And Papère. He breathed out heavily at the thought of him. He had been closest to his Papère. They had gone fishing and hunting. He had tried to teach Kell the art of catching a vixen and laughed in affection with each failure.
So many memories. He had fought them for so long, and now they came tumbling down around him like a Bayou downpour. Hard, fast, drenching his emotions in sadness.
He had lost his parents not long after Tansy’s death. Kell had grieved for his father, and for the mother he had believed existed, rather than the one who had betrayed him.
Unlike his parents, who hadn’t come to Tansy’s funeral, Kell had shown up at theirs. He had stood carefully out of sight, watched the sealing of the crypt with a heavy heart, and reminded himself that he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t bring Tansy and their child back, and he couldn’t return to the memories of the mother he had cherished.
His love for Tansy had, as he told Emily, been a boy’s love. He had been determined to save her, filled with passion for the exotic, beautiful young girl, and certain of his ability to protect her. He was a Beaulaine-Krieger. He was invincible. Wasn’t that what his mother had taught him?
Instead, he had learned how very powerless he truly was, and his child had paid the price.
His child. Innocence. Blood of his blood. A defenseless being who would have looked to Kell as he had looked to his own father for nearly eighteen years.
Some nights, he dreamed of that child. Dreamed it had survived that night. That he laughed up at him with green eyes and a vibrant smile. And sometimes he dreamed that the boy watched him with tear-filled eyes as he tried to reach him, tried to save him.
Shaking his head he eased Emily from his chest, almost smiling at her grumpy little sigh before she settled against her pillow and slipped back into slumber.
He brushed her hair back from her face and leaned closer, breathing in the scent of her before kissing her forehead gently.
His eyes closed as his lips lingered.
God help him. She was becoming more important to him than anything else had ever been in his life. She wasn’t just invading his soul, she was becoming his soul.
He had to force himself to draw back from her, to leave the bed before pulling his dress slacks back on, gathering the rest of his clothes, and slipping back into his own room for a shower.
He needed to talk to Reno and the team before morning. Returning to Georgia wasn’t something he wanted Emily to do. She was too vulnerable there. Her assassins too certain where to find her. As he had been shown earlier in the night, bullets could get past him.
The thought had his guts tightening in rage. God help the Fuentes assassin if Kell managed to get his hands on him.
Getting out of the shower, he dressed quickly, pulled on his lace-up steel-toe boots and secured them, then clipped his holstered weapon to his side and went into his bedroom to meet with his visitor.
He’d heard Ian come in minutes before, alone. The other man was slouched in the easy chair that sat in a corner by a reading lamp and small table. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and his dark blond brows were lowered heavily as he watched Kell come in from the bathroom.
“I could have been someone else.” Ian’s voice was low and brooding, almost angry, as Kell took a seat on the side of the bed, watching him curiously.
“Then you would have been dead.” Kell shrugged.
Ian didn’t snicker at that as he usually did. Instead, his expression seemed to grow darker.
“What’s doin’?” The Creole flavor of his accent was getting harder to disguise, harder to hold back.
Ian’s lips quirked at the sound.
“She relaxes you,” Ian remarked. “That’s a good thing, bro.” He sighed heavily then leaned forward in his chair. “Reno and the team just left with the senator. He has an early meeting in the morning to clear the way for that bill that the Fuentes spy so obviously doesn’t want to pass. With the new information Macey received while we were at the party, I thought I’d update you before we head to bed.”
“He received something else from Judas? That boy sure is taking an interest in this.” Kell snorted.
Ian’s gaze flashed dangerously. “Macey managed to trace the transmission from inside the mansion. Whoever Judas is, he was there.”
An image flashed in Kell’s mind. Kira Porter. There had been something he had seen in her face, her eyes, for a second across the dance floor, that had reminded him of someone.
“Porter?” he asked.
Ian shook his head, a smile tipping his lips as humor lit his odd hazel-blue eyes.
“Our delectable Miss Porter is Homeland Security,” he drawled. “She’s also the daughter of one of the senator’s best friends from his SEAL days.”
It clicked into place then. He had seen her twice, once in Russia where she had been a blond sex kitten working a cocktail party for the American ambassador, and then a few years later in South America where she had carried a lethal automatic rifle as easily as other women carried a purse. Her hair had been nut brown then, her eyes a matching color and a razor-thin scar had marred her downy cheek.