“That was last week,” Blair said as she stared at the photo in shock. “We’d just left the dentist’s office and were walking to the Stop & Go to get a few groceries. Who took that and why did they send it to . . . to Gr-Grant? Oh my God, he’s alive!”
She buried her head in Drake’s shoulder again as he looked at Ian. The retired SEAL shrugged. “We don’t know who sent it or what their motive is. That’s why we’re here. We believe someone from Grant’s past found out he’s alive, and it looks like they know Trevor is his son, but beyond that, we have no idea what’s going on.”
“So, he sent you to talk to us? He didn’t bother to come here himself?” Drake asked, his eyes flaring in anger once more.
“No, he’s here. In Hazard Falls. He came to us for help after he got the photo. He was coming here, regardless, to watch over you himself, covertly, but once he found out you’d gotten the photo of him, he knew he was going to have to let you know he was alive. We thought it was best to lay the groundwork before he showed up out of the blue. I’m supposed to call him when you’re ready to see him.”
The couple stared at him a moment before looking at each other. They seemed to communicate without speaking. Finally, Drake nodded. “We’re ready.”
Chapter Six
Grant nervously tapped on the steering wheel of the second car Ian had rented, as Jordyn sat in the passenger seat. Carter’s woman was also a spy with Deimos, but Grant had never met her until his rescue. A talented sniper, she’d taken out several of his captors before they’d ever known what was happening. Grant would’ve preferred torturing the bastards, as they’d done to him over the years, but getting out of there alive had been more important than revenge.
Ian and Carter had been at the home the Hadley boys had grown up in for almost an hour now, and the suspense was killing Grant. Following the death of their father, Drake had continued living in the house, commuting to his construction jobs and working on his side business of handcrafted furniture, which had still been in its infancy. After discussing things with Grant, Drake had planned to eventually buy him out of the property they’d both inherited. At the time, Grant thought he’d be spending the rest of his life in the outskirts of D.C., where he and Blair had planned to settle down. In the months leading up to his capture, he’d been seriously considering taking a stateside position with the CIA or switching teams and signing on with the Secret Service. The latter would’ve been simpler considering Blair had thought that was who he worked for anyway. With agents assigned to visiting foreign diplomats all the time, the five languages he spoke—English, Spanish, Korean, Mandarin Chinese, and French—would’ve had him in high demand.
Jordyn’s phone must have vibrated because she pulled it out from where she’d tucked it under her thigh and swiped the screen. “Hi, babe.” She glanced at Grant. “We’ll be there in a minute, if he doesn’t crash into a tree—his nerves are strung so tight, he’s ready to pop a vein bulging at his temple.” A smile crossed her face. “Yeah, the same one Ian gets when he’s ready to blow a gasket. See you in a minute.”
As she disconnected the call, Grant took a deep breath, let it out, then put the car in gear. Jordyn had been right; it only took a minute to drive up the road from where they’d been parked out of sight from anyone passing by and turn into the driveway leading up to the house where he’d spent his childhood. He stared at it as he pulled in next to the other rental. It looked so familiar yet so different. The old gray siding had been replaced by a soft beige. The porch and trim seemed to have gotten a new coat of white paint recently. Flower beds around the perimeter of the porch were in full bloom with reds, whites, pinks, and purples—something Grant hadn’t seen since his mother had been alive. An American flag hung from a pole attached to one of the porch columns holding up its roof.
As he climbed from the vehicle, Grant’s gut was in knots. The last time he’d ever felt this nervous was the first time he’d kissed Blair at the beginning of their junior year in high school. It’d been during a pep rally for the varsity football team as they prepared to play against their biggest rivals. Grant had fallen for the blonde-haired beauty he’d first met in French class during their freshman year. It’d taken him another two years, and dating a few other girls, before he’d finally worked up the courage to ask Blair out. Their relationship had survived them going to different colleges, him on a full scholarship to Georgetown University and her to University of Kansas, her father’s alma mater. After they’d both graduated, she’d joined him in D.C. and was hired by the French embassy to translate non-governmental documents and correspondence.
During his senior year in college, Grant had put in an application for the Secret Service, thinking that being multilingual would give him an edge over other candidates during the hiring process. However, two weeks later, he’d been approached by a CIA recruiting agent. After having lunch with the woman, Grant had been intrigued. Then, the more he thought about it the more he believed he could do the job. He’d signed on at twenty-two and spent the next two years training to be a spy for the US, before starting fieldwork. One of the few drawbacks, in addition to being out of the country a lot, was that he hadn’t been able to tell his family or Blair what he was truly doing for the government. At the time, he hadn’t thought it would be that big of a deal. Now he knew how wrong he’d been.
As he stood there, staring at the closed front door, Jordyn came around the back of the vehicle and stopped next to him. She put a reassuring hand on his arm. “At first, it’s going to be rough . . . for all of you. Just remember, no matter how tempers may flare up, deep down, I’m sure they’re happy you’re alive.”
“And they hate me for not telling them before now.”
Sighing, she cocked her head toward the front door. “It’ll be okay. Let’s get this over with, so we can find out who wanted them to know you’re not six feet under. I don’t like you standing out here in the open.”
He didn’t like it either, despite knowing several of Ian’s contacts were keeping an eye on the property. There couldn’t be a good reason why someone had taken those photos and sent them to him and Blair. Since very few people knew he was alive, it was a fair bet it was his past coming back to bite him in the ass.
Forcing himself to walk toward the five steps leading up to the front porch and door, he steeled himself against seeing the woman he still loved for the first time in almost eight years. After seeing several pictures of her on social media, which he’d avoided like the plague until yesterday, he thought she was even more beautiful, now, with the curves that had come from motherhood. But she wasn’t his woman anymore; she was Drake’s. And, once again, the thought tore at his gut.
As he reached the top of the stairs, the interior door swung open, revealing Carter. The man pushed open the screen door and let them enter. “In the living room.”
Three more steps were all it took for his past and his present to collide. His gaze immediately landed on Blair and Drake where they sat next to each other on the couch. Blair gasped the moment she saw him, her entire body trembling as new tears flowed from her already red, swollen eyes. Meanwhile Drake stared at Grant as if he couldn’t comprehend his brother was really standing there after all this time. Seconds passed—everyone remained quiet. The only sound was the ticking of the old grandfather clock, which had been passed down through three generations of Hadleys, from where it stood in the corner of the room.
Grant couldn’t find his voice, his gaze locked onto where Drake was clutching Blair’s hand. His brother gave it a squeeze, then let go and stood. He circled around the side of the coffee table. Grant couldn’t read his expression. When Drake stopped in front of him, Grant only had a split-second to see rage flare in his brother’s eyes before a punch was thrown.
Blair’s voice rang out, “Drake! Don’t!”
No one else said a word or moved to interfere. This was between the two brothers.
Grant welcomed the pain that bloomed in his jaw as he took a step to the side
to regain his balance. His hands went up in an automatic defensive gesture. He’d give Drake the one shot, but that was it. He’d deserved it for not telling them he was alive, but he also had anger simmering just below the surface. If Blair’s and Trevor’s lives weren’t in danger, this would be a much different reunion. Hell, there wouldn’t have even been a reunion.
Shifting his jaw, he ran his tongue along his teeth to make sure none were loose as he glared at Drake. “Feel better?”
Drake snorted. “No—I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. How—how could you not tell us you were alive, you bastard? It’s been years—what feels like a fucking lifetime—and there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of you. Hell, even after all this time, there are days when I wished I could call you to ask for your input on some stupid matter—it doesn’t make a difference what it was—but then I remember I can’t. How could you let us continue to believe you were dead?” His face reddened. “You’re my fucking brother for God’s sake! My flesh and blood!”
His gaze flickered to Blair and then back to Drake. “I’m sorry. Believe me when I say it was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. I couldn’t . . . I just . . .”
As if someone had turned on a faucet that was connected to the two men, tears began to roll down their cheeks. Drake closed the distance between them and threw his arms around Grant, who did the same. He could feel the sobs the younger man worked hard to keep quiet, while trying to keep his own in check. A minute or two passed before Drake took a shuddering breath, then stepped back, wiping his eyes with his hands.
At some point, Blair had stood and approached them. She seemed hesitant about moving any closer to Grant. Trying to encourage her to take the last few steps to him—he didn’t want to overwhelm her more than he already had—he held out his hand. She stared at it a moment, then slowly lifted her own quivering hand and placed it in his. The moment they touched, she let out another gasp and then suddenly she was in his arms. This was what he’d been dreaming of since the day he’d been captured. All he’d wanted was one more minute to be this close to her. One more hour taking in her beauty. Just one more day making love with his sweet Blair before he died. As days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, he’d never thought he’d hold her again, much less see her.
Now, he held on for dear life, knowing when he let go, it would never happen again. She was Drake’s wife, which made Grant her brother-in-law. He didn’t know how the hell he was going to get through the next few days until they figured out who’d manipulated this unplanned reunion. When they did, and after they eliminated the threat against Blair and Trevor, Grant would graciously bow out of their lives and return to Florida. Maybe when he got there, he’d drink himself to death.
Three hours later, Grant had convinced Ian, Carter, and Jordyn they could leave Hazard Falls—the four special-ops guys, who’d been watching over the family, would be sticking around until they were no longer needed. Ian had a wife and new baby waiting for him at home, and Carter and Jordyn probably had to go out and save the world once more. A small part of Grant missed the call of duty, but that was his past. After he put an end to the person stalking him and his family, Grant would go back to being a blue-collar worker in Tampa, who drank Budweiser while watching the various sport and history channels. Maybe he’d get a dog—at least that would give him a reason to get up every morning on his days off from work. During the week, he could bring it with him to work—a few of the guys brought their dogs to the sites. One of the first things they erected at each job site was a fenced-in run in the shade where the three big dogs could get fresh air and play without getting into trouble.
Yeah, a nice, big, badass pit bull, with a heart of gold, would be great. Grant silently vowed to visit an animal shelter when he got home to find the perfect companion to keep his mind off the fact his brother was married to the woman he loved. Not that he honestly thought it would work, because, yup, he still loved her, even after all those years apart. Even after finding out she was in love with Drake. Not that Grant would ever admit that to anyone but himself.
Sitting with Lane, Drake, and Blair in the country kitchen he’d grown up in, Grant eyed the updates that’d been made since he’d last been there. Appliances had been upgraded to more modern models, the old cracked tile on the floor had been replaced with wood, and the 1970s flower wallpaper had been removed, making way for a bright yellow shade of paint. Beautiful new cabinets had been installed, and Grant guessed Drake had made them by hand. He’d always been talented when it came to woodwork.
Blair disconnected a call on her cell phone and set it on the kitchen table. “That was Danielle; she’s bringing the kids home.” Her gaze shifted to Grant, and he saw a pound of guilt in her eyes. “Trevor doesn’t know you’re his father. He’s too young to understand.” She hesitated before adding, “Maybe when he’s older . . .”
Despite the fact they’d never met, it grated on him that his own son would be calling him “Uncle Grant,” but Blair was right—Trevor was far too young to understand what’d happened. Hell, Grant was still having a difficult time with it, and he wasn’t a little kid.
He nodded. “It’s okay; I understand.”
Relief pushed away some of the guilt in Blair’s eyes but not completely. Part of Grant felt bad for her—this had to be so hard for her—but the other half tried to convince him her guilty feelings were justified. Unfortunately, he had no one else to blame for her falling into Drake’s arms but himself and the North Koreans. Grant had selfishly signed up with the CIA, not thinking for one moment a mission would go to hell in a hand basket. He’d been young and cocky, certain he was invincible and could outsmart the enemy before returning to his alter-ego life with Blair. He’d been a bastard to lie to her and then put her through his presumed death. He deserved everything that’d happened back here in the States while he’d been held captive. So why couldn’t he keep his gaze off her?
Lane cleared his throat and stood. “I should get going. Grant, I’d think it’d be best if we bring in a few friends we can trust. I have no doubt Sawyer’s men are good at what they do, but they’re not from Hazard. Locals will have a better chance of noticing anyone out of place.”
“Who do you have in mind?” Drake asked.
“Shane, Tuck, Hank, Seth, Tad, and the chief, for now. Maybe Lou too—she can keep an eye out for any strangers walking into Bar None.” Grant remembered Betty Lou Davidson; she and Lane had dated in high school. Her father owned the bar, or at least he had when Grant had lived in Hazard. Some of the others Lane had mentioned were familiar to him, although he only vaguely recalled Tucker Jones and Seth Parker. They worked for Shane Wilson at the Red River Ranch, otherwise known as the Triple R. Hank Mathers also worked for Shane, but he’d been in Grant’s high school class and they’d both played on the varsity baseball team. Grant had no idea who Tad was, but, apparently, everyone else did.
“That’s an awful lot of people,” Grant replied.
“And I trust every one of them.” The statement had been said in a matter-of-fact tone, but there had also been a bit of a challenge in there.
He thought about it for a moment. The man was right. Things had changed since Grant had last been in Hazard Falls—there had been a slight population boom. When he’d lived there, the population had been around 3000, but according to Google, about 800 more had been added to the census. Some people had moved away, while others had found a new life in the small town—he would be a stranger to some of the residents. An outsider. And until he knew who’d targeted Blair and Trevor, he needed all the help he could get. “All right.”
Drake had gotten to his feet and was leaning against the kitchen counter. “Tell everyone to come here at seven tonight. We’ll have to fill them in, and I’m sure they’ll be as shocked as we were that Grant’s alive. It’s probably best to hit them with that here.”
Lane nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements. Call me if there’s any
trouble.”
Turning on his heel, the lawman headed for the front door, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.
And then there were three.
Taking a deep breath, Grant stood. “Is the Moody Moon Motel still open? I’ll get a room there.”
“No!” It wasn’t clear who was more surprised at Blair’s barked word—her, Grant, or Drake. She glanced between the two men. “I mean, that’s . . . that’s not necessary. There’s . . . um . . . there’s a finished apartment over Drake’s workshop. We rented it out for a while, but nobody’s living there now. It’s furnished and has whatever you . . . um . . . need. R-right, Drake?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Of—of course.” He gestured toward the back door. “Blair’s right. There’s no reason you can’t stay there, and you’ll be close enough if this asshole shows up.”
Grant stared at Drake a moment and then Blair. They both still appeared shell-shocked about him coming back from the dead, so to speak, which wasn’t unexpected. Maybe he should accept the offered room and go settle in to give them some time to recover, although, if he had better sense, he’d get a room at the motel. But, this way, he could keep a closer eye on Blair and Trevor—at least, that was what he told himself was the reason he said yes. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll just grab my bag from the car, then I’ll take a look around and contact Sawyer’s men again to make sure all is well.”
He started for the front door but stopped when Blair called his name. He looked back over his shoulder at her. She brought her hand to her trembling lips. “I’m . . . I’m happy you’re alive. I can’t imagine what you . . .” She gulped. “. . . what you went through. I’m glad you’re okay. It’s just going to take some time to . . . to get used to it.”
Grant pursed his lips, hesitated, then nodded. Unable to think of anything that didn’t sound trite, he mutely left to get his bags. Surviving the emotional aspects of the next few days might be harder than anything else they were about to face.
Don't Shoot the Messenger: Hazard Falls Book 2 Page 4