Scotty, then reached out to give him a robust handshake. “Nice to finally meet you, Scotty,” he said, with emphasis on the finally. “I sure do know Miss Lydia. She is the nicest, kindest, most caring person I’ve ever met.”

Gena could tell Eli actually meant those words and that gave her a sense of hope for his bruised soul.

“She’s fun, is all I know,” Scotty said with a shrug. “Are you from Georgia? ’Cause you sound funny like Miss Lydia.”

Eli stood as Scotty rushed by, headed for the kitchen. Then he called, “I’m from Louisiana. Way down south.”

Gena inclined her head. “Better hurry if you want pancakes.”

Eli nodded, then held her arm, his head down as he spoke in a soft whisper. “He’s so…incredible.”

“I know,” she said, tears piercing her eyes. “That’s why I need you to give me some time.”

Eli put his hands in the pocket of his jeans, then lifted his chin toward the kitchen. “I’ve got lots of time. All the time in the world. And I plan on using it to get to know my son.” He stood still for a minute, his gaze moving over her face, then back toward the other room. “But not right now. I can’t…not right now.”