Page 24 of Her Reluctant Hero
Chapter Four
“He’s three.” Her voice softened as she spoke of her child. “Santiago sent him back to the States, to his family there. That’s when I came up with my plan. I have to get back to him before he forgets who I am.”
A mother. Christ. Just when he was getting to understand her. Hell, he appreciated her honesty even though her story disgusted him. But to learn she was a mother…
“Saldana’s kid?”
Her expression twisted—was that revulsion? She nodded. “His name is Hector.”
“Saldana sent him to the States.”
“To his family in Miami, he said.” She crossed the pool to where her clothes were stretched out on rocks, like she couldn’t bear to be naked when she spoke of her son.
“How long ago?”
“Almost four months.” She hauled herself out of the water and slipped on the T-shirt, which clung to her wet body. “I didn’t know what to do,” she added quickly, as if she didn’t want him to judge her further. “I had no way to leave. When Eric Reyes told me soldiers were coming, I knew that was my only chance to get away. I never thought it would take days to get to the States. I thought it would be only hours, and Santiago wasn’t there, so he wouldn’t know I was gone right away. Now, no matter how fast we get to Miami—” She choked back a sob.
“Santiago will have hidden him,” Alex concluded.
She looked at him, stricken, as if hoping he wouldn’t think so too. “I have to get to him, Shepard. Don’t you see?”
He did. Only he knew the DEA would be waiting for her when they got to Tegucigalpa. She’d be debriefed before they let her go. If they let her go. Her kid could be in kindergarten in Timbuktu before she found him.
Part of him wondered if that wasn’t for the best. What chance did the kid of a drug lord and a whore have? The only way Alex had survived a similar lineage was through entering the foster system. That alone had saved him from repeating his parents’ mistakes.
He wanted to say it to her, the part of him that wanted to punish her. But her eyes were big and sad, and while he told himself she could be acting to gain his sympathy, she knew him well enough by now to know he didn’t have any.
He almost wished he did.
“The dress, the one you ripped up, that one was his favorite. He would fall asleep rubbing the fabric between his fingers. I was going to wear it when I found him.”
He clamped his jaw against the offer to buy her another one when they were in civilization. After all, what kind of mother wore a dress like that to care for her child?
She didn’t look at him, clearly not wanting to feel his judgment. She reached for her socks, brown with blood, ripped by friction and shook them out.
He swam over to her. “Wait. Your feet need to be dry. See if these people have any socks, anything you can wrap your feet in, or you’ll get jungle rot.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured.
He grabbed her arms, forcing her to look at him. She let out a little cry of alarm but he didn’t release her.
“What good are you going to do that little boy if you’re laid up in a hospital somewhere? If you don’t take care of yourself, how can you expect to take care of him?”
She lifted her gaze, her lips tight with anger. “I know you can’t believe me, but I would do anything for him.”
He didn’t believe her, but it wouldn’t help the situation to say it. “Then do what I say.”
The anger dissolved and she nodded, backing away.
“It’s not good for you to wear wet underwear, either. You could have some serious chafing.”
She climbed to her feet. “I have clean underwear.”
She pulled them out of her pack—God help him, white lace ones this time—and stripped off the pink ones. Right in front of him. What the hell? Just when he’d finally got his arousal under control. Jesus Christ.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away, even as she stepped into the panties, pulled them up those gorgeous legs and snapped them in place at her hips.
She reached for her pants and looked down at him, knowledge in her eyes. “Breakfast should be almost ready. Are you coming?”
