Page 15 of Mr. Dangerous

“I don’t remember.” She’d been nice. She had laughed a little too hard at both my jokes and my father’s, and taught me how to shuffle a deck of cards, which had turned out to be an essential skill in the military. I was starting to like her when she stopped visiting. I knew better than to ask too many questions. I couldn’t even get those answers about my ownmother.

“What made you think of that? The surf?” Her voice was quiet, and the wind almost whipped herwordsaway.

“The way you talk to me,” I said. “Like she should’ve talkedtohim.”

She turned, her eyes wide. “Rob, Ididn’t—”

“I know,” I said gruffly. I didn’t know what she was going to say next, but I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t needherpity.

Her cell pinged, and she pulled it out of her pocket. Her cheeks were flushed like she was upset. I wished I had time to talktoher.

“Your grandmother’s car justpulledin.”

I nodded. I was comfortable in my chair, with my bad coffee. I wasn’t sure why my grandmother was invading my vacation anyway, or how long she intendedtostay.

She hesitated. "Aren't you going to gomeether?"

I wanted to say no. But if I didn't go unload the car, then my grandmother, Rebecca, would expect Naomi to carry the suitcases upstairs. I pictured petite Naomi bumping one of those heavy bags up the long, slick-marble staircase, and I rose from thechair.

As we walked back through the kitchen towards the foyer, she looked up at me shyly and asked, "So does this mean you won't be needing achauffeur?"

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "I'm going to need someone to drive me awayfromher."

"I heard that, Robert," called my grandmother, her heels clicking across the foyerfloor.

We turned the corner, and she came into view: tall and slender with her toned arms opened wide for a hug. She wore her white hair in a pixie cut, the same style she'd worn for almost as long as I could remember. Her navy dress and madras scarf highlighted her tanned and toned body. Except for her beautifully coiffed white-gray hair, she would have looked like she was in herforties.

"You look lovely and well-preserved as ever," I said, hugging her, breathing in the scent of her Chanel No. 5. In my head, I thought, half-fondly,you oldvampire.

"Trying to win me back over after that little dig?" she asked, her eyebrows arching over crystal-blueeyes.

"Do I have to? I'm still yourgrandson."

She squeezed me a little tighter before her hug loosened, and she took a step back with her hands still gripping my forearms. She looked up at my face as if she wanted to stare at me, to take me in, after being apart forsolong.

But what she said was, "You do have three brothers. You can be replaced. You're not even the only SEALanymore."

"Do you brag about that at thetennisclub?"

"All I can say is, thank god you became a SEAL. It didn't sound so great at first. Agnes' grandson is a big shot lawyer who's always on the TV—national—giving his opinion, Clary has two disappointment-grandchildren but at least the third is a Harvard-educated doctor." She switched into a falsetto imitation of her own voice. "My grandsons are such patriots. They all went intotheNavy."

"Sorry to be such ahardship."

"Well, now if anyone starts bragging about their grandchildren, I can always saymy grandson can kick yourgrandson'sass."

The wordasscoming from my impeccable grandmother made me crack a smile. "You are incorrigible. I wouldn't put itpastyou."

"Of course not, sweetheart. You shouldn't put anything past me." She patted my arms with her wrinkled and tanned hands before she let go, gesturing towards the front door. "Would you go get my bags, please, before the limo driver decides he desperately wants a matched set of Hartmann luggage, or at least to go home tosupper?"

“Sure,” I said. I took a step towards the door, turned and kept walking backward as I asked her, “How long are you staying,anyway?”

She just smiled inresponse.

Oldvampire.

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