McCabe

by Jenna Ryan

  “If James so much as scratches Parker, I’m going to hurt you so badly you’ll beg for a bullet.”

  “Apparently you picked up a trick or two from Mockerie before you died.”

  “He rubs off. That’s what worries me.”

  “Hello,” a female voice behind them said. “My name is Carol Chambers. Can I help you?”

  She wasn’t as young as Rowena expected, but she was lovely just the same, and somehow familiar. Blonde, soft spoken, welcoming smile. In her late fifties with a manner as smooth as cream.

  “We need a room,” Rowena told her.

  The manager clasped polite hands. “We’re fully booked at the moment…” She trailed off, tilted her head. “Excuse me, but do I know you?”

  Rowena shook her head. “I doubt it. I’m not famous, just extremely tired. We can afford the Hut for a night.”

  “You know about the Hut?”

  “I’ve been here a time or two in the past.”

  “I see.” The woman continued to study her. Without diverting her eyes, she said, “Gabriel, sign these people in. Give them the keycards for the Hut. Please accept my apology for any inconvenience, Ms.…”

  Here they went. “O’Brien,” Rowena supplied. She shot a half-lidded look at the nearest camera, then brought her gaze back to Carol Chambers’s face.

  If comprehension had dawned, the woman masked it well. Extending her hand, she said warmly, “Welcome to the Lily Koi, Ms. O’Brien. I hope you have an eventful stay.”

  …

  James Mockerie often rose before dawn. He might sleep some later, he might not. Tuning out the world would depend largely on his mood and whatever tangled developments might arise from his business holdings. All things considered, his corporate mousetrap had been pretty much status quo lately.

  He still thought about his cohort, Ben Satyr from time to time. However, any twinges of sadness over Satyr’s death were fading. In every other respect, his employees were, for the most part, doing what he paid them to do. Running his various businesses.

  He could pull up a picture of Rowena on his computer, stare at it for a while, then blast it to pieces as the first rays of the sun crept over the desert landscape. But he’d done that so many times lately, he was tired of it. He finally had the kid. It had taken him long enough to find the little brat, but perseverance had paid off. Granted, he wasn’t sure what he planned to do with him. After all, how much of what he was could he impart to a toddler? But he supposed he could at least show him how to use a knife on a gourd. Or maybe a small animal.

  The kid struck him as squeamish in that regard. Rowena’s fault, he thought in disgust. On the other hand…

  A nasty smile tugged on his lips. He supposed he could take some pleasure from simply perverting the child. Parker was half Rowena after all. By hurting the kid he’d be hurting her. True she’d never know it. But he would.

  When his computer signaled that someone was attempting to Skype him, he experienced a momentary surge of irritation. It was 4:00 a.m., for fuck’s sake. This better be urgent.

  Barefoot and inhaling the smoke from one of his slim cigars, he punched a button to open the communication.

  “Ye-es.” He drew the word out deliberately, then added a silky, “Bear in mind I haven’t had my morning coffee yet.”

  “I believe this may be important, Mr. Mockerie.”

  “You believe?” His brows went up under the broad brimmed hat he habitually wore. “Well, let’s hope I believe it as well.”

  Carol Chambers’s features appeared calm and unruffled, but he imagined it was a prodigious bluff on her part. Unless she was preparing to reveal a royal flush of devastation, that attractive face of hers might not be quite so unruffled later this morning.

  “A woman checked into the Lily Koi a few minutes ago, sir. She was with a man. I didn’t recognize him.”

  “So far, so not worth disturbing me.”

  “I have a visual from one of our security cameras. It’s… Well, you’ll see for yourself in a minute. I’m sending it now.”

  He waited, smoked, wondered idly how Ms. Chambers would look with a few bloody tattoos on her throat and collarbone. He could be quite the inventive artist when he put his hand to it.

  “Four a.m.,” he reminded her when the image failed to appear. “No coffee. Even less patience.”

  In front of him, the screen wobbled and slowly cleared. He saw McCabe first. Instantly, the red haze swept in. Then he saw the woman and everything—the screen, his muscles even the blood-red haze itself—froze.

  She was staring straight at the camera, defiance shining boldly in her ice-blue eyes.

  He fought to breathe until the smoke in his lungs threatened to choke him. Rage, white hot and blinding, flooded him, broke the momentary spell, and surged to his vocal cords.

  He slammed his computer closed, turned, and flung the chair next to him at the wall.

  “Rowena!” Her name burst from his throat. “Rowena!” His breath heaved in and out, like a bull, primed and waiting to charge. Desperate to charge. To break something. Kill something. Someone.

  “Rowena!” He repeated her name in a livid rasp. “With McCabe!” Still struggling to breathe, he spit on the floor.

  A full two minutes passed before he regained control of his motor functions. When he did, he looked up at the ceiling of his desert house, closed his eyes, and began to laugh.

  Chapter Three

  So, here they were, in one of the sleaziest motels Las Vegas had to offer, far from the Strip, but nowhere near far enough away from James for her liking.

  Tibet might be good, or Mongolia. She could hide there. And maybe once she had Parker, she would.

  The monastery in India hadn’t worked. Jesus, the father of her son, a bastard with no soul, had murdered a monk. Monster was much too generous a term for him.

  She and McCabe hadn’t hung out in the Hut at the Lily Koi for long. They’d wanted James to see her on the security video. Judging from Carol Chambers’s reaction as she’d personally escorted them upstairs, he would be doing so in short order. Just as soon as Ms. Chambers herself was certain.

  She’d need to be sure. A smart person wouldn’t dare approach James with a bulletin of this magnitude unless she or he knew there was no chance of a mistake.

  Both the Hut and the Lily Koi were history. So were another thirty-six hours of Parker’s young life.

  Restless after a long night and an even longer day, Rowena paced the room. It contained a huge vibrating bed, a mirrored ceiling, and a tufted rug that probably housed more vermin than the trash cans in the alley outside. She could ignore the view. Ignoring McCabe was a much more difficult task.

  Everything about him drew her in. The look of him, the scent of his skin and hair, the way he touched her, the way she reacted to him… Maybe they should have taken the time to discover each other before diving hot and heavy into a romantic relationship. What had she really known about him? Not much more then than she did now. Something about him had excited her, that element of danger lurking just beneath the surface. And of course, they’d been in Paris at the time. There’d been romance everywhere.

  God knew, the sex had been spectacular as well.

  In the end though, what she’d felt for him had been off the scale. Yes, she’d loved the danger aspect, but there’d been more to it than that. She’d loved the man, and she’d believed he loved her. Until he’d vanished…

  “I tucked it away,” she said as she passed by the end of the bed where he was working. “Everything I felt for you, everything I’d been foolish enough to expect from you. The second thing wasn’t fair, it wasn’t on you, but you knew about the first and you left the country anyway.” She paused to study him. “You knew I wasn’t the type to pine.”

  “Yeah, I knew.” He kept his gaze on the screen of his laptop. “Believe it or not, I even understood.”

  She refused to sigh. Because he was helping her. And because for the life of her she still couldn’t see how
James had succeeded in duping her so completely. Although—it was just barely possible that the anger she’d felt for McCabe had clouded her judgment where James was concerned.

  Cooling her thoughts, she ran the fingers of both hands through her hair and gave her head a firm shake. “Okay, I’m done. The past is the past. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  He glanced up. “Saying what’s on your mind is one of the things I admire about you, Ro. And you know as well as I do, it isn’t over. Where Mockerie’s concerned the past is never over.”

  Of course it wasn’t. She couldn’t imagine it ever really would be. However… “I have to get around my feelings for you and for James and live in the moment. My son needs me. Have you turned up any potential places where James might be holding Parker?”

  “I’m not sure. My spies say there’s been more activity than usual—quite a bit more actually—around his house in Costa Rica.”

  “Is James in Costa Rica?”

  “No.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Stateside. Either here or in New Mexico. My trackers often have trouble keeping tabs on him between here and there. The silver bullet of a car he drives is the same model driven by several of his top executives.”

  Rowena’s nod was grim. “They need to be able to move fast between James’s various West Coast businesses. Everyone of note drives a silver Corvette. He gave me one for our six-month anniversary. Cherry red. Parker loved to ride in it. The motion put him right to sleep when he was fussy. Damn.” She spun away as tears threatened. “I don’t know why—call it motherly intuition—but I’m thinking Parker’s not with him.”

  McCabe watched her circle the room. She felt his gaze on her as she had so often in the past. It was aggravating. And sexy as hell.

  “Do you want to tell me why you believe that?”

  She offered him a regretful smile over her shoulder. “James doesn’t like kids. They’re noisy, messy, inquisitive—all the things he despises.”

  Rather than ask the expected question, McCabe chuckled. “Jesus, that’s so Mockerie. His kid, someone else’s, he wouldn’t see enough of a difference to make the natural separation. You figure the time he spends with Parker will be limited?”

  “Very much so.” When she glanced back, she swore she could see the wheels turning in his brain. “He’ll want an heir to his business empire, McCabe. I’ve been running it over in my mind since we left Colombia, and that’s the most logical answer I can come up with. He’ll do what he can to mold Parker as a child, have others work on him, train him if you will, when he’s not around and see what develops. See how Parker develops.” She shuddered. “I can’t go beyond that point in my head. I have to get him back.”

  “Working on it.” McCabe returned to his computer, tapped the screen. “There’s activity in Juatra, that’s a village in Costa Rica where he’s had a house for five years. There’s also stuff happening in Oregon.”

  Her brows went up and she joined him on the bed. Hooking a foot underneath her leg, she peered over his shoulder. “Still using Old Spice soap, huh?” she noted idly.

  He tossed her a grin that her heart and stomach really didn’t need to see. He’d told her once that his father had used it, that he’d actually bought McCabe his first bar. Not that it was an overly important thing, but any time he’d talked about his father Rowena had noticed a softening in his tone.

  Because the memory was just a little too clear for her liking, she nudged his ribs from behind and forced his attention back to the computer. “Where in Oregon? If he has a house there, it’s a new acquisition.”

  “Estate, on the coast, north of Portland. There have been off and on comings and goings over the past few months.”

  “He only took Parker a month ago.”

  “Yep. It’s a six-month increase of activity in Costa Rica.”

  “Which means he’s either been prepping for Parker’s arrival in one of those places, or the increases are business related and totally irrelevant to our quest.”

  “His yacht interests me.”

  “The Irish Lady? He uses it once a year, max. He’s not a fan of the water, just wanted it because it was vintage. You know, a 1920s ship, coveted by more collectors than you can count. He keeps it clean, in running order, and anchored at a private marina near Miami.”

  McCabe clicked the mouse, scrolled. “My team in Miami informs me that James Mockerie’s vintage yacht is in the process of being relocated to Laurel Key.”

  “Really? Does he own the island?”

  “No.”

  Intrigued, Rowena eased forward until they were cheek to cheek regarding the screen. “When you say ‘in the process of being moved,’ do you mean at this very minute?”

  “As we sit here in this crappy motel room a mere thirty-six hours after our arrival in Las Vegas.”

  Where they’d also slept fitfully—at least she had—on opposite sides of the bed and listened to the endless whir and ding of slot machines in the substandard casino that shared a wall with their room.

  The sleeping arrangements didn’t matter. Rowena reminded herself of that now as she had when they’d drawn the blackout curtains. Getting Parker back was paramount.

  “Why Laurel Key?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate.

  “Because it’s available. And safe.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s a long story. Convoluted,” he added, tossing her a look.

  Reaching past him, Rowena closed his laptop, sat back, and tugged on his shoulder until he turned completely. “Talk to me, McCabe. This mystery aspect of yours is fine in the normal scheme of things, but we’re talking about my son’s life. James has an unpredictable nature and an overriding need for revenge. What makes Laurel Key safe?” She waved an arm. “Whiskey’s on the dresser if it’ll help knock down the barriers you’re always so determined to keep in place. Just this once though, please, talk to me.”

  He didn’t stand or put her off with double talk. What he did do was narrow his eyes at her and let several seconds tick past before he spoke.

  “It’s like Romulan space,” he said finally. “Or more aptly, the Neutral Zone from Star Trek.”

  “Go on.” Rowena was fine with analogies. “No wars in the Neutral Zone.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Who owns this particular zone?”

  “A woman named Amanda Lee.”

  Rather than fix her gaze on him—far too dangerous—Rowena drew circles on the Native American bedspread. Pausing, she frowned and looked up. “Why does that name sound familiar to me?”

  “She was a child actor back in the late thirties. B-movies mostly. Usually the sweet-as-pie kid next door or in school. She made a pretty good living at it until she was about fifteen. Unfortunately, like a lot of child stars, she didn’t transition well. By the time she turned twenty-five she was on her way to becoming an adult movie queen.”

  “Right.” It came back to Rowena then. Full body image of a voluptuous brunette in a garter belt and a Cross Your Heart bra, smoking a cigarette in a long holder, staring at the camera like she owned it. “How old is she now?”

  “In her eighties. She’s stone deaf without her hearing aids, and her vision’s not what it used to be without her glasses, but she’s still sharper mentally than most people in their forties.”

  “Does she have a staff of people living with her?”

  “She has Daisy, who’s sixty-eight and who’s been with her for twenty plus years.”

  When he stopped, Rowena smothered a sigh. Sliding from the bed, she crossed to the dresser and retrieved the mostly full bottle of Jack Black he’d bought after leaving the Lily Koi.

  “It’s like pulling wisdom teeth getting you to talk when you don’t want to, but I need to know what’s going on. Drink, loosen up, spill. What’s Amanda Lee to James?”

  A faint half smile curved McCabe’s lips as he swirled the contents of the bottle. “She’s his great aunt.”

  “
I— What?” Sinking to her knees on the carpet, Rowena looked up into his eyes. “James has a great aunt who was a porn star?” She sat back on her heels, surprised and mildly offended. “Why didn’t I know that?” She surged up again. “Why do you know that?”

  The half smile widened as McCabe’s eyes flicked downward. “Tank tops really work for you, Ro. They work even better for me.”

  “Shit.” His remark caught her off guard. Turning her own eyes to the ceiling, she closed them, then stood. “You’re not going to distract me by digging up memories and feelings of lust.”

  “You’ve had lustful thoughts about me?”

  “No. Only when… Okay, that’s it. I’m on my feet and out of range.” And suddenly extremely hot. She’d probably unzipped the very jeans he was wearing more than once. They were old enough and worn enough, and they clung so damn perfectly… “Jesus!” Swinging away, she struggled to erase the images of the past from her mind. Of course, controlling her erratic breathing would probably be beneficial as well.

  She didn’t hear him get up, only knew he had when he pushed a glass with a measure of whiskey in it into her hand. “Sláinte, sweetheart. We have a past. A combustible one. Accept it. I know about Mockerie’s aunt because I know about Mockerie. I’ve known about him since we were kids. We grew up together. His family was mine and vice versa. I’m still in close touch with some of them, Amanda being one of my favorites.”

  Had she known that? On some level, Rowena thought she had. Certainly, her gut feeling had told her that James and McCabe went back a very long way. “So, you were friends. I get that.” She hesitated then sipped the whiskey. “Good friends?”

  “As very young kids, yes. The older we got, the more we realized we weren’t going to stay that way.” He downed his drink in a single swallow. “There’s a lot to it, Ro. Backstory that doesn’t need to be told right now. I grew up with Amanda Lee. She didn’t want any wars unfolding around her. Thus, the Neutral Zone. Wherever she lives is consecrated ground. No battles, no turmoil. We’ve always respected that, and her.”

  Rowena nodded. “Boundaries,” she said simply. “Sometimes we need them.”