In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite) Read Online Free PDF Page B

her right arm weaker than her left, until tears began to flow and silent sobs replaced her struggles. Fire stabbed at his right side with each twist of her body against his. Finally she stilled, and he relaxed his hold.
    A beam of light flew around the room. “Mommy?”
    At the sound of the child’s voice, he released her. She pulled away, swiping the back of her hand over her wet cheeks, and pasting a smile on her lips. Crystalline tears glistened on her dark lashes as she blinked them away.
    “Did he hurt you again?” the little boy asked, holding the flashlight beam unsteadily on his mother’s face. He hugged the towels against his chest.
    “I stepped on your mommy’s toe by accident,” JP said. Well, that should do it. The kid had to hate him by now. He’d run over his mother, attacked her, and now he’d made her cry.
    It shouldn’t make a damn bit of difference to him what the boy thought, or what Wade’s wife—Abby—thought, given who they were. But it did, damn it.
    The kid shone the light on his mother’s bare feet and asked him, “Did you rub it?”
    “Rub it?” JP repeated uncertainly.
    An exasperated sigh escaped the boy’s lips. The flashlight beam bobbled as he stepped forward. “Don’t you know? You have to rub it, then kiss it. Then you get a SpongeBob Band-Aid.”
    “Cole,” his mother interrupted with a nervous laugh, “it’s not that bad. I’ll be fine. Please give me the towels and go dry off. You can change clothes.”
    The boy looked like he might refuse, then he smiled and asked, “Can I wear my dinosaur shirt?”
    “Yes,” she said. “I’m going to talk to—”
    “John,” Cole filled in. “That’s his name.”
    The kid was quick, JP thought. What about his mother? How much did she know about her husband’s—her late husband’s—work?
    “I need to talk to him for a few minutes, honey.”
    Cole looked doubtful. But then he said, “’Kay,” and hurried down the hall to change.
    She turned to JP. “I won’t hit you again. I don’t know why I did that.” She rubbed her right shoulder. “It was pointless. I’m sorry.”
    Her voice, with its barest touch of Southern heat, made the apology sound dignified. He’d met her under the worst of circumstances and she’d held herself together—pretty much—despite fear and pain. There was basic dignity in that, dignity he admired.
    So what should he say now? Should he offer his condolences? Did he tell her he’d come here to do whatever it took to prove her late husband had betrayed his country and set JP up to take the fall?
    It all really came down to one basic question: Did he believe her?
    He sure as hell didn’t want to believe Wade was dead, just as he hadn’t wanted to believe Wade would set him up. He didn’t want to think this respect-inspiring woman would lie to his face, either.
    Not that it made any difference. Saving himself was all that mattered now.
    “Where’s my gun?” he asked.
    He was about to demand an answer when she replied. “I hid it and the one in your bag so Cole can’t get to them.”
    That was logical. “Where?”
    She hesitated.
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” he insisted for the dozenth time. He supposed lack of trust ran both ways.
    “The closet, on the top, in the back.” She indicated a door on the other side of the room.
    Or not .
    He crossed over, careful to watch her as he went, opened the door, and reached up, ruthlessly ignoring the pain in his side. He found not only the Glock, but the Ruger, next to it. Smart woman—she’d gone through his backpack. He pulled both guns out, then checked to see that they were loaded.
    “The silver one’s safety is still on,” she said. “I couldn’t find it on the other.”
    So she knew a little about firearms; at least, knew to be careful. But then, as Wade’s wife she’d have had to.
    “Tell me what happened to Wade,” he said.
    “They killed him,” she replied. “A little over a year ago.”
    It fit. That was