Rachel the Warrior Pt. 01

Rachel the Warrior

Part One

by G. Lawrence

Meeting the in-laws doesn't go well

In the third Rachel novel, we find our hero in her late twenties, wealthy and successful, a proud mother, and engaged to Thomas Harper. But controversy continues to follow her, for many distrust the powerful world-wide health matrix she created. She's still insecure and a little crazy, but amazingly strong when she needs to be. This novel is being presented in eight parts, two chapters per episode.

* * * * * *

They marched across the breadth of the earth and surrounded the camp of God's people, but fire came down from heaven and devoured them. Revelation 20:9

Chapter One

HOUSTON

"I'm scared," Rachel said.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Tom said. "My folks are going to love you."

"What if they don't? You can call off the engagement if they don't like me."

"After all we've been through, no one is calling off this engagement."

"They're going to learn I'm crazy. No one wants a crazy daughter-in-law."

"You're not crazy. You have a condition. You are also the most brilliant woman in the world, and everyone knows it."

"I am not. Look at how many times I've broken your heart."

"And you fixed it every time, better than before."

Their private jet landed at a small airfield outside Houston, taxiing to a secure gate. Big Bob McLane disembarked first, checking with local authorities.

"Such a fuss," Rachel said, looking out the window.

Twenty-nine years old, a touch over five feet two inches tall, with long brunette hair and big brown eyes, Rachel Marbury would have attracted attention even if she wasn't involuntarily famous. Habitually shy, she was known to flee when fans started taking pictures. Her well-rounded figure caught every man's eye.

"You need the security," Tom replied. "As your mother keeps saying, you're not an anonymous lab girl anymore."

Rachel's fiancé often gathered attention, too. Better than six feet tall, the thirty-four-year-old former Navy SEAL had broad shoulders, clear blue eyes, and dark blond hair trimmed short. His steady demeanor impressed all who met him.

"Almost ready, Miss Montgomery," the pilot said.

Rachel gathered her laptop and prepared to get off the plane. Flying wasn't one of her favorite activities, even if it was becoming necessary.

"They should call you Miss Marbury," Tom said.

"I took Marbury when Mother adopted me," Rachel replied. "It's for family. I'd rather strangers call me Montgomery."

The jet seated eight, but Rachel and Tom were the only passengers. Bob McLane reentered the cabin. The tall former U. S. Marine sergeant waved them forward. Rachel was slow to respond.

"You didn't get airsick again, did you, Missy?" McLane asked.

"Not this time. I miss riding the bus," Rachel answered.

"You never liked the bus," McLane said.

"The bus never left the ground," Rachel replied, lifting her travel bag with a grunt.

"I've got that," McLane said, taking the bag away from her.

"You're my bodyguard, not my servant," Rachel protested.

"You won't be carrying anything heavy," McLane insisted in his gruff Detroit accent.

The tarmac was busy with groundcrew and airport personnel. Rachel noticed the press waiting behind a yellow barrier.

"How did they know?" she said, unhappily surprised.

"I think my little brother may have let the secret slip," Tom replied. "When he heard you accepted my proposal, Eric was really excited."

"I proposed to you," Rachel corrected.

"Yeah. I may have shaded the story a bit so I wouldn't look like a wimp."

"You aren't a wimp. You are big, hunky, and handsome," Rachel said, taking his arm.

"My brothers knew I was madly in love with you and barely had enough courage to ask for a date. At least they think I was brave enough to propose. You'll back me up, won't you?"

"No."

"No?"

"Exodus 20:16. Thou shall not bear false witness."

"You're not under oath."

"I asked you to seduce me the first time, too."

"Rory hired me to date you. Then I had to give the money back."

"You should have kept it."

"I was in love with you that first night. The first minute. I couldn't keep it."

"How much did she pay you to get me out of my doldrums?"

"Not enough, little hurricane," he said, giving her a hug.

McLane came to Rachel's side, watchful as always. 6'4, 250 pounds, with short curly black hair and frowning brown eyes, he presented a fearsome image. His twenty-one-year-old daughter Marissa was already on the ground doing the advance work, sharply tailored in a blue suit.

"Going to talk with them?" McLane asked, glancing at the press circle.

"Just a word. Sheba has been coaching me," Rachel said. "She says if I throw the media a bone, maybe they'll let up."

McLane guided her forward. They were met with yelling from a motley group of twenty reporters.

"Miss Montgomery, why are you in Texas?" one shouted.

"Rachel! What really happened in Nevada?" a stout man with thick glasses asked.

"Are you being nominated for a Nobel Prize?" a third questioned.

Rachel stood like a deer caught in the headlights, her big eyes staring at the commotion. She started to speak. Stopped. Tried again. No words came out.

"I'm Thomas Harper," Tom introduced, his hands held up. "Miss Montgomery and I have been dating. She's here to meet my family and see my hometown. This is not a business trip, so we would appreciate some privacy. Thank you."

Tom wrapped an arm around Rachel's waist, leading her away.

"Is it true WHD is spying on American citizens?" a snooty woman questioned.

"Why are you taking away our freedom?" a cranky man shouted. A protestor, not a reporter. When he started to climb the barrier, McLane pushed him back.

"WHD is an interactive health database," Rachel defended. "That's all it is."

"It violates my rights!" the angry man yelled.

"If you don't want WHD, don't subscribe," Tom said. A scuffle broke out, mostly shoving. Tom shielded Rachel as they retreated. Tall and athletic like her father, Marissa acted as a rearguard.

"God bless you, Rachel!" a fan shouted.

"You're the best!" another said.

"We love you!" a young woman yelled.

Rachel turned back with a shy smile as everyone took pictures, her eyes glistening with appreciation. There was a midnight blue limousine waiting. When the driver opened the rear door, Rachel was surprised by the passenger waiting for her.

"Rory!" Rachel exclaimed, jumping in to hug her. "What are you doing here?"

"Couldn't let you face this crucible alone, could I?" Rory answered. "Especially seeing as how it's my fault."

"Your fault?"

"I found Tom for you, didn't I? Took months of hard work, too."

"You did a good job," Rachel complimented.

Almost two years older than Rachel, Rory Benson was seven inches taller, bigger-boned, and never seemed to have her bristly red hair styled the same way four weeks in a row. For the past five years, she'd been living down her notorious past by becoming a registered nurse. Often Rachel's registered nurse.

"So, meeting my family is a crucible?" Tom said, sliding in next to his fiancée as the limousine pulled out.

"You know how terrible Rach is at meeting new people," Rory replied. "Except when she gets confused, runs away, lives in small towns under fake names, and gets shot by criminals."

"I haven't done that in months," Rachel complained.

"You still have lingering brain damage from what that government machine did to you," Rory said.

"I'm okay," Rachel replied.

"You always say that," Rory countered.

"I would know if my brain was damaged. I think," Rachel guessed.

"Let's err on the side of safety," Rory insisted. "Though if I would embarrass Tom in front of his family, I can wait for you at the hotel."

"Why would you embarrass me?" Tom asked.

"Before I met Rachel, I was a jet setting party girl. Paris, Rome, Monte Carlo. Being inappropriate with boys. Before coming out. Followed by the paparazzi. You may have forgotten, but the tabloids haven't."

"It's true you'll raise a few eyebrows around the dinner table," Tom admitted. "My folks are a little conservative."

"If Ro can't come, I won't either," Rachel suddenly said, clenching her fists. "You're my sister. I won't go anyplace you can't go. Not ever!"

"Whoa, relax, Rach. Tom and I are only kidding," Rory assured her.

"Ro's right, honey. Of course, Rory is welcome. She's been my friend for years," Tom said.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked.

"We're positive," Tom replied, giving her a kiss.

They drove south past the Johnson Space Center. It was a cool early December day. Rachel liked how crisp everything looked.

"My folks are in Nassau Bay. Right near Clear Creek," Tom said, growing excited. "I haven't been back in three years."

"Why's that?" Rory asked.

"Been busy, and not much money while finishing my degree. I didn't want to ask my parents for help," Tom explained.

"Is money a problem? I'll give you money," Rachel spoke up.

"No, I don't want your money," Tom denied.

"I have a lot," Rachel pressed.

"And you still shop at the Salvation Army, so I know how impressed you are with that," Tom said.

"Old habits die hard," Rachel sheepishly confessed.

"Don't worry, my folks do okay. I could have asked them if I wasn't so stubborn," Tom said.

Rory took Rachel's hand, watching her. Despite a new prescription from Dr. Keller at the Swiss Institute, it didn't take much to throw Rachel into a haze. She could grow distant, her eyes staring at nothing. Her mind was always occupied, just not in the same world as everyone else.

"I'm okay," Rachel said, seeing her concern.

"The numbers?" Rory asked.

"I'll tell you about the numbers later," Rachel replied. She was smiling in a mysterious way, which had Rory curious.

"A week in Houston, then off to Aspen for Christmas," Rory said. "Looking forward to finally skiing Devil's Run?"

"I was," Rachel said. "Tom is coming this year, too. Our first Christmas together. Unless his unit gets called up again."

"My unit isn't being called up. I made sure of that," Tom said.

"The Navy might have different plans," Rachel suggested.

"Naval Reserve," Tom clarified. "And they don't get to call us on a whim."

"Christmas at Marbury House is a big deal," Rory warned. "Presents in the parlor. A giant tree. Turkeys. Lots of booze. And Aunt Hattie keeping an eye on everyone."

"I met Aunt Hattie at your mother's birthday party. She liked me," Tom said.

"Sure of that?" Rory asked.

"Pretty sure."

"You better be, because Aunt Hattie loves Rachel like a granddaughter, and she'll crush anyone who tries to hurt her. As she's proven," Rory warned.

"The Marburys are a tough clan," Tom agreed. "And the Benson family is just as tough. But then, though we Harpers aren't rich and famous, we aren't slouches, either. Dad was a major in the Air Force. My brothers were in the Army. I had ten years in the Navy. Mom spent two years in the Congo studying diseases."

"None of us are as tough as Rachel," Rory remarked.

"Yes, I know," Tom agreed.

"That's not fair," Rachel protested. "If I'm so tough, why does everyone have to rescue me all the time?"

"Because you put everything on the line for others, until you collapse," Rory said. "Which Mom isn't happy about."

"I'll be more careful. I have to be," Rachel promised.

"Why is that?" Tom asked.

Rachel smiled without answering.

* * * * * *

Their car pulled up before a large two-story house near a blue bay. Rachel noticed a broad green lawn and a wide porch. The wood framing looked a hundred years old. She liked the soft gray paint and rosewood trim.

"Hasn't changed a bit," Tom said, helping the women from the car.

Behind the limousine, a modified RV parked at the curb. McLane's daughter and two assistants climbed out. McLane checked in with them, wondering if a group of African Americans in an otherwise white neighborhood were going to cause problems.

"Marissa and Darnell will stay here with the mobile headquarters," McLane explained while unloading the bags. "Maverick and I are going to swap the limo for a town car. Don't leave the premises."

"Yes, Mr. McLane," Rachel agreed. McLane got behind the wheel and drove off.

"This is a safe area," Tom said.

"I try not to make his job harder," Rachel explained.

"Even though you do?" Rory teased.

"It's hard having people watching over me all the time. Except for paying my mother's medical bills, I've never been accountable to anybody," Rachel replied.

"A mother you hated for abusing you," Rory reminded.

"It's in the past. She's dead," Rachel responded. "I have a new mother now. One who loves me."

Tom picked up the suitcases, taking them to the front door, which quickly opened.

"Tommy! You're finally home!" a red-cheeked woman greeted.

Rachel saw she was tall, nearly 5'8, a little thick in the middle, with curly light brown hair and green eyes. A man appeared, better than six feet, burly, with thinning blond hair and blue eyes. He looked just like Tom, only twenty years older. Both were snugly dressed for the cool December weather. Rachel and Rory hung back while Tom embraced his parents.

"You're looking good, son," his father said with a hug and a handshake. "Guess California hasn't ruined you yet."

"It's trying," Tom said with a grin.

"Looks like you brought friends," the gentleman said. Tom rushed back, bringing Rachel to the porch.

"Rachel, these are my parents, Virginia and Walsh. Mom, Dad, this is my fiancée, Rachel ..."

"Rachel Marbury," Rachel finished, timidly holding back with her head down. Rory gave her a nudge. "Publicly, I'm known as Rachel Montgomery. Marbury is my legal name."

"Is Montgomery your stage name?" Walsh asked.

"It's a long story. This is my sister, Rory Benson."

"The famous Rory Benson? You're prettier than your photos," Virginia said.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harper. I'm retired from that life now," Rory said. "Decided to become a nurse instead."

"We're glad to meet you both. Come on in," Virginia invited.

It was a comfortable home, and much lived in. As one would expect in a house where five rambunctious children had been raised.

"Can we get you anything? Water? Soft drinks? A beer?" Walsh asked.

"A beer sounds good," Rory said.

"Cranberry juice for me, if you have it," Rachel answered.

Rachel took a seat on the long sofa in the living room, daring to kick off her shoes. Tom noticed her feet looked a bit swollen.

* * * * * *

The afternoon was going well. The men grilled steaks on the back patio overlooking the blue bay. Rachel made a salad, allowing Virginia to help. They loitered around the picnic table under a canopy. The men drank beer. Rory and Virginia had white wine. Rachel stuck with juice. Rachel felt Tom's father was pleasant enough, though a little standoffish. His mother seemed friendlier, yet reserved. There was a knock on the front door.

"Eric!" Tom shouted, rushing to embrace him. "Rachel, this is my little brother, Eric. He just mustered out of the army last month. A lieutenant, no less."

"Glad to meet you, Rachel," the tall, good-looking young man said. His bushy blond hair was like his brother's. Just turned thirty, Eric Harper was well-built, though not so husky as Tom, with an eager gleam in his blue eyes.

"These Harper boys must come out of a mold," Rachel said. "Eric, this is my sister, Rory Benson."

"Everybody knows who Rory Benson is," Eric said, bending over to kiss her hand. "If you weren't gay, we could make it a double wedding."

"You are very bold, sir," Rory said, her face red.

"Just in time for food, I see," Eric said. "Just so you know, eating is one of my talents."

With the food ready, they gathered around the patio table for a late lunch. The steaks were rare. Rachel ate a salad and bits of fruit. Eric noticed that, for someone so famous, Tom's fiancée appeared very shy.

"So? What do you think of Texas?" Walsh asked.

"I don't have much to compare it to, but it's pretty," Rachel hesitantly responded.

"Don't travel much?" Virginia inquired.

"Oh, I've traveled a lot," Rachel explained. "Boston. New York. New Orleans and Aspen. The Everglades."

"And where else?" Walsh asked.

"What do you mean?" Rachel said.

"Where else have you traveled? Paris? Tokyo? Rome?" Walsh inquired.

"No, I've never been out of the country. Until I left for Harvard, I'd hardly been out of Palmdale."

"Your parents didn't want you traveling?" Virginia wondered.

Rachel put her fork down, lowing her head without answering.

"What's wrong?" Virginia asked.

"Do you want me to tell them?" Rory prodded. Rachel nodded, not looking up. "Everything?"

"Enough," Rachel said.

"Tell us about what?" Virginia said.

"Rach had a difficult childhood," Rory explained. "Her father was a drunk. Her mother--her birth mother--wasn't helpful. Social workers put her in foster care, where things were just as bad. Before the scholarship came through, she was working in a coffee shop out in the desert. She's never had money for traveling, or much of anything else."

"But everyone says you're wealthy? Fabulously wealthy," Walsh said.

"Sheila Marbury did that," Rachel replied. "She created WHD. All I did was stabilize the Level 12 matrix."

Eric laughed and gave Tom a poke.

"That's all? You just stabilized the Level 12 matrix?" Eric said. "Like Newton just discovered gravity? Like Einstein just discovered E = mc2?"

"Actually, there are implicit contradictions with Relativity's foundational concepts," Rachel mentioned. "Professor Einstein concluded that the speed of light is constant, but a reevaluation of relativistic quantum electrodynamics suggests the interaction of matter and light could--"

Rachel stopped talking, seeing expressions ranging from confused to amused.

"She does that all the time," Rory said with a grin.

"Just what is a Level 12 matrix?" Virginia inquired. Rachel appeared reluctant to answer. Tom gave her an encouraging look. Rachel sighed.

"The Level 12 matrix uses multilayered fractal interfacing to search the continuum for digital signatures using quantum mechanics," Rachel explained. "Then it breaks the tracks down into comprehensible equations, extrapolates the algorithms through a series of layering techniques that sort superfluous structures from the desired resolution, and organizes the formulas into an accessible database."

"Oh, that's very interesting," Virginia said, looking clueless.

Tom laughed.

"Don't worry, Mom. Everybody finds that confusing," he said.

"What have you been doing recently? Since that mess in Nevada?" Virginia asked.

"Taking care of my son," Rachel said. "And preparing my doctorate proposal for Harvard."

"You don't have a PhD?" Eric said.

"Not yet," Rachel replied.

"What field are you studying?" Virginia asked. "My PhD is in microbiology. Walsh studied aerodynamic engineering."

"I just got my MBA from Duke," Eric said.

"It will be a doctorate in mathematics," Rachel answered. "My dissertation is the feasibility of a Level 14 matrix."

That caused a few curious glances.

"Is a Level 14 possible?" Walsh asked.

"I think so, but it will be hard," Rachel confessed. She poked at her salad, eating small bites. She didn't appear excited about the project.

"We're sorry to be so inquisitive, but our son wants to marry you," Virginia said. "I hope you don't think we're intruding."

"Oh, no, ma'am. I have questions, too."

"Okay, ask a question," Virginia agreed.

Rachel paused, looking at Tom, and then his parents. She took a deep breath.

"You have five adult children and no grandchildren?" Rachel asked.

"We're hoping for grandchildren, of course," Virginia said.

"How soon?" Rachel asked. Conversation came to a halt.

"What are you saying?" Tom questioned. Rachel put her hands on her stomach.

"I'm going to have your baby, Thomas," Rachel said with a shy smile. "Thomas Woodson Harper Jr. If that's okay?"

"If it's okay? Oh my God. Oh my God!" Tom said, scooping her up in his arms.

The family rose in stunned applause. Rory couldn't remember ever seeing Rachel so happy. Her eyes danced as she squeezed Tom's neck.

"Is that why you're only drinking juice?" Virginia asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Harper," Rachel said. "Otherwise, I'd be gulping Mr. Harper's whiskey."

"I think it's time you call me Mom," Virginia insisted.

"Thomas and I aren't married yet," Rachel replied.

"You should take care of that. Soon," Walsh proposed.

Rachel paused to think. They could see the calculations running through her mind.

"I would like to get married today," Rachel confessed. "But my family should be here. I don't want to disappoint them."

"Here?" Walsh said.

"I think Thomas and I should marry here, in Houston. My family can fly in."

"We can do it this weekend," Rory said. "Let me call Mom. And Sheba. And Aunt Hattie. Everyone is going to be so excited!"

"How big of a wedding do you want?" Virginia asked.

"Oh, I don't care about that. I just want a big handsome husband," Rachel said, giving Tom a kiss.

"My mother's old wedding dress can be taken in to fit you. Will Sunday work?" Virginia suggested.

Rachel looked at Tom, which surprised him.

"Is that all right?" he asked.

"If it's okay with you," Rachel replied. "It should be your decision, too."

"Let's ask Pam and Bill. If they can make it, Sunday is great," Tom agreed.

Rachel squealed with delight, hugging him even harder. If anyone was in doubt about the odd young woman's feelings, they weren't anymore.

Rory was in the upstairs bedroom making phone calls when Rachel slipped in and sat on the king-size bed.

"Should I have told you first?" Rachel asked.

"About the baby? No, you did great. The look on Tom's face was priceless."

"I'm glad his parents were pleased. I was worried."

"Tom's been talking about you for years. I doubt they were surprised. Does this have anything to do with the numbers?"

"Yes. When I was pregnant with Danny, the numbers went away. They stayed away for two years. Hopefully they'll go away again. I'd like to stop taking my medication."

"Let's talk with Dr. Belcher about that. Make sure you stay stable. And we'll need to keep you close to home. You had a hard time with Danny. You almost died. Mom is going to be on you like a hawk."

"I know. I am so looking forward to having a baby with Mother helping me. And you, and Ashley."

Tom appeared at the bedroom door, still flushed with excitement. Rachel suspected he'd had a few celebratory drinks with his father and brother.

"I'll make myself scarce," Rory offered, dashing out. Tom sat next to Rachel.

"This is incredible. How long have you known?"

"About a week. It was hard not to blurt out."

"Have you told Pam?"

"Yes, but no one else. Not even Rory. I wanted to surprise you."

"You sure did. I'm so happy, Rach," he said, laying down to hold her. "When are you due?"

"We are due in July."

"What should I do? How can I help? What should--"

"You need to stay calm, be patient with me when I complain, and make love to me as often as possible."

* * * * * *

Tom went downstairs while Rachel took a nap. His parents were huddled in the living room.

"What's up?" Tom asked. It didn't look like Walsh or Virginia wanted to answer.

"It's about your girl, son," Walsh admitted.

"What about her?"

"She's Rachel Montgomery," Walsh said, as if that was an answer.

"We know you love her, and now with the baby and all, you should be married," Virginia said.

"But that doesn't mean we don't have reservations," Walsh added.

"Reservations? I don't get it," Tom said.

"She does have quite a past," Virginia replied. "No one ever heard of her until that horrible scandal when Daniel Benson died. Then there was that shooting in Nevada."

"And she invented the WHD program for the government," Walsh said. "It spies on people. Our finances. Lifestyles. Even our DNA. They say she's making billions. The company she runs is known for its corrupt practices. The Marbury family owns more politicians than the Arabs do."

"I can't believe this," Tom said, taking a seat.

"We know things are different out in California. They have different values," Walsh said.

"Don't get us wrong. Rachel seems very sweet," Virginia said. "But we really don't know much about her. Her folks, her birth folks, sound like--"

"Trailer trash?" Tom interrupted.

"I wouldn't go that far," his mother replied.

"We should get a few things straight," Tom said. "WHD is a private corporation, not the government. Rachel's program helps people. It researches DNA and family histories to predict long-term health conditions that can be treated years in advance. It coordinates financial needs for entire populations. And it doesn't impose on anybody. Rachel doesn't even run World Health Database. Sheila Marbury does. I don't know what bullshit you've been listening to, but it stops here. It stops now."

"We're sorry, Tom. We don't want to upset anyone," Virginia said.

"We'll keep an open mind. We owe her that much," Walsh agreed.

"I'm going to pretend this conversation never happened," Tom said. "Make sure it doesn't happen again."

* * * * * *

"Where's Ro?" Rachel asked as she looked down the hall.

It was early morning, the house quiet. Rachel was still in her nightgown. Tom wore pajamas.

"She stayed downtown last night after hitting the clubs," Tom said. "Don't worry. She's with Eric at the Hilton."

"In the same suite? Doesn't your brother believe she's gay?"

"I'm sure he does by now," Tom replied.

They went downstairs to the kitchen. Rachel was glad no one else was around.

"I want to make breakfast," she declared.

"I'll keep the family out of your way."

"When do they get up?"

"We're up now, honey," Virginia said, coming from the hall still wearing a thick wool robe and slippers. Walsh was informal as well in gray gym pants and a blue sweater.

"Sit down. I'll get coffee," Rachel announced, rushing into the kitchen.

"I'll help," Virginia said, starting to follow.

"No, Mom," Tom responded, holding her back. "I gave the kitchen to Rachel. She wants to make breakfast."

"And I'll help," Virginia repeated.

"No helping allowed. Please, humor me on this," Tom begged. Virginia looked confused, but sat down at the dining table instead.

"Sleep well? Or not get much sleep?" Walsh asked with a wink.

"I hope we didn't keep anyone up," Tom replied.

"You father is just being a grump. You guys were fine," Virginia said.

Rachel emerged a few minutes later with a coffeepot and cups, filling one for each.

"Cream and sugar?" she asked.

"A little cream for me, dear. The men like it black," Virginia answered. "Can you take a moment to sit?"

"Sorry, I'm busy," Rachel answered. She started to turn away, and then turned back. "Good morning, Mrs. and Mr. Harper." A second later, she was gone.

"Such service," Virginia complimented.

"We'll give her a big tip," Walsh suggested.

"I'll do the tipping around here," Tom said. He stood up, hesitated, and went into the kitchen.

"Finding everything?" he asked.

"It's not hard."

"Let me do something."

"Thomas, don't hide behind me. Sit down with your parents and work out your issues."

"Issues? I have no issues with my folks."

"You didn't come home for three years. Of course you have issues. Even I know that."

"You didn't scan them, did you?"

"That's ridiculous. No one scans people. And I didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Do what you're accusing me of doing," Rachel replied.

"Which is what?"

"I don't even know what we're talking about. No one scans people."

"Can I watch you do it? I've never seen you scan someone."

"I'm beginning to lose my patience, Mr. Harper. You aren't the only handsome sailor in Texas."

"I'm the most handsome sailor in the house."

"Don't remind me. Last night was already too embarrassing. Your parents must think I'm awful."

"You were a little noisier than usual. Could be this fresh Texas air."

"Actually, the levels of inorganic trioxygen in the south Houston region exceed urban averages for the same population densities and manufacturing capacity in other regions."

"Thanks for straightening that out. Let's not mention it to my folks."

Tom returned to the dining table, leaving Rachel alone in the kitchen. She bounced happily from the stove to the microwave, oven, and cutting boards, moving with specific intent.

"How does she know where everything is?" Virginia asked, watching from her chair.

"Rach supported herself cooking in a diner when going to high school," Tom explained. "She cooked in a Boston bistro while attending Harvard. She cooked at a café in Ketchum, and a casino in Juniper Springs. Back home, she cooks meals for the women's shelter. Nothing in a kitchen is a mystery to her."

"It smells good," Walsh admitted.

"More coffee?" Rachel asked, suddenly dashing out. Her eyes were bright. She looked relaxed.

"Thank you, dear," Virginia said, holding out her cup.

Rachel ran around the table, refreshing the coffee, and hurried off just as quickly.

"She's quite the firecracker," Walsh said, watching her go. And unable to overlook what a marvelous figure she had.

"Some call her the little hurricane," Tom mentioned. "I'm not sure if Rach likes that. I've never seen her smile when someone's said it. When Grubby Barnes calls her Pebble, she bursts into a grin."

"What was that trouble in Juniper Springs all about?" Walsh whispered. "The news reports get so confusing. We don't know how much of it to believe."

"Can't say much," Tom replied, looking over his shoulder. "But Rachel's brain was damaged trying to access a flawed government matrix. She ended up in Nevada with half her memory, broke and alone. And when her friend was grabbed by gangsters, Rach did everything she could to find her."

"By letting herself be kidnapped?" Walsh asked.

"That was Rachel's plan. It was too late to save Joanna, but they found her baby in the woods alive and well."

"Rachel could have been killed," Virginia said. "We saw the video. Those bastards made her dig her own grave. One of them put a gun to her head and was about to pull the trigger."

"Rach says the math is never perfect," Tom replied with a sigh.

"What does that mean?" Walsh asked.

"It means when Rachel decides something needs to be done, she puts it all on the line to make it happen," Tom clarified.

"We all try to do our best," Walsh said.

"Rachel operates on a different scale," Tom grimly stated.

The front door opened.

"I made it home. Am I in time for breakfast?" a tall, strapping young man in his early thirties announced. He had Tom's build, but darker hair. "Look, it's my big brother. Finally returned home after all these years."

"Couldn't stay away forever, Kevin," Tom said, rising to give his brother a hug. Kevin nodded to his parents, then paused to look in the kitchen.

"Wow," Kevin whispered. "If that's your new maid, I'm moving back home."

"That is my fiancée," Tom told him.

"Rachel Montgomery?" Kevin realized. "I thought those photos of her were Photoshopped. She's gorgeous."

"One more for breakfast, Rachel," Virginia called out.

Kevin went in the kitchen, stepping toward the stove to give his soon-to-be sister-in-law a welcoming hug. Rachel turned with a furrowed brow, a dripping spatula clutched in her hand.

"Stay out of my kitchen," she growled. He quickly realized she wasn't kidding. Tom dragged Kevin back to the dining room.

"I didn't get a chance to warn you," he apologized. "Rachel doesn't like intruders while she's cooking."

"Yeah, I get that," Kevin acknowledged, before whispering, "She's a little scary."

"I know," Tom whispered back.

"That is so hot," Kevin said, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Will you boys sit down?" Virginia insisted.

Rachel soon appeared with a large tray, holding it in one hand while serving with the other. "Thomas, you may bring the fruit cups," she instructed.

Ham and cheese omelets, sausages, blueberry French toast, and grits were placed on the table. Rachel kept a salad for herself.

"Do you say grace?" Virginia asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Rachel said, dipping her head. "Dear Lord, thank you for this wonderful family, this food, our health, and your blessings. Amen."

"Amen," the Harpers echoed.

"You don't pray like a Californian," Walsh said, getting a glance of disapproval from his oldest son.

"Jeremiah 33:3," Rachel replied, scrunching her eyebrows.

"I'm not up on every verse," Walsh admitted.

"Call unto me, and I will answer thee," Rachel said. "And show thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not."

"What does that mean?" Walsh asked.

"It means you've pissed Rachel off," Tom replied with a grin. "And if you try to out-Bible her, it's going to be embarrassing."

"Tom's right. Apologize," Virginia said.

"Sorry if I overstepped," Walsh mumbled.

Tom saw Rachel getting ready to quote the Bible again, then think better of it. She went back to her salad.

"I'm Kevin, by the way," Kevin said, finally having a chance to speak. "I'm Tom's better looking and smarter younger brother."

"Thomas has two younger brothers," Rachel said.

"Yes, Eric is two years younger than me," Kevin confirmed.

"Then by progression, Eric must be the smartest and handsomest of all three. Maybe I should marry him instead?" Rachel questioned.

"I can't tell if you're joking," Kevin answered.

"Good," Rachel said, reaching for a banana.

"We get to have you for a whole week. What are your plans?" Virginia inquired.

"Does anyone like football?" Rachel asked.

"We love football," Kevin said.

"The Los Angeles Rams are playing the Houston Texans on Thursday. We can get passes," Rachel offered.

"How many seats?" Kevin asked.

"I don't know how they count seats in the owner's box," Rachel said. "Tom, how many seats are in those sections?"

"A lot," Tom guessed.

"The owner's box?" Kevin said.

"My sister Rory and my brother William inherited shares of the Rams from their father. They let me go to games when I want to," Rachel explained. "The seats are really fancy, and they serve free food. And free alcohol. Lots of different kinds."

"I guess we can put up with that for an evening," Walsh agreed.

"Mr. McLane will insist on driving us. He'll rent a big car," Rachel mentioned.

"I reckon we can get to the stadium without the help of a hired hand," Walsh said.

"Dad, Rachel doesn't go anywhere without Bob McLane. He's her bodyguard," Tom said. "He's a good man, and anybody who doesn't like that can go screw themselves."

"Is McLane the big guy out in front? In the RV?" Kevin asked.

"In what?" Walsh said, rushing to the front door. He was unhappy when he returned.

"There's a tall black man in a trench coat, watching our house," Walsh reported.

"When we're traveling, Mr. McLane rents a mobile headquarters," Rachel explained.

"It doesn't look good in the neighborhood," Walsh complained.

"He doesn't want to intrude by coming inside," Rachel replied.

Walsh had more to say, but his wife shut him up.

"Football game on the horizon. An intimate family wedding. What else are you kids planning?" Virginia asked. Rachel looked to Tom, waiting.

"Rach, we talked about this," Tom said.

"Talked about what?" Virginia asked.

"Rachel wants me to make the decisions. She says too much of the last three years have been about her. She wants this trip to be about me. But this is a big deal for Rach. Being in a new place. Meeting new people. Not sure what to expect. She's not good in strange environments."

"You don't need to be afraid, dear," Virginia encouraged.

"I can be slow to acclimate," Rachel replied.

"Now if you ask her why E = mc2 is inaccurate, she's on firmer ground," Tom said.

"Actually, Professor's Einstein's theory isn't so much inaccurate as incomplete," Rachel said. "The special relativity paradox described by Dr. Poincaré indicates that mass-energy equivalence is disrupted when a pulse moving to the left is redshifted, while a pulse moving to the right--"

Rachel stopped, seeing the amused stares. She lowered her head, hands in her lap.

"Okay, Tommy. Your girl isn't dumb," Walsh conceded.

* * * * * *

After cooking for the family, Rachel took breakfast out to the mobile HQ. McLane, Marissa, and McLane's twenty-something assistants, Maverick and Darnell, were all smiles. Rachel visited with them for twenty minutes. When the gardeners arrived, she rushed back to get them cinnamon rolls and coffee. Walsh watched from the porch, then drew Tom into the living room. Kevin was on the couch.

"Is that little girl of yours white?" Walsh suddenly asked.

"What are you trying to say now?" Tom replied.

"I overheard her talking to José. She speaks Spanish better than he does."

"Rach also speaks French, Latin, and Greek," Tom replied.

"This town where she was born? Palmdale? A Mexican town?"

"You're on dangerous ground here, Dad," Tom said, trying not to get angry. "For the record, her father's people were Scottish. Her mother's maiden name was Carpenter. From England. She's whiter than you are."

"I won't say anything to her, of course," Walsh assured him. "But she seems to keep strange company. Gay party girls. Black bodyguards. Gardeners. Corporate criminals. And she's all over the media. That liberal bitch Ruth Sparrow won't shut up about her."

Tom stood up, not looking pleased. "And you wonder why I haven't been home in three years?" he said.

"Look, son. I'm no racist. You know that. I have black and brown friends at the Space Center that I've known for years. But when it comes to my own family, I need to know where things stand."

"Be careful," Tom said, leaving the room.

"What the hell, Dad?" Kevin said. "Tommy lands a rich, beautiful, scientific genius, and you're being a jerk about it?"

"I'm not trying to be a jerk," Walsh answered. "Something about her doesn't sit right with me. Tom's the one who needs to be careful."

* * * * * *

Chapter Two

BIG GUNS

It was a huge park near Galveston Bay with granite markers, a museum, and a World War II battleship. The weather was cold but clear, requiring heavy coats.

"This is the San Jacinto Battleground Historic Site," Walsh announced, leading their group. "In 1836, Sam Houston won freedom for Texas here by defeating Santa Anna."

"That big ship is the USS Texas," Tom said, pointing to a vessel with giant cannons.

"The Memorial Tower has an observation deck," Virginia advised. "You can see all of Houston."

"It's pretty," Rachel said, staying bundled up. Only a few paces behind her, Bob McLane was watching the crowds. None of the fifty or so parkgoers had recognized her so far.

"Don't wander off," Kevin warned. "The park has alligators, snakes, coyotes, and feral hogs."

"And birds," Rachel said, noticing long-legged storks in the marsh.

"What would you like to see first?" Walsh asked.

"The ladies' room," Rachel said, hurrying away. Virginia hurried after her.

Tom went with his father and brother to view the old battlefield near a swampy bayou. McLane remained behind, watching the cinderblock restroom from a distance.

"That was just in time. I really needed to go," Rachel said, emerging from the stall.

"I remember, having been through it five times," Virginia consoled. They were the only women there, the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas devoted more to shopping than national parks. "You've already had a baby?"

"Yes. Little Danny. He turned two in September."

"Johnny Benson's baby? A married man?"

Rachel paused, fixing her makeup before the cracked mirror, trying not to be offended.

"John wasn't married at the time we were together. He had broken up with his fiancée. I shouldn't have slept with him, but I won't call it a mistake. My baby is not a mistake."

"Tom said you disappeared for two years. Living under an assumed name?"

"I moved to a village in the San Bernardino Mountains to avoid a scandal. But there was a scandal anyway. At least Danny and I had time to bond before the world got crazy."

"We heard about the lawsuit. When John sued you for custody. They said terrible things about you. That you're mentally ill. Prone to violence. Then the case was suddenly dropped."

Rachel sighed again. She wasn't sure where this was going. Or why Virginia was asking these questions. But she was Tom's mother.

"John and Alicia had twins in Boston. Only six months younger than Danny. When they were kidnapped, it changed everyone's perspective. We were relieved when the FBI rescued them."

"And then what? All anyone hears are rumors."

"John and Allie left Boston to live at my estate, Canby Place, with their children. Lisa is Danny's half-sister. Gabriel is Danny's half-brother. They're being raised together, as a family. Nothing is more important than family."

"It sounds very civilized," Virginia remarked.

"You're thinking it sounds sordid and awful, but that can't be helped. I will do what's best for my baby. For all the babies."

"When this all started, you didn't consider ending the pregnancy?"

"That was never an option."

"I understand. We're pro-life, too."

"I don't speak for other women. I only speak for myself," Rachel replied. "When we were discussing wedding plans last night, no one mentioned your daughters."

"It's sensitive."

"Why is that?"

Virginia grimaced, joining Rachel at the mirror.

"Three years ago, our older daughter, Meagan, came home from college and told us she's gay. Out of the blue. There was a fight. Harsh words were spoken. Walsh and I haven't seen her since. Our younger daughter, Cynthia, took Meagan's part. They're in Zimbabwe now, working for Doctors Without Borders."

"That's terrible. My sister is gay."

"Rory's business is her own. We don't judge," Virginia replied. "Well, I don't judge. I think Walsh would like to mend fences, he just doesn't know how."

When they returned to the park, the noon sun was breaking through streaky clouds. The big ship loomed off to the left, 570 feet long with a tall conning tower and massive turrets housing large cannons. Tom waved to them.

"I'll get passes, if everyone's onboard for that?" Walsh said, standing near the ticket booth. He looked at Rachel, as if expecting her to object.

"I would love to see the ship," Rachel replied. "I've seen the USS Iowa anchored in San Pedro. It's big, too."

They went up the steel gangplank, Rachel leading the way. She jumped on the deck and dashed to the railing overlooking the bay, leaning over to wave at a flock of ducks. Tom approached her cautiously, having seen Rachel's accelerated states near oceans before. He motioned to Kevin.

"Back me up," Tom whispered. "And keep your mouth shut."

"Why? What's going on?"

"That's something I can never figure out in advance," Tom admitted.

"Give me a hint."

"Oceans make Rach nervous. Sometimes she goes into a disassociated state. A mild one is called a haze. She's not in danger, and she's not a danger to anyone else. Most of the time. But she can get a little crazy. Mom and Dad don't know. Rachel is afraid of what they might think."

"What do you want me to do?" Kevin asked.

"When I suggest something to her, say it sounds like a good idea. And when she says, 'Are you sure?' say yes, you're sure."

"I've got your back, brother," Kevin said.

Tom walked to the stern, joining Rachel at the railing. The water below was choppy, blown by a soft wind.

"Isn't it a beautiful ship?" Rachel said. "William should buy one."

"Bill's yacht is big enough already," Tom replied.

"Will they let us fire the cannons?"

"What would you hit if you fired the cannons?"

"Whatever I aim at," Rachel said, scrunching her eyebrows.

"I don't think they'll let us fire the cannons," Tom said.

"Yes, they will," a little girl broke in, standing nearby in a thick wool coat.

"How's that?" Tom asked.

"They have a simulator. For $15, you can direct fire at islands and stuff. It's lots of fun," the little girl said.

"But it's hard to hit the targets. Even old people can't do it," her little brother complained.

"It sounds exciting," Rachel said, bouncing away from the railing. "Where is it?"

"We can show you," the little girl said.

"Let's run!" Rachel decided, the three of them dashing off. Tom saw McLane grunting to catch up.

"I hope they're not firing live shells," Kevin joked.

The Harper family found Rachel and the children below decks waiting in a former dining hall. A dozen or so visitors, mostly seniors, lingered around with their grandchildren.

"Look! It's Rachel Montgomery!" someone shouted.

"It sure as hell is," a startled old-timer said.

McLane moved to block a quick rush, and as the crowd slowed, astutely moved to stand behind her. Tom was quickly at her elbow. Photos were taken.

"Hello, Miss Montgomery. You're my hero," a teenage girl said.

"Be your own hero, sweetheart," Rachel said with a gentle smile. "Are we waiting to shoot the big guns?"

"Do you want to shoot them?" a boy asked.

"Oh, yes. It sounds exciting," Rachel answered.

"Go next. You go next," many in the small crowd urged, waving their hands.

"I can wait my turn," Rachel insisted.

"No, no. We want to watch," a grandpa said.

Rachel was guided forward. The simulator was a replica of the ship's targeting control room, with an observation window for people to watch the participants. Rachel sat in a swivel chair, leaning forward to look at the radar screens. Additional instruments showed wind speed and the ship's motion. An elderly docent in a white sailor uniform offered instructions. He was very nice.

"Thank you, sir. I'm okay," Rachel said, studying the control panels. The readings gave good information. Mostly. Some modifications would be necessary.

"That little girl's going to fire the big guns?" Walsh said.

"Guess we'll know in a minute," Tom replied.

"Does she play a lot of video games?" Walsh asked. "Lupe Manners says that's how she spends her time. Playing video games while others do the work."

"I've never seen Rachel play any video games," Tom said. "The only time she watches TV is to see Jane Austen movies."

Rachel finished her evaluation and requested the door be closed. The USS Texas was in the Pacific. April, 1945. Off Okinawa providing support for invading U. S. Marines against the Japanese Empire. The enemy had entrenched artillery in the hills. The radar was interfered with by steep ridges, forcing the targeting systems to guess locations. Rachel wished she had a satellite.

A red light lit up, indicating an enemy howitzer had fired. Then another one. And another. Rachel looked at the topography charts. There was a pattern.

"Firing One and Two," Rachel whispered, pushing the lever forward.

The room rocked as two giant guns fired simulated 2,500-pound shells. The roar echoed throughout the hall. A monitor above the observation window tracked the progress.

"Direct hit!" the docent shouted. "And on her first try!"

"Firing Three and Four," Rachel said, moving the targeting a hundred yards to the north.

"A bunker. She hit a bunker," the old sailor said.

The small audience crowded at the window, seeing Rachel bent over the antique controls. Her hands moved quickly from system to system, balancing the equations. Her eyes were so focused they seemed almost gray rather than brown.

"Captain, permission to strike the enemy command post," Rachel said.

"Permission granted, sailor. Fire away," the docent approved.

The room rocked one last time, the blast of the guns ringing down the corridor.

"Enemy destroyed," the docent confirmed. "Fine shooting, sailor. Congratulations."

Rachel emerged from the control room to enthusiastic applause. She stopped to sign autographs and have pictures taken. She seemed as elated as the fans.

"How did you do that?" a boy asked.

"I did the ma-- I got lucky," Rachel replied.

"Like hell," the docent said, clapping his hands. "Ladies and gentlemen, Rachel Montgomery!"

Rachel backed away, bumping into McLane. Tom moved forward, pulling Kevin with him, forming a screen. They weren't rough, only cautious.

"Miss Montgomery, my name is Charles Perry," a distinguished gentleman said. "I'm secretary of the USS Texas Preservation Committee. May I speak with you?"

"Of course, sir," Rachel agreed, going off to the side. They spoke for several minutes. At one point, Rachel looked embarrassed. The old man waved his hands to emphasize his plea. He went off. Rachel motioned Tom over.

"Can I help the ship? Would that be okay?" Rachel asked.

"How? What's wrong with the ship?" Tom said.

"It's expensive to repair. They might tow it away, or scrap it. Mr. Perry wants me to help with donations."

"I don't see anything wrong with that."

"It will involve photos. And a video."

"I have no problem with photos or videos. You're the one who's camera shy," Tom said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"I'm sure, too," Kevin added.

"Okay, then. I'll need your help," Rachel requested.

Mr. Perry returned with a large blanket and a souvenir sack from the gift shop.

"Tom, hold the blanket up for me. Kevin, be ready," Rachel warned.

"Be ready for what?" Kevin asked.

Rachel stepped behind the blanket as Tom held it up like a curtain. Suddenly Rachel's jacket came flying into Kevin's arms, followed by her sweater, blouse, and skirt. Everyone watching was holding their breaths, recording each move with their cell phones.

"Okay," Rachel said, pushing the blanket aside. She was wearing a USS Texas T-shirt, black shorts, and white tennis shoes, her bustline amply displayed. She dipped for a cheesecake photo, and then went to a small stage where presentations were made. An American flag and the ship's banner hung behind her. A video cam recorded the event.

"Hello, Mr. Perry, secretary of the USS Texas Preservation Committee. I'm Rachel Montgomery, a visitor to the San Jacinto Battlefield National Site. Can you tell me about this wonderful old warship?"

For the next thirty minutes, Rachel followed Perry through the ship's steel corridors, hanging on his every word as he described the battleship's distinguished history. They visited officer's quarters, bunkrooms, kitchens, mess halls, barbershops, a post office, and even a movie theater. Many photos were taken, Rachel being an eyeful in the skimpy outfit. Tom saw she was cold, and getting colder, sometimes needing a blanket between takes. But she didn't care. She wanted to help the old man save his dream.

Perry ended the tour on the main deck below the forward turret. The crowd applauded, and then McLane encouraged them to disperse. Rachel quickly dressed, not caring who watched.

"That was interesting," Rachel said, thankful Tom was rubbing her shoulders.

"What was that?" Walsh asked.

"Mr. Perry wants to use my photos for a fundraiser," Rachel replied. "I volunteered to cook dinner in the galley next year for the donors."

"Photos of you? Dressed like that?" Walsh said. "With your boobs sticking out?"

"My boobs were not sticking out, Mr. Harper. Were they, Thomas? Thomas has seen my boobs sticking out," Rachel responded. "I'm glad the baby isn't showing yet. That would have been weird."

"They have a floor heater in the coffee shop," Tom suggested.

"That sounds good. Will they have tea? Let's run!" Rachel said, disappearing through a hatch. McLane rushed to follow. Tom tried to keep pace.

"I don't know about that girl," Walsh said, shaking his head.

"Dad, that is the greatest girl of all time," Kevin declared.

* * * * * *

"Look, it's a shooting range," Rachel observed as they drove back to Clear Lake. "Can we stop?"

"I guess so. We keep some guns in the trunk," Walsh agreed.

He pulled the car into a dirt parking lot, the ramshackle building at the edge of a broad field. Walsh glanced back, looking annoyed when he saw McLane stop the follow-up vehicle a few yards off. The big bodyguard didn't impose, but he was never far away, either. Walsh opened the trunk.

"Got my hunting rifle," Walsh said. "And a Colt.45 automatic. Have a preference, little lady?"

"I brought Baby," Rachel answered.

"Baby?" Virginia asked.

Rachel drew a semiautomatic pistol from her purse. A.40 caliber M&P Shield.

"You know how to use that?" Walsh questioned.

Rachel put the gun away without answering, following the family into a large warehouse. There were hundreds of guns for sale, plenty of ammunition, and tons of accessories. Walsh stopped to speak with the proprietor.

"Do you always carry a gun?" Virginia whispered, taking Rachel aside.

"I have a permit, not that I need it in Texas," Rachel replied.

"May I ask why? You have a bodyguard."

"My mother wants me to have it. She carries a gun, too."

"Californians aren't famous for carrying guns."

"I don't go around shooting people. Unless I need to."

"You've shot people?"

"Haven't you?"

"No."

"It's not as fun as it sounds," Rachel said with a sigh.

"Ready to go," Walsh announced, leading Rachel, Virginia and Tom out the back door to the open field. There were a dozen plywood stands for their weapons and reloading. Rachel found earmuffs and protective goggles. Paper targets ranged from 10 to 500 yards. A tall hill 2,500 yards away reduced the risk of accidents to persons outside the complex.

"I'll go first. Show you kids how it's done," Walsh said. He put on the earmuffs but dispensed with the goggles, using his pistol to fire eight shots at a target 40 yards away. He hit the target all eight times, three in the bullseye.

"Not bad, Dad," Tom said, taking the gun and reloading. He dispensed with the goggles, too, using only the earmuffs. Then he fired eight shots, hitting the target seven times. Two in the bullseye.

"Looks like I'm rusty," Tom said, setting the weapon on the podium. "Mom?"

"I'll pass," Virginia said.

"Well, Rachel, going to give it a try?" Walsh asked, handing her the muffs and goggles.

"Do I have to wear all this junk?" Rachel asked.

"It's not a rule," Walsh said.

Rachel picked up the heavy pistol, studying the mechanism, and took aim at the target, firing three times. The recoil nearly knocked her down. None of the shots struck home.

"Don't worry. That's a lot of gun for a little lady," Walsh said, taking the weapon back.

"I usually don't shoot people that far away. Can I use Baby? Would that be okay?" she requested.

"Give it your best shot," Walsh approved.

Rachel took the M&P.40 from her purse, checked the magazine, and stepped away from the firing stand. Then she knelt and took careful aim at a target 10 yards away, firing seven times in rapid succession. All seven shots hit the bullseye, four of them dead center. Walsh whistled. Rachel reloaded and put the safety on before returning the pistol to her purse.

* * * * * *

It was late. Almost midnight. Rachel dozed off briefly, then got up to close the bedroom door. She heard someone in the hall. It was Virginia and Walsh, looking out the upstairs window. Rachel realized they were spying on Mr. McLane's RV parked at the curb.

"There's another black out there with him," Walsh said. "A girl. Young, too. Too young."

"Why do you think she's there?" Virginia asked.

"Can't be for anything good," Walsh replied. "He shouldn't be entertaining his hotties in front of our house."

"That's Mr. McLane's daughter," Rachel said, interrupting them. "I tutored her in math. She's a sophomore at Stanford now. An honor student. She's here as a favor to me."

Walsh and Virginia looked startled. Virginia's face turned red. Rachel went back into her room and closed the door.

Tom wasn't in the house. Probably down near the waterfront with his brothers. Rachel took her underwear out of the drawer, her pills out of the medicine cabinet, and stuffed them in a shoulder bag before walking downstairs.

"Where are you going in the middle of the night?" Walsh asked, intercepting her near the front door.

"The Hilton, to stay with my sister. My gay sister."

"Did I tread on your dainty sensibilities? This is my house. I don't apologize to anyone here," Walsh contended, glaring at her.

"Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Harper," Rachel said, opening the door. "My father thought nothing of using the worst kind of language. He hated black people. He hated Mexicans. And he hated me. What you think in your own home is none of my business."

Rachel got out as quick as she could, glad he hadn't hit her. Like her father often had. McLane saw her coming.

"What's wrong, Missy?" he asked.

"Let's leave. Let's leave right now," she said, climbing into the RV.

"Did you and Tom have a fight?"

"No. Let's go."

McLane saw Walsh and Virginia standing on the porch. They looked agitated.

"Want to explain this?" McLane urged.

"No," Rachel answered, going to the back. Marissa came to sit with her, wrapping a blanket over Rachel's shoulders. Darnell went to get the town car. McLane started the RV and pulled away from the curb.

"Rachel! Rachel!" they heard Tom yelling. He was running from the house across the lawn, waving his arms.

"Should I stop?" McLane asked.

"Keep going, Mr. McLane. Hurry," Rachel directed.

The hotel was only fifteen minutes away, popular with guests visiting the Johnson Space Center. The 4-star hotel featured a grand lobby, marble floors, and a restaurant. Rachel was the first to the door of Rory's penthouse suite, McLane racing to keep up.

"Rach, what's wrong?" Rory asked, surprised by the late-night knock on her door.

Rachel rushed into her arms, crying.

"Rach, Rach, calm down. Whatever it is, we'll fix it," Rory said, taking her to the sofa. McLane went to the kitchen, heating a cup of chocolate milk. Rachel sipped slowly. Rory noticed she was in a mild haze.

"Okay, what is it?" Rory said.

"I'm sorry. It's private," Rachel replied, glancing at McLane.

McLane disappeared, locking the door on his way out. Rory took Rachel into the bathroom, ran hot water for her in the spa, and got her undressed. Soap bubbles helped Rachel relax. Rory soothed her with a loofah.

"Have a fight with Tom?" Rory finally asked.

"Tom's father. But it wasn't a fight. He sounds just like my father did. Filled with resentment and hate. I'm not sure if this is going to work."

"What's not going to work?"

"The wedding. It's off, at least for now. I need time to think."

"The last time you needed time to think, you disappeared for two years."

"I won't do that. I promised Mother I'd never run away again."

"I'm glad to hear that. So, what are you going to do?"

"We're supposed to visit the space center tomorrow. I promised General Taylor. Then I'm flying home to give the children a kiss."

Tom arrived half an hour later, angry and distressed. Rory was initially reluctant to let him in. He found Rachel on the balcony overlooking Nassau Bay.

"What happened? What's this all about? What did my father say to you?" he demanded.

"It doesn't matter," Rachel replied. The haze was mild, but obvious.

"It mattered enough to make you run out," Tom said.

"May I have more hot chocolate?" Rachel asked, handing him her cup. Tom went in the kitchen, taking Rory aside.

"What's this all about?" he whispered.

"That's not for me to say."

"But she did say something?"

"Bob said Rach came running out of the house and insisted on leaving immediately. They heard you yelling, and Rach said to keep driving."

"I asked my father why she left. He didn't answer. My mother wouldn't, either."

"You know how she gets. But it must have been bad. She called off the wedding."

"She what? No, she can't do that."

"It's pretty much done," Rory said, filling Rachel's cup. "She had me text Mom and Sheba. Aunt Hattie knows, too."

"She has to change her mind," Tom insisted.

"My advice is to tread carefully. The worst time to get in an argument with Rach is when she's in a haze."

Tom took the cup out to the patio, quietly standing next to her.

"I wish I wasn't pregnant," Rachel sighed. "I would sure love a drink."

"The wedding?"

"I'm sorry."

"We'll work this out."

"I hope so."

"You still want to marry me, don't you?"

Rachel hesitated. She turned, tears wetting her cheeks. And then her legs went weak. Tom caught her as she slid to the floor, holding her shoulders as she sobbed.

"You don't want to marry into my family, do you?"

"Nothing is more important than family, Thomas. I'm not passing judgment."

"You need to explain. I need to understand this."

"I know. I'm sorry," Rachel said, trying to get up. "I'm going to bed. It's late."

"I'm coming with you," he insisted.

"That might not be a good idea."

"Damn it, Rach, we're still a couple. It's bad enough you cancelled the wedding without even speaking to me first. And told Rory before coming to me. I deserve better."

"I know you do. I'm sorry."

"Then let's be clear. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here, with you. Do you understand?"

"Okay, if you want to," Rachel replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "But please don't expect too much of me."

* * * * * *

Tom heard Rachel get up early the next morning, presumably going to the bathroom. When she didn't return, he went to look. She was gone. He knocked on Rory's door.

"What's up, Tommy? Is it sunrise yet?" Rory said, half asleep.

"It's after seven. Is Rachel here?"

"No. Haven't seen her," Rory answered.

"She's gone. Ro, she's gone. What am I going to do?"

"Calm down while I get dressed."

They looked around the 20th floor, then went down to the main desk. There were a few people in the lobby heading for breakfast.

"Have you seen Miss Montgomery?" Tom asked.

"Who?" the clerk asked.

"Short, long brown hair. Sexy as sin," Rory clarified.

"That way," the busy clerk responded, pointing toward the back.

"Was she checking out?" Tom asked. "Was she--"

"We've got it. Thanks," Rory said, dragging Tom away.

"Got what?" Tom inquired.

"You'll see."

They entered the Calico Restaurant, passed the maître d' station, skirted the dining area, and went back toward the kitchen. Rachel was wearing a white jacket, her hair up in a bun, stirring grits on the stove while giving instructions to the harried staff. Everyone was running back and forth. Marissa McLane sat on a stool in the corner, sipping coffee. Watching.

"Rach?" Rory said.

"Little busy now, Ro. Catch me in an hour," Rachel said, turning toward the hash browns. They heard the staff groan.

Tom didn't like being put off, but Rory pulled him back. They found a booth in the dining room and ordered omelets.

"She'll be okay," Rory said twenty minutes later. "The eggs are great, aren't they?"

"Her food is always great. She'll make me fat. That doesn't explain this."

"Doesn't it?"

"I don't follow."

"Rachel isn't passing judgment on your father. Or your mother. It's not her way. She probably has some sort of Bible quote for it. But she doesn't need this stress. Not with a baby coming. She almost died the last time."

"What should I do?"

"Don't do anything. Rachel can take care of herself. She's proven it so many times. But whatever you do, don't let Rach think she's the cause of problems with your father, because we both know she isn't. This isn't about her, is it?"

"No. Dad and I have had issues for a long time."

"Your sisters?"

"That never should have happened."

"You told me about Meagan and Cindy. You never said anything to Rachel?"

"I didn't want her caught up in the family drama. Nothing good comes from that."

"Your father isn't letting it go."

"Dad causes his own problems. It pisses me off seeing him taking them out on Rachel, but I'm not sure what to do."

"Here, let me scan you," Rory said, facing him directly and staring into his face.

"You can't scan anyone. Even Rachel says she can't."

"I've seen Rachel scan people."

"But what does she see? She never says."

"Hell, I don't know what she sees. But she sees something, and she's never wrong."

Rory looked into his eyes, holding her breath, brushing her curly red hair back from her forehead.

"Well?" Tom asked.

"I need to concentrate. Put everything else aside, like Rachel does. What is your goal? What do you want most?"

"To marry Rachel and keep her safe."

"Then the rest doesn't matter, does it?"

"I suppose not," Tom conceded.

Suddenly, Rachel jumped into the booth, holding a cup of tea and appearing relaxed.

"That's not how you scan people," she said.

"How do you do it?" Rory asked.

"Such a dumb question, Ro. No one can scan people," Rachel replied. "But if they could, they would hold their attention steady and intensify their focus until they read into the deepest essence of their souls."

"Like you did to me, that first night we met?" Tom asked.

"And me, that morning in your apartment?" Rory added.

"That's silly, guys. No one can scan people. How's the food? Worth eating?"

"It's great," Tom said.

"I thought the eggs were a little dry," Rachel complained.

"Are they going to fire you?" Rory asked.

"No. But the staff was sure glad to see me go. I can be a brat in the kitchen. Tom, I'm sorry about what happened with your folks last night. I'll apologize when I get the chance."

"What was it about?" Tom pressed.

"I don't think we should talk about that. Let's just move forward," Rachel said.

"Are we going back to the house?" he asked.

"No, we won't be going back," Rachel answered.

They returned to the penthouse. Rory left for her own room. Tom took Rachel into their room.

"What happens next?" he asked.

"I've been invited to the space center this afternoon. They're testing a rocket," Rachel said. "General Taylor has been very good to me. He often covers for my national security violations. I can't let him down."

"National security violations?"

"I've been doing it for a long time."

"You've been doing what?"

"I like to access government satellites. And borrow their drones. For my projects. I don't steal anything, and I never share the technology."

"How much of your technology have they stolen?"

"More than I expected. But their engineering is good, most of the time, and I'm not an engineer. I'm a mathematician."

"They don't see a difference?"

"What they see isn't important."

"About Dad, we really should figure that out."

"Let's not make a big deal of it. He has a right to believe whatever he wants. I'll try not to be so sensitive."

"The wedding?"

"It's not the right time."

"But we're going to find the right time. Right?"

Rachel didn't know how to answer.

* * * * * *

Rachel may be having trouble with her possible in-laws, but it's nothing compared to the trouble she'll find at the space center.