Christmas Eve...
Debbie Radcliffe almost dropped the tray of homemade cookies and milk that she held as she stepped into the dimly lit living room. Only the hundreds of tiny multi-colored lights on the Christmas tree and the faint yellow glow from the street lamps filtering through the windows illuminated the sleeping pair, but the sight was enough to cause her heart to jump into her throat. Her nine year old daughter, Kelsey, was curled up on the lap of their new protector, Naval Criminal Investigation Service's Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
She fought back tears as she tip-toed into the room. She sat the tray of cookies and milk on the coffee table near the fireplace. She stopped once more to caress the photograph of the happy family that shown back at her from the plain wooden frame. She chuckled softly. Everyone on his team had made certain to tell her the story of Shannon and Kelly over the past three weeks. The man inspired loyalty that much she could give him. She supposed given her dark auburn hair and Kelsey's infectious personality she could understand their need to protect their leader from another heartache.
Debbie only wished that someone felt that kind of care for her, or even Kelsey. She shook her head, wiped the moisture from the corner of her eyes and reminded herself that feeling sorry for one's self never helped. She had all that really mattered this Christmas, her daughter. And they were safe. For now anyway. Thanks to Special Agent Gibbs and his team.
Turning back towards the sleeping pair, she knelt and picked up the battered book of fairy tales from where it had landed on the floor at his feet. She had just closed it softly when she felt his eyes on her. Debbie frowned as she looked up into those blue-grey eyes that gazed intently at her. "I'll take her. Put her to bed," she whispered.
He shook his head, "No, ma'am. It'll be easier if I do."
Self-reliance had become so natural over the past six years since Kelsey's condition began to manifest itself that she was tempted to argue. Demand that he hand over her daughter. But Debbie did not want to disturb the little girl, not on this night especially. So she simply nodded and followed him down the hallway to the bedroom decorated in pink. She paused in the doorway as he carried her sleeping daughter to the single bed. The girl's presence seemed to linger in every doll and toy. And given her own situation, it was a painful reminder of how short life could be.
She watched as the man bent and pulled back the covers, laying Kelsey in the bed just as he must have once done with his own daughter, Kelly. She saw him hesitate and wondered if perhaps he was caught in some time warp, if perhaps for a single moment he had forgotten that the child was not his dead Kelly. Debbie felt her lungs burn as she forgot for an instant to breath. She fought back the moisture that blurred her visions, making the whole scene take on some surreal quality. For a split second she could almost forget what brought them to this man's charge. The danger that dogged their every move. But only for a split second as the glint of gun metal shown from the holster at his back.
Jason was dead. Their marriage had long since been over in any meaningful way, all that remained was an arrangement for the sake of his Naval career and her daughter's health. His usual long absences as leader of a SEAL team were no longer punctuated with happy reunions. When he was home, Jason was emotionally absent from her and their only child.
Debbie brought her hands to her heart as she watched Agent Gibbs tuck the blanket tight about Kelsey. Why couldn't Jason have seen past the diagnosis to the loving and bright little girl that they had been blessed with? Why did that word...Asperger's...alienate the man that she thought she had loved from his own flesh and blood? And why the hell was she being tormented with the should-have-beens now? With this virtual stranger that saw her little girl not as damaged merchandise but as the gift she truly was?
She was so lost in the her painful thoughts that she did not even notice him until he was right beside her. She jumped a bit at the closeness. Six years was a long time without the comforting touch of a man. Six years without passion. She smiled as she looked over at her sleeping child, but she would do it all again. A thousand times over.
"You should get some sleep," he whispered so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek, could smell the coffee and the man.
She shook her head, "No, I need to," the list seemed endless, but she could not think of a single thing as she stared into his eyes, the soft map of lines at their corners only enhancing his handsome features. 'Fuck, why did the man have to look better than chocolate in your stocking on Christmas morning?' she thought. Grabbing onto the idea, she muttered, "I have to stuff Kelsey's stocking and..."
His calloused finger pressed against her lips to still her words. Debbie swallowed hard to keep from parting her lips and drawing that finger deep into her mouth, sucking softly on it. She felt the zing of the casual touch in the pit of her stomach...and lower.
"I'll put her bicycle and that damned Barbie Dream House together. You stuff the stocking and dress the dolls," he gave that half smile that never seemed to reach his eyes as he pushed past her.
His arm brushed against her breast in the tight confines of the doorway. Debbie held her breath and stared at the wood floor as she forced herself to ignore the lightening strikes of desire that coursed from her hard nipple to her addled brain. But she managed a weak smile, a nod and a mumbled, "Thank you."
***
Three weeks earlier...
"Leon, really, we'll be fine. I'm sure that the Homeland Security team are right, with Jason," Debbie stumbled over the word 'dead.' It still did not feel real. After almost twenty year and many more deployments than that, her husband was dead. Not on a battlefield or even in some training accident, but a fucking drive-by shooting in their upscale Ocean City subdivision where violence of any kind was unheard of.
The Director of Naval Criminal Investigation Service frowned at her. She had known him and his wife Jackie for over a decade since Jason had transferred to Virginia from San Diego. When she became pregnant a few months later, their friendship had burgeoned under the shared bond of motherhood. And despite the different paths that their lives had taken over the past few years, Jackie Vance remained on of the few people that she counted as a friend.
He shook his head, "No, Debbie, until we discover the Intel leak that caused this, I'm not trusting your lives to the Federal Marshalls. If Jason's security was compromised, if terrorists somehow learned of his role as leader of the team, then we can't be sure that you and Kelsey were not also targets."
She shook her head, "She's just a little girl. Who would want to harm a child?"
"It doesn't work that way to some people, Debbie. One of the reasons why Operational Security is always so high around the SEAL teams is that not only are the members in danger if their identities become known, but their whole families. I have already dispatched a team to the Radcliffe's," his smile bent up at the end, "But I doubt Michael Radcliffe will want or need our assistance. The man has a security team that is larger than the armies of some Third World countries."
Debbie laughed nervously at the mention of her famous in-laws. If the relationship between her and her husband had become strained these past few years since their daughter was diagnosed with Asperger's, the relationship with her in-laws had broken down completely. It had in some ways been the most painful part of this arrangement for the woman that had grown up in a series of foster homes and orphanages.
She had never been that close with her father-in-law, but then again not even his only son was. Though a bit stiff and formal, her mother-in-law had been the mother that she had dreamt of as a little girl. Clarisse Radcliffe though had neither the courage or the will to go against her husband and son, so both Debbie and Kelsey had been shuffled to the sidelines of their lives. A legal convenience, whose silence was bought and paid for.
Debbie looked over her shoulder to where her nine year old daughter was sleeping in the back seat of their friend's car. Everything would be fine, she assured herself, just as she had so many times over the past few years since Kelsey's development began to take a different path than other children her age. One thing that made it harder was that like most children with high functioning Autism no one would guess at first glance that her daughter had the condition.
