Chapter Nine

Nora

He frees me with a smirk. "And you just fucking believed that shit? How fucking gullible are you?"

I chuckle hard and shake my head, wanting to kick him in the shins. "What's your proof he's your brother? Just because he knows your name doesn't mean anything."

"You know that's a lie. He's not like a regular six-year-old boy, so don't bullshit me. John doesn't even speak, or at least he didn't." He has a point, but I just want to be a bitch right back.

"Hold on a second, you jerk." I walk into my bedroom, and thankfully he doesn't go past the doorframe. Something about him following me in would be a little too intimate. I was able to put a small desk in here to do some work where John couldn't touch. Opening a locked drawer, I pull out a folder.

I walk over to him and push the file folder against his chest. "These are filed with the court, so trying to shred them won't do anything. I wasn't being na?ve. She provided me with these."

He takes a few steps back into the hallway and I close the door, locking it. "You lock the door?"

"Yes. I try to keep John from getting into things." Why am I afraid of his opinion? Not like he's going to be angry, but like he's going to judge me negatively.

"Smart," he answers with a nod. It makes me smile, but I quickly mask it and hide my face by tucking my chin and crossing my arms. It doesn't matter because Jack busies himself by leaning against the wall with the papers in his hand, reading them with a scowl on his face.

It takes a few minutes, but he reads the documents and with each page his face grows darker and darker. "These may be legal in a sense, but they're all fake papers."

"What do you mean?" I question. I didn't have any rights to John this entire time.

"First off, his name isn't John Ingram. His name is John MacNamara. The Ingram family," he says with a scoff of disgust. "Hell, that's about the only thing on here that's accurate, except that my mother is dead."

"Okay. So, she pretty much lied about everything." MacNamara… Could he really be Jack MacNamara of the MacNamara family of Chicago? She lied about everything, then; they weren't from New Jersey. I knew he felt familiar. We never met, but I knew of him and his name. I knew of his father—the reason I ran away.

"I don't know who orchestrated the kidnapping of my brother or why. To this day, everything is a mess. I would have gotten answers if my father hadn't killed her in a fit of rage."

I press my hand on his forearm, trying to calm him down. "If it was all a lie, why did she kidnap him in the first place?" I question.

"It could have been a ransom gone wrong," he mutters, thinking out loud.

"Since she escaped with him, the kidnappers failed, and it never worked."

"Yes, or maybe she was the kidnapper, and her cohorts lost their guts and bailed."

"Either way, I only met your brother when she brought him to the school I work at," I inform him.

"How did you know her?" he asks.

"We used to be neighbors when I was a kid."

His brows raise. "That's peculiar."

"I thought so too." His phone rings, and then he excuses himself. I take the time to check on John, who fidgets in his sleep. I should prepare his breakfast because it won't be much longer and then he'll be up. So, I head into the living room area and see that it's neatly cleaned up, causing me to gasp.

"I thought you could use a hand." He's removed his jacket, and now he rolls up his sleeves. My eyes move directly to his strong, corded biceps. Embarrassed, I quickly lift my gaze back to his.

"Does John still eat pancakes for breakfast?"

"Yes." My heart and head can't make sense of what's happening, but I just go with it because frankly I don't have a choice. My home has been invaded by four large men, and one of them makes me want to strip completely naked the second he looks at me. When he puts his hands on me, I'm practically melting in his arms, which is crazy because each time has been in anger. I've spent my life hating men like him, revolted by their actions, and yet the moment he looks into my eyes, I ache for more.

He sticks out his hand, waiting for me to take it. I do, and he leads me into the kitchen. "Well, I'll get them started. Would you like some coffee and a real breakfast for yourself?" I want to say no, but my stomach answers for me, gurgling like the bad pipes in this hundred-year-old home.

I let go of his warm and strangely safe touch and pull out the pre-mixed batter from the fridge. "You already have some ready?"

"There are a few things that I can count on. If there are things I can do to make my life easier, I do it."

"I'm not judging; I'm just curious. That's pretty damn smart." He watches me as I move around.

Jack whips out his phone and calls someone. "Giles, pick up a hearty breakfast for six, please. Yes, the address you gave me yesterday." He ends the call, giving me a smile.

Pressing my hands on the kitchen sink, I ask my handsome intruder, "So how did you find me?"

"By chance, actually. An associate of mine happened to be strolling about when he saw you with John and recognized him and his behavior. He wondered if it was him and sent me a photo."

"Wow. The first time I take him out in public, and we were spotted."

"Quite serendipitous," he says. He takes the spatula from me and then pulls out a kitchen chair. "Now, please sit down. You look as if you have no legs to stand on anymore."

"I can make him breakfast."

"And so can I. Trust me when I say that it's truly my pleasure, Nora. I've waited so long to do something so mundane as this for him." I stare at him in wonder. He's different than I ever imagined. I was seventeen, almost eighteen, when I found out that we would have been married. Now I'm twenty-four.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" he asked.

"Are you bi-polar or something?"

He lets out a deep, hearty chuckle as he sets the pancake on a plate. "Please explain."

"You are dark, broody, and dangerous, and then you're this." I wave at the pancake-flipping, smiling man.

"What's this?" He gives me a crooked smile and a well-arched brow. He gets my meaning, but I know he wants me to say it.

"Like what a typical, hot family man should be."

"You think I'm hot?" He knows damn well he's gorgeous.

"Ugh." I roll my eyes. He's at my side, lifting me to my feet and pinning me to the fridge in a blink of an eye.

"Beautiful little liar, I am not bi-polar. I'm a dangerous man, especially when it comes to those I love, and I'd do anything for my family." He runs the back of his hand down my cheek, sliding it over my jaw to my collarbone and down my arm. I shiver and meet his gaze. Our noses brush against each other, and then I hear footsteps behind us. "I definitely get to you, Nora. Don't lie to me anymore. It won't change anything, except to make me angry." His lips graze my cheek and then he pulls away.