“We’re going to talk, right?” I asked, staring down at my plate.

“We are going to talk. But let’s get through dinner, first.”

“I can do that,” I grinned.

I bit into the pot roast and instantly I was seven years old, sitting in a homey kitchen with a million savory smells floating throughout the room. Cynthia was politely chuckling at something Jack’s friend Gabe had said, and Gabe’s wife circled the table in a light blue apron, spooning out vegetables onto everyone’s plate.

“How is it?” Jared asked between bites, bringing me back to the present.

I shook my head, searching for the words that would do the taste I was experiencing justice. “I haven’t had a meal like this in a long, long time,” I chewed, “since I was a girl. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Jared shrugged. “It’s my mother’s recipe.”

I smiled at that. It was the first time he’d ever mentioned anything about his life. “Are you close with your mother?” I asked, settling into my chair.

“Pretty close. I spent a lot of time away from her when I was young.”

I raised my eyebrows with interest, waiting for him to elaborate.

“School was very easy for Claire and me—we finished at a young age—and we went on to train in more special areas.”

“Special as in what you can do? Fight, I mean.” Although I was prepared for an outlandish explanation, I was surprised that it began in his childhood.

“Right,” Jared confirmed. “My father taught us much of what we know; he took us all over the world to round out our training.”

“What kind of training?” I asked.

Jared squirmed in his chair. My insides wrenched as I watched him struggle; I wanted to somehow make it easier for him. I reached across the table and slid my fingers between each of his.

“This is why I’m here, right?” I said, offering a reassuring smile. Jared relaxed a bit and gently squeezed my fingers.

“We were trained to defend ourselves, to defend someone else, and received all the training each branch of military receives, including tactical, structure penetration, reconnaissance and patrolling, hand to hand combat, demolitions, weapons, field medicine…you get the idea.”

“Why?” I said in a more incredulous tone than I’d intended.

Jared took another bite, considering my question. I couldn’t wait for him to decide the best answer.

“Your father was in the security business?” I prompted.

“More along the lines of security detail.”
“Bodyguard stuff,” I nodded.

Jared chuckled. “Yes, bodyguard stuff.”

“So Claire went through the same training?” I imagined tiny Claire training with the Navy Seals and shuddered. I wasn’t sure if it was because I feared for her safety, or because she was even more dangerous than I had previously thought.