by Jaycee Clark
Rori took Darya’s hand and led her over to the woman. “I’m Rori. This is Darya.” She pointed to the woman’s belly. “When’s the big day?”
“In two weeks, which means anytime in the next month.” Taylor Kinncaid had a slight Texas twang and was lovely.
Another one of the women joined them, blonde hair straight to her shoulders, sharp brown eyes, wearing a pantsuit. She was a bleeding little thing. Woman’s head only came to Rori’s chest, maybe her shoulder.
“I’m Jesslyn, Aiden’s wife,” she said, offering a hand. “Hi.” Jesslyn’s twang was so wide it made Taylor’s seem almost nonexistent.
“Rori. And this is Darya.”
The woman smiled. “A Brit. How refreshing. Are you John’s wife?” She leaned in. “What’s the man’s last name? Annoys the hell out me.”
Rori chuckled. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Jesslyn rolled her eyes. “I just knew you were going to say that.”
A motion behind them made her turn. Kaitlyn Kinncaid, still a bit pale, sat up on the couch, muttering to her husband that she was fine, her hand to her forehead.
“You should go to the hospital. Might be your blood sugar,” Mr. Kinncaid was saying. “Or maybe your blood pressure. You never know, Kaitie. Or it might—”
“For the love of God, Jock. Stop.” She patted his hand. “I’m fine. Just fainted.” Then she smiled and turned her head. For a long moment, she simply stared at Ian, who was kneeling in front of her. Her head slowly shook and she released her husband’s hand to reach up and cup Ian’s face.
His expression barely changed, but Rori saw the flicker of regret flash through his eyes—regret or something like it—but then he froze his expression. The man could mask easier than anyone else she knew.
“Hi, Mom.”
Kaitlyn Kinncaid’s shoulders jerked and then she pulled him to her, rocking. “Where have you been?” she strangled out, tears tracking down her face. “Where have you been?” Then she shook her head. “I don’t care. You’re home. You’re home now. I’ve prayed for this for years. For so long and finally, finally I have my whole family back.” She looked over at Jock, whose brows were beetled into an inverted V.
Man was just bark, no bite, Rori decided.
“Look, Jock. Look, he’s home. He’s finally home.”
Jock only nodded and stood, sitting on the arm of the couch by his son. The feeling of seeing something she wasn’t supposed to crawled over her.
Home. She shook her head. She personally had no idea what the hell that was other than her London flat with the two betas, who were probably dead if Nikko hadn’t fed them.
Maybe she’d get a cat, and move to Ireland. Grow flowers or some such blarney.
John cleared his throat.
Ian heard John and looked up from his mother. “What?”
“Your Yanks say the place is clean, Tanner says the attendants haven’t seen anything off, but he’s checking the security tapes.”
“What the hell is going on?” Jock asked, his voice reflecting the bafflement on his face as he noticed the number of people in the room.
Ian ignored him and kissed his mother on the check before standing and telling John, “Have them check the ballrooms, basement, and the family apartments upstairs. I want a list of all the staff members that have access to the family penthouses.”
John merely raised a brow and stepped outside, leaving Tori and Ryan standing near the doorway.
Everyone was silent.
Aiden asked, “Who wants lunch?”
No one answered. Aiden took another tactic, his face losing its humor. “All right. Must be big. Why all the checks, what’s with the entourage? And what happened to bring you back home as Ian Kinncaid and not as . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat.
Their mother pierced Aiden with a look Ian remembered all too well, yet there was hurt and the pain of betrayal in those beautiful green eyes. She shoved her red hair back. “You knew where he was?”
Aiden’s expression slightly shifted. “Uhm—well . . .” Jesslyn coughed.
Mom was no longer pale, that faint telltale blush warned. “How dare you!”
“Mom,” Ian tried.
“How could you . . .” Her eyes filled with tears again as she looked at Aiden. Then they shifted back to him. “Do you have any idea what it was like . . . what—what I thought? Worried? God, I was so worried. I—I pr-prayed for God to w-watch over you.” Her tears trickled down those flawless cheeks, cutting straight to his heart. “Do you know . . .” She shook her head. Jock put his arm around her.
“Kaitie, calm down.”
She shook her head. “I just . . .” Closing her eyes, she opened them again and stared at him.
Ian’s heart hammered in his chest.
“Wow, darling,” Rori said behind him. “And here you’ve always said how bloody wonderful your family was. Seems you left a couple of things out.”
Damn. He’d forgotten about . . .
“Who are you?” Jock asked.
Kaitie elbowed Jock in the ribs. Wiping her eyes, she looked past him to Rori, and then to his side, where Darya had moved, silent as a shadow.
His mother narrowed her gaze at him. “Right now, I don’t care. Not really. I’m just glad you’re home. But later, my boy, we will discuss a few things.” Her eyes flashed.
He couldn’t help it, he grinned and nodded. “I love you, Mom.”
She sniffed and looked back to Rori and Darya.
Everyone waited expectantly. Rori walked up to stand behind him. “Luv, they don’t seem all that happy to see you.”
Ian caught the sarcastic edge to her voice even as evenly as she’d spoken.
His mother frowned and stood, shaking his father off. “Of course we are. It’s just a shock. I’d thought . . . I’d feared . . .” Her eyes drifted back to him and asked questions she wouldn’t voice, and even if she did, he would lie.
He’d have to. As much as he didn’t understand his father, he wasn’t going to come between his parents.
“Mom,” he said, taking Rori’s hand, putting his hand on top of Darya’s head. “This is Rori.” He looked at her, and she cocked one perfect brow. She was without a doubt beautiful. He smiled and narrowed his gaze on her. “My wife.”
Her eyes flashed even as she smiled at him. “Wondered if you even remembered what with all the hoobaloo going on.”
Hoobaloo?
Ian glanced back at his parents.
His father’s jaw dropped, his mother smiled, and he heard Jesslyn’s, “Cool. A Brit in the fam.”
“Jesslyn, shut up, honey, now’s not the time,” Aiden said.
“Well, I think it is. Entirely too serious when everyone should be celebrating.” He looked at his short sister-in-law, who met his eyes straight on. “I know if I was ever given a second chance with the children that I’ll never get back, I sure as hell wouldn’t question the whys or how-comes. It’s a time for celebration. More than one. Babies, pregnancies, and now marriages.” Her head jerked to Darya. “And Darya . . .” She left the question open-ended.
Ian looked at Aiden. “Is she always like this?”
“Yes,” his brother answered him, pulling his wife into his side and kissing the top of her head even as he put his hand over her mouth. She shrugged him off.
“I like her,” Rori said, and then added, “little Darya is our daughter.”
What the hell was the matter with him? He couldn’t think. His chest felt tight as hell and he just wanted . . .
It was like an attack but not. He needed some air. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and took his coat off.
At his mother’s gasp he realized his jacket had shifted and she saw the shoulder holster.
“Are you a cop?” Mom asked.
Snake coughed and Roth chuckled.
“Close enough.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean?”
The phone rang and Aiden answered it. Then he held it out to him.
“It’s for you, some guy named Pete Jones.”
Ian frowned. Grabbing the phone, he barked the one word they always greeted each other with. “What?”
“I’ve tried your phone and Brasher’s and can’t reach either of you. Have you seen the damn news? CIN. Christ.”
Ian put the phone between his jaw and shoulder and looked over at the television on some documentary. “Where’s the remote?”
Ryan said, “Here,” and handed it to him.
“What’s the channel?” he asked Pete.
“Fifty-four. Local. Are you alone?”
“Nope.”
He grabbed the remote from his nephew and clicked on CIN.
“. . . authorities are still investigating why a string of arsons are happening in Prague.” Behind the news announcer flames and smoke shot up into the afternoon sky. “Luckily, no one was injured as the club was empty this time of day. This is the second club to be targeted since early this morning. Both clubs are reputed to have belonged to the late Viktor Hellinski, who was murdered here last week.”
Ian leaned closer. Damn. Nero’s.
Pete said, “And Hellinski’s other club and . . .”
“Shh—” he told his boss.
“Investigators are also trying to learn if the fire in Prague’s Lesser Quarter is related to this one. The apartment was empty as well. Reasons as to the motivations behind the fires are speculated to be related to the Czech underground.”
Shit.
“Good thing we cleaned your flat out,” Snake commented in a whisper, standing next to him.
Ian shot him a look.
“Pete, what else?” he asked.
Pete’s sigh was warning enough. “Body of a young girl turned up in Monrovia. Tests are still being run, but looks like it might match the victim on the crime video you copied over.” He stopped, took a deep breath and continued, “One of the safe houses in Paris, killed a guard and someone else we were watching. Another in Moscow. Technically belonging to one Yorin Balorsky.”
Ian took a deep breath, his thoughts shifting. “What’s the plan?”
“Dimitri Petrolov must be seen dead.”
The camera scanned the area behind the news announcer to show the charred remains of the club. And there were two men he knew. Worked for one of the other bosses. Hoping for him, were they?
“And how do you plan to . . .” He remembered where he was and stopped. “We’ll meet later today. Three here at the hotel.”
“I’ll get protection for your family.”
Ian weighed his options. “I’ll hire my own protection for my family. You’ve got a damn leak and I’m not about to gamble on their lives against an unknown traitor.”
“How many do you have?” Pete asked.
He looked at Roth. “Get me Gar.”
Roth raised a brow. “For what?”
Ian merely stared at him.
“Fine.”
“Pete,” Ian said back into the phone.
“Today at three. Goddamn mess you created.”
“I created?”
“Wherever you go, people die, things blow up, I never the hell know. Just keep a fucking low profile. I don’t need to be cleaning up crap this side of the Atlantic. We’re scrambling here as it is.”
“Who’s behind the fires?”
Pete sighed again. Darya was clutching his leg and he looked down into those round blue eyes and ran his hand over her curls.
“Who knows. Hellinski’s stuff is blowing up all over Eastern Europe. The odds are on the other families, who don’t want his sister getting her hands on them. The other is that they are after you. I tend to think it’s a bit of both. Why worry about two birds when you can take care of them together?”
“News just in . . .” the announcer was saying. “Another residence has been firebombed in the town of Kladno . . .” The picture clicked to another announcer.
“Damn.” There sat the town house, windows blown out of it, fire licking up the side. Firemen were behind the gates.
“Bloody hell, they’re hitting them all,” Rori muttered.
Darya whimpered against him. He looked down and saw tears in her eyes. He looked back at the television. He shifted her, but she looked again and pointed to the TV, her mouth working but no sounds coming out.
“What? Sweetheart?” he asked.
Pete said, pulling his attention back to their conversation, “You see? You may be one of the best damn agents I have, but this . . . this . . .”
“This is the end, Pete. No more. I told you that. Today. Three.” With that, he handed the phone back to Aiden, then picked Darya up and set her on the table.
John walked in and glanced at the television. His gaze shifted back to Ian. “Didn’t take them long, did it?” He grabbed his phone and strode back out the door.
Darya stared at the television. Maybe she didn’t recognize it.
But the pale face, the tears that tracked over her face . . .
She looked at him again, her brows furrowed, questions in her wet eyes.
“What?” he asked her in Russian. “What’s the matter, pumpkin? You’re safe.” Gently he wiped the tears away.
She pointed back to the screen and whispered, “Zoy?”
He blinked. She talked.
“Zoy?” he asked.
Hurriedly she nodded and pointed back to the house. “Zoy.”
“The sister,” Rori muttered.
He closed his eyes and picked his daughter up. Looking at Aiden, he said, “We’re going upstairs. Right now I have things to do.”
“We’ve a few questions ourselves,” Aiden said.
They all probably did, but they wouldn’t be getting answers. He’d have to leave. Looking at his brothers, he said, “You told me if I ever needed anything . . .”
All three nodded. Aiden said, “Anything.”
He kissed Darya’s hair and looked at his brother without another word.
“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Jock barked.
Ian ignored him and finally said to Aiden, “I may need you to watch over my daughter.”
Aiden’s eyes shifted from him to the girl to Rori then back to him. “You’re leaving?”
“Probably.” He started to walk toward the door.
“Always things for you to do, to leave,” Jock said.
Ian stopped, tightened his hold on his daughter, but didn’t turn around. He took a deep breath. What did he care what the old man thought. Thoughts and emotions, what he needed to do, what he wanted to do, what he’d have to do all crashing together in his brain, disjointed and jagged.
“I see some things haven’t changed. Is what you want always more important than your family?” Jock asked.
The tightness in his chest popped and Ian whirled, anger and rage at the man, at the things he couldn’t control, at what he was, at the pain in Darya’s eyes. “If I don’t do this, I might not have a family.” He pointed to the television screen. “You see that? Who do you think they’re looking for?”
John walked in, took one look at the situation. “Well, since you’re spouting off, I guess I might as well tell you that they hit the London safe house.”
He closed his eyes, fury hot and heavy in his veins. “How many?”
“Luckily it was empty.” John ran a hand through his hair. “They’re only making a statement.”
“What the hell do you do?” Jock asked. “They said the Czech underground. Are you some sort of criminal? I knew . . . I told you . . .” Jock trailed off, his eyes an angry blue.
“Never to come home?” Ian lashed out, no longer caring. “I didn’t come home for you,” he lied. “I needed to make certain Mom and my brothers were safe.” He quickly scanned their faces. “You’re all getting protection. Period. And if you fight me on this, I’ll get it legally and have you moved to safe and secure locations. So no fucking remarks.”
Rori stared at his father. “You really have no idea who your son is, do you?” She slip
ped her hand in his arm. As they walked out of the room she said, “They’re like a dysfunctional Brody Bunch.”
Even though he felt like hitting something, or shooting it, his lips twitched. “That’s Brady Bunch, darling.”
Jesslyn started laughing. “I do love it when Jock gets all irate over something and makes an ass out of himself.”
Chapter 15
November 13, 3:15 p.m.
Ian sat with his back to the wall. Rori and John were upstairs watching Darya, the other kids, and his parents. The others were scattered around the hotel guarding whoever they were supposed to be.
Pete Jones, salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed in place, dressed in a suit, his two guards sitting to their right, stared at Ian.
The man had a long, apostolic face, clean-shaven and tired. Deep worry lines bracketed his mouth and etched his brows and eyes.
“You are in some very serious trouble,” he said, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.
Ian scanned the crowd. “Pete, the point of the meeting.”
Pete sat up. “You need to die.”
Ian arched a brow. “Which ‘you’ would you be referring to?”
The left side of Pete’s mouth lifted in what few would consider a smile. “Dimitri Petrolov. Who the hell else?”
Ian shrugged. “So take care of it.”
“You need to be seen as close to the job as possible to increase the credibility.”
Ian tilted his head, scanned the restaurant. Quinlan weaved through some of the customers, talking to one here, one there. Roth stood at the doorway shaking his head.
Why didn’t his family take him seriously? They’d had a huge row upstairs. His mother’s cold silence to his father could be felt across the room. He hadn’t meant to snap out the truth of why he’d left, but damn it, the man could still push all his buttons. Hadn’t he learned any control?
He rubbed his temple. What he wouldn’t give for a beach, sand, a drink. Nothing but ocean breeze and the knowledge all was well and . . . Rori. Or maybe take her back to Scotland.
“Did you hear what I said?” Pete asked him.
Ian met his boss’s hazel eyes. “I’m on the tired side. We caught the red-eye out of London last night, or would that be this morning.” He sipped his coffee. “What?”