CHAPTER 11

Jace Walker had been awake for hours. He hadn't been able to sleep well since he was released from captivity over two years ago. He had learned to sleep lightly in case his captors burst into his hut unannounced, which they did frequently. He needed to be mentally prepared at all times because he never knew what the Iraqi soldiers had in store for him. The nightmares didn't help either. They were nightly reminders of the hell he had gone through for so many years. A weaker man would have succumbed to the torture that had been inflicted on him, but not Jace Walker. He was a breed apart from other men. He had proven that time and time again, no more so than the night he finally escaped and was rescued. They had taken his leg as a way of keeping him from running off, but he was always a step ahead of those bastards. He was determined to keep the rest of his body strong whenever they weren't looking. And he had done just that. Even with only one leg, he was stronger than most men were with two.

There was only one thing in this world that could ever make him let down his guard and that was Madeleine. When he was around her, he let down his all of his defenses. She was the person he trusted the most. He loved her more than anything else that this fucked up world had to offer. He was painfully aware that a lot had changed in the years since he went off to war, but he was determined to get back all the things he had lost while he was gone, including his wife. It didn't much matter to him that she was married to someone else now. She had belonged to him first, in spite of what she may think. He rubbed his left pectoral muscle where the word "Cookie", the nickname he had given her when they first met, was tattooed. It had been his wedding gift to her. He remembered how she cried when he revealed it to her on their wedding night, telling her that he would carry her with him everywhere he went. He could still feel the sensation of her warm, wet mouth on his skin that night when she'd kissed him there. He slid his hand underneath the sheet and down his torso until his erection was in his grasp. Like so many times before, he would pleasure himself to the memory of her face and the way she felt wrapped around him when he made love to her. He closed his eyes and thought about her face until he was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.

"Fuck!" he yelled as he grabbed the phone from the night stand. "Somebody better be dead, goddammit!" He waited for someone to answer, but all he could hear was a faint sniffling sound on the other end, like someone was crying. He pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the caller ID and saw that it was Harper. His heart sank.

"Harper,...I'm sorry, baby. I didn't know it was you. Don't cry, darlin'. Uncle Jackson is grumpy today, is all," he said, feeling angry at himself for his lack of self-control.

"Hi, Uncle Jackson," she sniffled through a cascade of tears. "I just wanted to talk to you. I miss you." He hated himself for making her cry. He hated that she only knew him as Uncle Jackson instead of who he really was.

"I miss you too, darlin'. How're you feelin'?" He pressed his thumb and his forefinger into his eyes, holding back the tears that were close to spilling out.

"I feel pretty good. I've been playing with Chuckles. I love him so much," she said. Chuckles was the chihuahua puppy that he had bought her for her birthday. She had turned fourteen just a few weeks before he left for Chicago.

"He loves you too. Is he givin' you lots of puppy kisses?"

"Yeah, lots of wet ones!" she giggled. Hearing her laugh lifted his heart a little.

"They're the best kind. Give him a kiss from me, okay?"

"Sure. When are you coming home, Uncle Jackson?"

"I'll be home soon, honey. I got some business to take care of first," he said. He had to fight with himself from telling her he was bringing her Momma back to Texas with him. His emotions caught in his throat, keeping him from saying anything more.

"OK, Uncle Jackson. I love you," her little voice said.

"I love you too," he said, just before ending the call. He cleared his throat and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes in a valiant attempt to keep the tears that were threatening to fall in check. He could still hear his Daddy's voice in his ears, telling him that "men don't cry, son". He was twelve years old and had been bucked off of a horse that he was learning to ride. He landed on his ass on the hard sun baked Texas ground resulting in a hairline fracture of his tailbone. The searing pain had caused him to cry until his father's admonishment stopped him cold. Ever since then, he had found it hard to let his tears go. The only exception to that was Madeleine. She had made him cry tears over the pure joy he felt when he was with her. The only time she had brought him tears through his grief was when he learned that she had moved on from their life together and had gotten remarried while he was lost in the desert. He understood that she had been told he was dead, but that didn't make his pain any less palpable. She had been the love of his life and he had lost her to circumstances that were entirely out of his control. He would never accept that.

Feeling his anger rise within him, he picked up his phone and furiously dialed the number to Madeleine's office. He had to see her again. They both agreed that they had a lot more to talk about, but when she left him the other day, she wasn't sure when she could see him again. She had told him that maybe they could talk after her husband went back to work, but he couldn't live with maybe and he sure as hell wouldn't be taking a backseat to the sonofabitch that stole her away from him.

"I need to speak with Madeleine Casey, please. It's urgent," he said as the receptionist answered the phone.

"I'm sorry, but Mrs. Casey will not be in today. She expects to be back in the office tomorrow. May I take a message?" answered the receptionist.

"Fuck," he said. "No, no message," he said, abruptly ending the call. He swung his leg over the side of the mattress and reached for the crutches that were leaning up against the night stand. He quickly maneuvered himself into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stood in front of the mirror brushing his teeth as he waited for the water to get hot. He had to work fast if he was going to get to Madeleine's house while she was still home. Wherever she was going today, he was determined to follow her and get her to talk more. They had fifteen years to catch up on and he had waited long enough. His patience was beginning to wear thin.