Page 48 of Jameson’s Salvation

“When Christmas rolls around, I’ll make sure you get there.”

“I’d like to be able to walk—”

“With respect, Lola, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to the men and women who are lying in those beds if you go in there walking, rolling, or are being carried. All they need to see is your beautiful face and sweet smile. That’s what matters to them.”

With a solemn nod my mom announced, “You’re right. And normally I wouldn’t accept such a gesture, seeing as it would take up your whole day. But I’m going to. Thank you.”

“Now I see where you get it from.” Jameson looked down at me and smiled.

“On that note, we’re going out back to check your unit,” I told my mom.

“It was nice meeting you, Lola.” Jameson smiled at my mom and I swear my mom melted.

Her eyes shown with happiness and my heart squeezed. I hadn’t seen a genuine smile on her face in a long time.

Jameson waited until we were in the small postage stamp-sized backyard and out of eyesight of my mother before he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

“Missed you today, babe,” he murmured against my lips.

“Missed you, too. Did you get a lot of work done?”

“Chasin got a lead on a skip and headed to Ohio and Weston’s in DC for the next few days meeting with our contact at Homeland.”

“Homeland Security?”

“Yep. There’s a new contract. Nixon normally goes, but it’s McKenna’s birthday so he sent Weston.”

Jameson scanned the backyard. Finally his gaze went back to the house and his eyes landed on the second story window. “Is your mom’s bedroom upstairs?”

“No. Thankfully there’s a room downstairs that was used as a guest room. After her stroke I moved her bedroom down and she insisted I moved all of the guest furniture upstairs.”

“That’s a lot of work.”

“You’re telling me. But she said, every good Southern woman always has a guest room made up. She’s not from the South, by the way. She was born in Pennsylvania. But she loves herself some Southern Living magazine. I swear she reads it cover to cover every month and takes it as gospel. So I made up a guest room she’ll never see.” The truth of my words hit my chest and I prayed I was wrong and one day my mom would be able to climb her stairs again. “She hasn’t been upstairs since her stroke.”

“She’ll get there. If she’s anything like you she won’t let anything stop her.”

“I hope so.”

We walked to the air conditioning unit and Jameson’s eyes narrowed and he knelt to get a better look at the refrigerant lines and inspected the pipes before saying, “Found the issue.”

His voice was tight and had taken on a hard edge like it did when he was angry.

“What is it? Did the line freeze and crack?”

“Not unless it broke in a perfect hole.” He stood and let me look.

Sure enough, there was a hole in the refrigerant line. “How would that happen?”

“Considering there are copper shavings on the ground, I’d say someone drilled a hole in the line.”

I was still balancing with my thighs to my calves, my ass a few inches from the grass, and my hands went to my face and the heel of my palms dug into my eye sockets.

“What?” I whispered.

Jameson reached down and hauled me up, pulling me to his chest, and wrapped his arms around me.

“I don’t know what I’m more pissed about. That someone was in my mom’s backyard—and I have to tell you, that freaks me out. Or if I’m more angry Reggie’s now moved on to fucking with my mom.”