"Keep the change," Shane told the cabbie, before he climbed out of the taxi and grabbed his bags. Simmons beat Shane to the door, pulled it open, and began to give one of his customary welcomes.
"Welcome back-" He broke off as he caught sight of the bruises that were still quite evident Shane's face. "Are you all right, Sir?"
Shane gave a wan smile. "I'm fine, Simmons. Just a minor accident." Simmons did tend to be a bit of a mother hen, but in nearly 40 years with the Donovans, he had probably seen just about every possible cut, bruise, and broken bone imaginable. He seemed to take this current batch of bruises with his normal aplomb.
"Shall I take your bags, Sir?" Simmons said, as Shane gratefully surrendered the luggage.
"Thank you." Shane entered the house and sighed. It was good to be home, but so much had changed in the past month. Eve was gone and so was Kayla for all intents and purposes. As Shane had reminded himself the night before in Riyadh, with Rachel Knight, he was completely unattached.
That was not a particularly pleasant thought. The night before had done little more than remind him of how empty his life had become. Physically, everything had been fine, but that was hardly the issue. Rachel had filled a need - the need to be with someone as a reminder he was still alive and still wanted. But lying in the bed, listening to her sleep, Shane still had the same empty feeling - the same feeling of loss - that he had felt for so long. In the end, there had been no connection. The night had just been sex and that, on its own, was utterly meaningless.
No, that wasn't right either. There was a meaning. It meant that something that had once been so intimate - something that had left his soul bared open to Kim - was now nothing more than the pursuit of some momentary pleasure. An empty diversion, nothing more.
"I suppose you'll be wanting me to draw you a bath, Sir," Simmons said, interrupting Shane's thoughts. He was surprised to realize that he had entered the library and was nearly at his desk.
"Uh, no, Simmons." Shane turned toward the butler. "I'm going to try to locate my son."
"Very good," Simmons replied. "Mrs. Brady had been calling daily, asking about you."
It took Shane a moment to realize Simmons was talking about Kim. It was still hard for him to get used to the fact that she had so quickly returned to using her maiden name. "Did Kim say where Andrew was when you last spoke with her?"
"No, but I suppose he'll be at her home."
"Of course." Shane shook his head, feeling silly that he had even asked.
Simmons nodded, then said, "I don't know if this is a sensitive subject, Sir, but I have not fielded any calls from Mrs. Johnson."
"No, Simmons, I didn't think that you would," Shane said, with another sigh. "I gather you didn't hear the news."
"What news, Sir?"
Shane tried to sound as even-keel as he could. "It turns out that Mr. Johnson isn't nearly as dead as we all believed."
"Oh. . . ." Simmons hesitated. "Well, I suppose that's a good thing then."
"Yes," Shane said, turning away. He felt hollow inside. "It's a very good thing. I gather Kayla's . . . very happy." He began fishing through the accumulated mail stacked on his desk to avoid thinking about Kayla and Steve. He waited until Simmons left the room, and then crossed the room to the alcove by the window and stared out into the garden.
Maybe he should have just gone back to England. He had briefly thought about it on the flight home. Regardless of what Kim had said before Shane had left on his mission, Salem had little to offer him other than the reminders of two failed relationships and a family that he no longer felt part of.
But Salem still has Lawrence Alamain.
That was true. On the ISA flight home, he had talked by phone with Tarrington. Shane had demanded, as Head of Special Operations, to be placed in charge of the Alamain investigation, and Tarrington had finally conceded that Shane was the best man for the job. Tomorrow, boxes of files on the investigation would be arriving at the house.
From the sound of it, despite being in jail, Lawrence had been a very busy man. According to Tarrington, only a week or so after the raid in Egypt, several of the known Alamain facilities had been shut down and replaced. The ISA had found some of the new facilities, but the investigation had cost one agent his life, and several of their other operatives were finding it difficult to gain access under new security protocols that Alamain's people had put in place.
But that was for tomorrow, Shane reminded himself. He had his son to see.
Shane went upstairs, took a quick shower, and changed his clothes. Shortly thereafter, he headed to the Bradys' house. When he arrived, Caroline answered the door and gave him the slightly pinched, hostile expression to which he had become accustomed over the past few months.
"Caroline," he said, politely. "I'm looking for Andrew."
There was a long pause, before she nodded. "Come in. He's in the back with Kimberly."
For a humid, late-summer day, the air in the house was plenty frosty. Shane waited just inside the doorway as Caroline walked to the back of the house. A few minutes later, Andrew came running out.
"Daddy!"
Shane crouched down and hugged his son. It never failed. No matter how he was feeling, the instant Andrew appeared, his mood lifted. He lifted Andrew of the ground and stood back up. "You know, Sport, you're growing so fast, pretty soon I won't be able to lift you. I think you grew another inch in just the past week."
"Tell me about it. I think he's already outgrown the new clothes I got him for school." Shane turned as Kim came into the living room. "So I-" She stopped short, and her eyes widened. "Shane, what happened?"
"Oh . . . these?" he said, lightly, repeating what he told Simmons earlier. "I just had a little accident. It's just a couple of bruises."
Kim was obviously unconvinced, but Andrew spoke before she could begin an interrogation. "Does it hurt, Daddy?"
"No," Shane said, shaking his head. "I mean, it hurt a little at first, but it's not so bad now. Do you remember last summer when you had that fight in the playground and the other boy hit you in the eye?" Andrew nodded. "It's like that. It hurt for a little while, but now it's just a funny color."
"Cool," Andrew said, excitedly, as Shane set him back on the ground. Kim rolled her eyes, and Shane had to agree with her. "Cool" was not a word he would have used to describe nearly getting his head bashed in, but he figured it was probably a good time to change the subject.
"I thought maybe we could go get some dinner together," Shane said to Andrew. He looked up at Kim. "Assuming your mother thinks it's okay."
Kim nodded. In a flat tone, she said, "Sure. It's fine. Andrew, why don't you get a jacket? It might get cold when it gets dark." They both watched their son run off, and Shane waited for the lecture he knew was about to follow.
"'A little accident'?" Kim hissed. "Don't tell me you got those bruises from 'a little accident.' I know it was a lot worse than that."
"I can't tell you anything more," Shane said, knowing that probably just confirmed her worst suspicions.
"That's just like you." Kim shook her head. "You disappear, come back looking like a beat-up mess, and then say, 'I can't tell you anything.' How much longer is this going to go on, Shane? How many more times are you going to try to throw away your life so you don't have to deal with your personal problems?"
Shane could feel his anger rising. "Why do you care, Kim? It's not any of your business anymore. You divorced me, remember? That exempts you from having to worry any more."
"I can't help it," she snapped back. "I sure wish I could." Kim took a deep breath. "What happens to you will always be my business, Shane. You're still a part of my life because I. . . ." She paused. ". . . because Andrew needs his father."
Shane did not know what to say. He knew she was right. He had agreed to take the Iraq mission because he did not want to face the situation at Donovan Manor, and he had almost gotten himself killed as a result. Hadn't he finally admitted that to himself in the desert?
Thankfully, he did not have to respond, because Andrew raced back in carrying his jacket. Shane gave Kim a weak smile and a shrug, as she shook her head, trying not too successfully to mask her frustration. Shane looked down at Andrew. "Come on, Champ. Let's go see what Alice Horton's got cooking." Shane started for the door and looked back at Kim, who was biting her lip. "I . . ." He still did not know what to say, so he just said, "I'll make sure Andrew's not home too late."