THE GUARDIAN (Taskforce Series) by Marliss Melton

only on vacations to Grand Cayman Island . But they were no substitute for a real mother.
    His thoughts strayed immediately to Magdalena Alexandra. Would a woman like that consider taking on an adolescent?
    Wow. He couldn’t believe he’d just thought that. Just last night he’d wrecked the woman’s rental, left a death threat, and now he was considering her as a potential mother to his child. Am I really that delusional?
    No, just desperate. Honestly, when was the last time he’d had sex? He couldn’t remember.
    Hearing the telltale vibration of feet on the wooden stairs behind him, Jackson realized Toby’d returned from his three hour quest to find beer in the blue-law state of Maryland on a Sunday. He kept his eyes closed, even when Toby’s shadow blotted out the sunlight.
    “I hope you like Budweiser.”
    Jackson cracked an eye. Today Toby’s T-shirt read: IF I AGREED WITH YOU, THEN WE’D BOTH BE WRONG. He wore his two hundred dollar sunglasses and a fake moustache.
    Jackson sat up. “I take it no one recognized you.” 
    “Nope.” With a grimace, Toby ripped off the hair glued to his upper lip. “You ready for a beer?” he asked, lifting the plastic sack while stuffing the moustache in his pocket.
    “No thanks. Why don’t you check to see if our password generating program discovered Lena Alexandra’s password yet?” 
    Toby reached into the plastic bag, pulled out a cold one and twisted off the top, releasing a beguiling hiss. With a long swig, he surveyed the view with evident appreciation. “Place must cost an arm and a leg,” he mused, ignoring Jackson ’s suggestion.
    It was none of Toby’s business how he spent his paycheck. “Beats the hell out of the National Center for Counterterrorism,” he grated .
    “Yes, it does.”
    “I’ll be up in a bit,” Jackson hinted .
    “Sure, have a seat. Enjoy yourself,” Toby countered sarcastically. “No, thanks,” he answered himself. “I think I’ll get right down to work.” Saluting Jackson with his bottle, he turned and plodded back up the steps.
    I am a dick, Jackson realized. “Hey thanks,” he called over his shoulder .  
    “Take your time, Stonewall,” Toby retorted .    
    Ignoring the Marine Drill Sergeant in his head who railed at him to get down to business, he stayed right where he was until Silvia called from the sliding glass doors that lunch was ready.
    “That’s our cue, Gnomy.” The nickname Colleen had given Naomi had suited her when she was a baby and looked a little like a gnome. These days, she resembled a water nymph, all sleek lines and subtle curves as she waded out of the water.
    My daughter is almost a woman. Panic banded Jackson ’s ribcage. If he blinked, would she sprout wings like a butterfly and flit away?
    “Look, Dad!” Breathless and dripping, she showed him her bucketful of treasures—colorful shells and rocks and an earring made of real gold. “See, it says eighteen karats right there!”
    “You’re rich,” Jackson affirmed. But a girl with no mother lacked the riches that mattered most.
     
    Over a lunch of tuna sandwiches and dill pickles, Jackson watched Toby’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he swilled down a second beer. Obviously, the ATF agent had stumbled onto something in Lena Alexandra’s laptop that amused him.
    With lunch finally over and Naomi settled up in the loft to read, Jackson made his way to their temporary office to see what Toby had found .
    “Check this out,” said the ATF agent as Jackson shut the door. Tapping a key, he enlarged a photo of Jackson as Abdul Ibn Wasi, tugging on a pulley rope. Unsettled, Jackson sank slowly into the second chair. The vixen had taken pictures of him that day, not that he needed any proof .  
    “And this,” Toby added, clicking to another photo. “And this, and this, and this.” Photo after photo of Jackson filled the screen, filling him with a mix of disquiet, heightened stimulation, and self-consciousness. She had zoomed in