Extreme Measures

by Brenda Harlen

  Colin drove for a long time after he'd left Nikki's house. Although a part of him wished he'd stayed and forced Nikki to give him the answers he needed, another part—maybe the more rational part—recognized that his emotions were running too close to the surface to be able to have a civilized conversation with her right now.

  Instead, he got into his car and drove. It was a habit he'd acquired as a teenager—a way of venting steam after one or another blowup with his father—and one that was usually successful in helping him gain perspective on an issue.

  Unfortunately, he was sure he could drive all the way to Texas and back and still not gain any perspective in this matter. He tried to sort out his feelings, but everything was so jumbled up inside he didn't know where to begin. He didn't know how he felt, how he was supposed to feel in the face of Nikki's revelation. Mostly, he felt betrayed by the only woman he'd ever trusted with his heart.

  It's been five years. A lot has changed in that time.

  Her words echoed in his mind again. She was right. A lot of things had changed—Nikki had changed. The woman he'd known, the woman he'd loved, would never have kept such a secret from him.

  He still couldn't believe she'd had a child and never told him about it.

  Not just a child.

  Their child.

  He winced, remembering the absolute devastation he'd seen in Nikki's eyes when he'd challenged her about not knowing the child's paternity. He'd had no right to make such an accusation, no reason to believe she'd ever been unfaithful.

  But how could she have done this to him?

  Okay, so maybe he wasn't completely innocent in this scenario. Maybe he shouldn't have walked away from their marriage. But dammit, it wasn't as if he'd known she was pregnant.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. Well, now he knew. But he didn't know what he was going to do about it.

  He didn't know anything about being a father. His own had hardly been a shining example. Richard MacIver had dedicated his life to the legal profession and nothing—not the woman he'd married nor the two sons she'd given him—had ever competed with his career. He'd been absent more than he'd been home, and disinterested in his children when he was around.

  Now, with no warm-up, no practice, no preparation, Colin was a father.

  Oh, hell. Who was he kidding? He was more of a sperm donor than a father. That was the extent of his involvement in his daughter's life thus far. He knew nothing about her other than her age and her name. He didn't know her birthday, her favorite color, her favorite toys.

  And he didn't know what she knew about him. What had Nikki told their daughter about her father? How had she explained his absence to their child? Did Carly hate him for not being around? Or did she understand why he hadn't been part of her life? Did she even want a father, or would his sudden appearance be an unwanted complication?

  The unfairness of the situation struck deep. It wasn't just that he didn't know anything about his child—he'd never been given a chance to know her. Nikki had deliberately and continuously kept the existence of their daughter a secret for almost five years. Even now, because of a disgruntled player and circumstances out of his control, he might not get a chance to stay in Fairweather long enough to know her.

  He thought again of the Gazette and the possibility—remote though it seemed—that the article could compromise his cover. While a part of him welcomed the opportunity for a showdown with Parnell, a chance to end things once and for all, he wouldn't risk that confrontation occurring where his child could get caught in the crossfire.

  Whether by accident or design, as he pondered these issues he found himself driving down Meadowvale Street toward his brother's house—the home in which they'd both lived as children. He and Shaun had been close at one time, but after he and Nikki split up, Colin had resolved to stay as far away from Fairweather and all reminders of his ex-wife as possible.

  He knocked at the door, then waited with something close to apprehension for his brother to answer. He hadn't been back since his father's funeral, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be here now.

  "My prodigal brother finally returns." Shaun's quick smile took the sting out of his words before he enveloped his brother in a quick hug. "It's good to see you."

  "You, too," Colin told him, surprised by the sudden tightness in his throat.

  "This family reunion calls for a celebration," Shaun said, leading the way into the kitchen.

  "You might not think so once you find out why I'm here."

  Shaun took a couple bottles of beer out of the fridge, twisted the cap off one and passed it to his brother, then did the same to his own. "You've seen Nikki," he guessed.

  "And my daughter."

  "Good."

  Whatever reaction he'd expected from his brother, this wasn't it.

  "I'm glad she finally told you." Shaun moved toward the living room.

  Colin managed a smile as he followed. "That isn't exactly what happened."

  "Oh." Shaun propped his feet up on the coffee table—something neither one of them would have dared to do while their father was still living. "What did happen?"

  "Nikki and I were having a conversation about something else entirely when Carly walked in."

  "Well." Shaun took a pull from his bottle. "That must have been a surprise."

  "To say the least," Colin agreed.

  "Then you and Nikki argued about it," Shaun guessed.

  He nodded.

  "And you walked out."

  "Yeah," he admitted.

  "I can imagine how upset you must have been, but you're going to have to talk to her if you want to work out a schedule for visitation."

  "I don't want visitation," Colin said, cringing at the implications of the word.

  "What do you want?"

  "I don't know," he admitted. He didn't know anything about being a father, but he knew that he wanted to be a father—not just someone who passed in and out of his child's life.

  His brother shook his head. "That's typical, isn't it?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You never think things through, Colin. I know you're just that he didn't know anything about his child—he'd never been given a chance to know her. Nikki had deliberately and continuously kept the existence of their daughter a secret for almost five years. Even now, because of a disgruntled player and circumstances out of his control, he might not get a chance to stay in Fairweather long enough to know her.

  He thought again of the Gazette and the possibility—remote though it seemed—that the article could compromise his cover. While a part of him welcomed the opportunity for a showdown with Parnell, a chance to end things once and for all, he wouldn't risk that confrontation occurring where his child could get caught in the crossfire.

  Whether by accident or design, as he pondered these issues he found himself driving down Meadowvale Street toward his brother's house—the home in which they'd both lived as children. He and Shaun had been close at one time, but after he and Nikki split up, Colin had resolved to stay as far away from Fairweather and all reminders of his ex-wife as possible.

  He knocked at the door, then waited with something close to apprehension for his brother to answer. He hadn't been back since his father's funeral, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be here now.

  "My prodigal brother finally returns." Shaun's quick smile took the sting out of his words before he enveloped his brother in a quick hug. "It's good to see you."

  "You, too," Colin told him, surprised by the sudden tightness in his throat.

  "This family reunion calls for a celebration," Shaun said, leading the way into the kitchen.

  "You might not think so once you find out why I'm here."

  Shaun took a couple bottles of beer out of the fridge, twisted the cap off one and passed it to his brother, then did the same to his own. "You've seen Nikki," he guessed.

  "And my daughter."

  "Good."

  Whatever reaction he'd expected from his brother, th
is wasn't it.

  "I'm glad she finally told you." Shaun moved toward the living room.

  Colin managed a smile as he followed. "That isn't exactly what happened."

  "Oh." Shaun propped his feet up on the coffee table—something neither one of them would have dared to do while their father was still living. "What did happen?"

  "Nikki and I were having a conversation about something else entirely when Carly walked in."

  "Well." Shaun took a pull from his bottle. "That must have been a surprise."

  "To say the least," Colin agreed.

  "Then you and Nikki argued about it," Shaun guessed.

  He nodded.

  "And you walked out."

  "Yeah," he admitted.

  "I can imagine how upset you must have been, but you're going to have to talk to her if you want to work out a schedule for visitation."

  "I don't want visitation," Colin said, cringing at the implications of the word.

  "What do you want?"

  "I don't know," he admitted. He didn't know anything about being a father, but he knew that he wanted to be a father—not just someone who passed in and out of his child's life.

  His brother shook his head. "That's typical, isn't it?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You never think things through, Colin. I know you're pissed that Nikki didn't tell you about Carly, but can you blame her?"

  "Yes! I had a right to know that she was carrying my child."

  "And she had a right to expect that you'd honor the vows you'd made!"

  "I did honor those vows. I never cheated on Nikki. I never even thought about another woman while we were together."

  "You weren't even married a year."

  That was true, but what Shaun didn't know was that it had been a long time after the divorce was final before Colin looked at another woman. Even then, it had been part of a conscious effort to forget about Nikki. A futile effort, he realized now. Because he hadn't stopped thinking about her. Dreaming of her. Missing her.

  He'd actually looked forward to receiving the final divorce papers, as if those pages could somehow eradicate his feelings for Nikki. Unfortunately, they'd failed to do so. Nothing had helped him get over his ex-wife.

  The minute he'd seen Nikki striding across the parking lot, he'd known his feelings hadn't dissolved with their marriage—they'd only been buried. It had taken just one glance to bring them back to the surface, one touch to have them churned up again. And when he'd kissed her, it was as if the five years apart had never happened, as if nothing had changed.

  Except that everything had changed.

  "I understand that you're angry," Shaun relented, "but—"

  "I don't think you can understand any of this. You didn't just find out that you had a four-and-a-half year-old daughter." Colin slammed his empty bottle down on the table. "Why would she keep something like this from me? Did she really think I would turn my back on my own child?"

  "Nikki didn't find out she was pregnant until after you'd told her your marriage was over."

  "I still had a right to know."

  Shaun sighed. "Why do you think I tried so hard to get you to come back here? Why do you think I made those outrageous demands in the settlement negotiations with your lawyer?"

  "Because you were acting on your client's instructions," Colin guessed.

  "Nikki didn't want anything from you," Shaun told him. "But I thought—I'd hoped—that you'd come back here and demand to know why she was being unreasonable. Then she would have had to tell you about the baby she was expecting."

  Colin shook his head, only now beginning to understand what he'd previously seen as his brother's betrayal. "My lawyer told me not to sign that agreement. But the money didn't matter to me, and I figured it was the least I could do to compensate Nikki for messing up her life." In fact, he would have paid ten times as much in the hope that the financial settlement might assuage his guilt. It hadn't.

  "She's never touched a dime of it," Shaun confided. "It all went into a trust account for Carly."

  This revelation didn't change the basic facts of the situation; it didn't absolve his brother of culpability. Shaun had been a party to Nikki's deception for the past five years—the two people he'd been closest to had betrayed him.

  "How could you keep this from me?" he wondered aloud. "How could you not tell me I had a child?"

  "It wasn't my place to tell you. And Nikki was my client—"

  "I'm your brother."

  "I couldn't disclose information provided to me in my capacity as legal—"

  "Spare me the speech on attorney-client privilege. You haven't billed Nikki for every conversation you've had over the past five years."

  Shaun sighed. "I know she wanted to tell you."

  Colin raked his hands through his hair again. He'd been back in Fairweather less than forty-eight hours, and already his life bore little resemblance to the one he'd left behind in Texas.

  It had been Detective Brock's suggestion that he get away, and Colin had been grateful to do so. He was tired of always looking over his shoulder, always wondering what might be around the next corner. He'd come back to Fairweather for some downtime, to talk to his ex-wife. His plans had been simple.

  Now that he was here, it seemed he'd only exchanged one set of complications for another. Nothing was simple anymore.

  "What's she like?" he asked after a long pause. Then, to clarify—and to try the name out, "Carly."

  His brother smiled. "She has your eyes, and all of the famous MacIver charm."

  Colin smiled, pleased to know there was something of himself in his daughter.

  "Is she … is she happy?"

  "She's an incredibly happy and well-adjusted child."

  Colin cleared his throat, to ease the sudden tightness. "Maybe she doesn't need a father," he said. "Not a father like me, anyway."

  "What does that mean—a father like you?"

  He pushed himself up from the chair. "Just that I don't know anything about being a father. I know nothing—less than nothing, even—about kids."

  "Most fathers are novices the first time around."

  "But … God, I've never even thought about having kids."

  "Well, you'd better start thinking about it," his brother said practically. "Because you've got one now."

  "Did you…" Colin hesitated, almost afraid to finish the question. "Did you tell her not to tell me … about the baby?"

  "No." Shaun grinned. "In fact, I advised her to go after you for child support."

  Chapter 3

  The worst thing about prison, Duncan Parnell decided, was the bed. If the narrow mattress on the steel frame bolted to the concrete floor could even be called a bed. He rolled slowly onto his back and stretched out, concentrating on his breathing as he tried to force his muscles to relax. Perspiration beaded on his forehead as he gritted his teeth against the stabbing pain.

  He wished he had some of his pills, just to take the edge off. Even one pill. One pill would at least reduce the agony to a dull ache.

  The guard had given him an aspirin, as if that would make a difference. He closed his eyes as the pain struck again, exhaled slowly. It was a good thing he wasn't going to be here very long.

  And when he got out, he'd make Jonesy pay for ratting him out. He didn't doubt for a minute that it had been Jonesy who had turned on him.

  MacIver had picked Jonesy up from Detroit on a mid-season trade. He'd scored seven goals in his first ten games with the Tornadoes, and after Duncan's accident, he'd been moved up to Duncan's line to fill the vacant position. It was supposed to have been a temporary move, just until Duncan was back.

  But MacIver kept Jonesy in the starting line. As the team neared play-offs, Jonesy was getting at least twice the ice time Duncan got.

  He'd made the mistake of shooting off his mouth in The Thirsty Duck one night after their play-off run had ended. Not to Jonesy—he and the pretty boy from Michigan weren't that close. But Jon
esy had been there, and Duncan had been furious enough to rant indiscriminately about his intention to make MacIver pay.

  Jonesy must've figured he'd be guaranteed Duncan's place in the lineup next season if Duncan was behind bars.

  And now, because of a few ill-chosen words and the subsequent explosion at MacIver's apartment, Duncan was a guest of the local correctional facility on charges of uttering threats. He knew the cops expected to pin the bombing on him. He also knew that they didn't have any evidence against him, nor would they find any. Because he hadn't done it.

  If he'd planned to blow MacIver away personally, he would have bought a gun and been done with it. He might even have enjoyed it. But no way would he have tried to build a bomb. Hell, he'd known a guy in high school who lost two fingers on one hand because he'd been playing with a firecracker.

  Duncan shook his head. It was too much of a risk. His hands were his livelihood, his life. He wasn't as big as some of the guys, he wasn't as quick on his feet as others, but give him the puck and he could skate circles around all of them. He'd been admired for his "fast hands" since he'd started playing junior hockey at fourteen years of age. No way in hell would he risk his biggest asset.

  You had to be nuts to play around with explosives.

  Which is exactly what he'd told the cop who'd arrested him.

  As the excruciating pain in his back eased a little, he smiled up at the bare ceiling. No, he wasn't the type who got his kicks playing with explosives—but he knew someone who was.

  And Boomer had been more than happy to take care of Duncan's problem. He didn't worry about being ratted out. Boomer had been in the business more than fifteen years, with only two arrests and no convictions. He was a man who took pride in his work and his reputation, and Duncan trusted him to get the job done. Which was another reason he didn't mind being locked up right now—he'd have an irrefutable alibi when MacIver's body was found.

  Nikki was up with the sun Saturday morning after a sleepless night. She knew her conversation with Colin the previous evening had barely scratched the surface of the issue, and the next round of conflict was inevitable. So she was almost relieved to find him at her door before nine o'clock.