He forgot about his wet shoes. “Are you lying?”

“Answer my question.”

He wanted to strangle her. “If you’re lying, I’m going to be more pissed than you can imagine because, despite everything I’ve said, I want a baby with you. Tell me the truth right now!”

Her eyes seemed to melt. “Really? You really do want a baby?”

Now he was the belligerent one. “Don’t screw with me about this, Lucy. It’s too important.”

She turned away. “Mom! Dad!”

“We’re in here.” A male voice boomed from the back of the house.

He was seriously going to kill her, but first he had to follow her through the grand house into a roomy, sun-splashed kitchen that smelled of coffee and something baking. The squared-off bay window held a trestle table that looked out over the autumn garden. President Jorik sat at one end, the Wall Street Journal open in front of her, another paper folded at her side. She wore a white robe and gray slippers. Even without makeup, she was a beautiful woman, in addition to being an imposing one. Her husband sat across from her in jeans and a Saturday-morning sweatshirt. Although her hair was combed, his wasn’t, and he hadn’t yet shaved. Panda hoped like hell they were both on their second cup of coffee, or this was going to go even worse than he expected.

“Mom, Dad, you remember Patrick Shade.” Lucy said his name as if it were spoiled meat. “My guard dog.”

He couldn’t afford to be awestruck by either of them, and he nodded.

President Jorik pushed aside her Wall Street Journal. Mat Jorik closed the cover of his iPad and pulled off his reading glasses. Panda wondered if they knew about the baby … or if there even was a baby. Leave it to Lucy to toss him into the lions’ den without a clue. At least he’d been spared the presence of her sisters and brother. It was Saturday, so they must be sleeping in. He wished her parents had stayed in bed, too. “Ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Jorik.”

Lucy wanted her pound of flesh. She flopped into an empty chair next to her father, leaving Panda standing in front of them like a peasant brought before royalty. She glared at her mother. “You will never guess what he just said. He said he’d marry me if that’s what I want.”

President Jorik actually rolled her eyes. Her husband shook his head. “Even stupider than I figured.”

“He’s not stupid.” Lucy propped her feet on the wooden trestle under the table. “He’s … Okay, he’s sort of stupid, but so am I. And he has a big heart.”

Panda had heard enough. He gave Lucy what he hoped was his most menacing glare, then turned to her parents. “I’d like permission to marry your daughter.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re way ahead of yourself. First you have to tell them all the reasons you’re unworthy.”

Up until now, he hadn’t understood much of what she was doing, but he did understand this. She wanted him to rip off the Band-Aid fast.

“Would you like some coffee, Patrick?” President Jorik gestured toward the pot on the counter.

“No, ma’am.” She’d been his commander in chief, and he realized he was automatically standing at attention. The position felt good, and he stayed that way, feet together, chest out, eyes forward. “I grew up rough in Detroit, ma’am. My father dealt drugs, and my mother was an addict who supported her habit any way she could. I did some drugs myself. I have a juvenile record, spent time in foster homes, and I lost my brother to gang violence when he was way too young. I barely made it through high school, then went into the military. I served in Iraq and Afghanistan before I joined the Detroit police.” He was going to get it all out if it killed him. “I have a college degree from Wayne State, and—”

“College degrees …” Lucy interrupted. “He has his master’s. That used to bother me, but I’ve decided to overlook it.”

She was deliberately making him sweat bullets, but he was perversely glad she was forcing him to lay it all out. He switched to parade rest, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes just over their heads. “As I said, Wayne State. The only time I’ve been near an Ivy was working security for a Hollywood actress at the Harvard-Yale football game.”

“He’s got good table manners,” Lucy said. “And, let’s face it, he’s hot.”

“I can see that,” her mother agreed in a shockingly suggestive voice, which made him wonder exactly how different she and Lucy really were.

He plowed on. “There was a time when I stayed drunk for too long and got into too many fights because of it.” He clenched his hands behind his back. “But the main thing you need to know about me …” He made himself look at them. “I had problems with PTSD.” He swallowed. “It seems to be behind me, but I’m not taking any chances, and I’m in counseling again. For a long time, I was afraid to care too much about anybody for fear I’d hurt them, but I don’t feel like that anymore. I do cuss, though, and I have a temper.”

President Jorik glanced at her husband. “No wonder she fell in love with him. He’s just like you.”

“Worse,” Lucy said.

Her father kicked back in his chair. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Panda wasn’t letting any of these Joriks sidetrack him. He unclasped his hands. “With my past, I’m sure I’m not what you have in mind for your daughter.”

“Mr. Shade, none of your past is news to Mat or myself,” the president said. “You don’t really think we would have hired you to guard Lucy if we hadn’t had you thoroughly investigated.”

That shouldn’t have taken him aback, but it did.

“You’re a decorated soldier,” she said. “You served your country bravely, and your record with the Detroit Police Department is exemplary.”

“But,” Lucy said, “he can be a real idiot.”

“So can you,” her father pointed out.

Panda let his arms fall to his sides. “I also love your daughter very much. As you can see. Because if I didn’t, I sure as hell—pardon me, ma’am—wouldn’t be going through all this. Now, with all due respect, I need to talk to Lucy privately.”

Ms. Maybe-I’m-Pregnant-Maybe-I’m-Not suddenly turned wary. “Muffins first. You love muffins.”

“Lucy. Now.” He jerked his head toward the doorway.

She hadn’t finished punishing him, and she took forever getting out of her chair, looking exactly like a sulky teenager, which seemed to amuse her parents. “She used to be such a sweet girl,” her mother said to her father.

“Your influence,” he said right back to the former president.

If it hadn’t been for the baby issue, he wouldn’t have begrudged any of them their fun.

Her father wasn’t done. “Maybe you two would like to settle this in Mabel?” He made it both a question and a mandate.

The president smiled at her husband.

Panda had no idea what was happening, but Lucy seemed to understand. “I guess.” She displayed zero enthusiasm as she sauntered toward the back door.

He strode past her in what he hoped was an assertive manner, held the door open, then followed her across a stone terrace and into a backyard with well-defined gardens and mature shade trees. Lucy’s sneakers swished in the fallen leaves as she followed a brick path around what he guessed was an herb garden toward a large garage. As they got closer, she cut behind it onto a dirt path that led to an ancient yellow Winnebago. He finally remembered. This was Mabel, the motor home Lucy and Mat Jorik had traveled in all those years ago when they’d picked up Nealy Case at a Pennsylvania truck stop.

The door creaked on its rusty hinges as Lucy opened it. He stepped inside the drab, musty interior. There was a tiny kitchen; a saggy, built-in couch with faded plaid upholstery; and a door at the back that must lead to a bedroom. The small banquette table held a baseball cap, a notebook, a bottle of green nail polish, and an empty Coke can. Her siblings must use this place as a hangout.

If he asked Lucy why her mother had suggested they come here, Lucy would give him one of those looks that said he was a moron, so he didn’t ask. “This thing run?”

“Not anymore.” She plunked down on the sofa, picked up a paperback copy of Lord of the Flies, and began to read.

He tugged on his shirt collar. The place might be sentimental to the Joriks, but it was claustrophobic to him. Are you really pregnant? Do you really love me? What the hell did I say that was so wrong anyway? All questions he wanted to ask, but couldn’t yet.

He opened his collar button. His head nearly touched the ceiling, and the walls were closing in on him. He wedged himself sideways onto the banquette bench across from her. Even from here, he could smell the fabric softener from her red pajamas, a scent that shouldn’t have been erotic but was. “I told Bree about her father,” he said.

She didn’t look up from the book. “I know. She called me.”

He stretched his cramped legs across the motor home. She turned a page. His nerves had stretched to the breaking point. “Now that you’ve had your fun, are you ready to talk seriously?”

“Not really.”

If anybody else had given him such a hard time, he’d have either walked away or punched them, but he’d hurt Lucy badly, and she deserved whatever blood she could draw. She’d drawn a lot.

He made himself accept the fact that there was no baby. She’d lied. As painful as that knowledge was, he had to accept it. He couldn’t even let himself be angry, because her lie had accomplished what he hadn’t yet worked up the courage to do. Bring them together.

With a sense of resignation, he gave her the ammunition she needed to attack. “You won’t like this, but at the time, I really did think I was doing the right thing by breaking it off with you.”

She slammed the book shut, her icy reserve shattered. “I’m sure you did. No need to ask Lucy what she thought about the situation. No need to give her a vote or a voice. Go ahead and make all the decisions for the little woman yourself.”