by Lora Leigh
He doubted the weapon was needed, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Archer had never considered John Corbin an enemy, but, now that Anna was here, in his bed, anything was possible.
With the Glock tucked against the side of his leg, he moved to the door of the study that he’d left ajar by several inches before going to bed and angled his head to look inside the room.
He could see John Corbin standing in front of the large map of Corbin County that Archer’s grandfather had commissioned. Using yellow tacks, Archer had marked the position of each body the Slasher had left for the authorities to find.
John was frowning at the map, his heavily lined expression reflecting his grief over the situation he’d found himself in, and his inability to find a way to resolve it.
Archer narrowed his eyes at the older man, waiting to see if he moved.
It had been John who had come to him ten years before, when Archer’s father had first begun showing the signs of Alzheimer’s.
Randal Tobias had been quietly investigating the Slasher’s kills, attempting to pinpoint some common individual the girls had associated with, besides the Callahan cousins, who might have had such murderous tendencies, or such an overriding hatred for the three young men.
With Randal’s illness, John had been desperate. His granddaughter, Anna, had been a teenager, barely fourteen, but already begging to return to Corbin County when her parents moved back to the ranch for the spring to help John with the ranch during calving.
The older man had claimed he kept his granddaughter from the county because of the Slasher, and because of Anna’s curiosity where her Callahan cousin, Crowe, was concerned. It seemed no matter the excuses they made or how often they tried to tell her it was too dangerous for her in Corbin County, she refused to believe it.
The Slasher only struck at the Callahans’ lovers, she argued once she’d understood the significance of the targets the killer chose. She wasn’t a lover, she was simply a cousin.
Every occasion the young girl had been home it seemed the opportunity arose that she’d run into Crowe or one of the other cousins. She’d always spoken to them, always attempted to draw them into conversation, and always ended up in tears when they refused to talk to her.
How the new job working as Mikhail Resnova’s personal assistant was going to work out for her, Archer had no idea, because Mikhail’s and Crowe’s offices were side by side.
Not that Archer could blame the cousins, especially in those days. It seemed every move they made while home on leave was watched suspiciously. As though Rafer, Logan, or Crowe would fall upon some hapless female and murder her in front of the whole town.
When John didn’t move from his position, Archer pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside.
John’s silver head turned in his direction, his fingers burrowing through the thick coarseness of his hair as Archer came to a surprised stop and stared at the other two men in the room.
“You said you wanted answers tonight,” John stated. “They aren’t mine alone to give.”
Of course not, Archer thought sarcastically. He should have guessed that.
The “Barons” were called such because they owned the largest ranches in the area, had the most employees of any businesses in the County, and because their family, along with the Callahans, had first founded the County more than a hundred years before, their claim on the land extending even before the first recorded non-native settlement.
Along with John Corbin was Marshal Roberts, Rafer Callahan’s paternal grandfather, and Saul Rafferty, Logan’s grandfather.
Each man was around seventy-one or seventy-two, and each moved like a man two decades younger, despite the heavily lined weariness in their expressions.
“Now why didn’t I guess that if one of you was involved in something, then all of you would be?” Archer snorted as he moved to the front of the heavy walnut desk that had once been his grandfather’s and rested against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched each man demandingly.
Breathing out roughly, John paced across the room before turning and moving back to the chairs that sat in front of the desk.
Grabbing a matching chair from along the wall, he placed it to the side of Saul Rafferty before taking his seat and staring up at Archer imperiously. “You’ll want to sit down for this.”
He would want to sit down for it.
Great.
Whatever might be stalking the cousins, there was little doubt that it originally stemmed from these three men.
Archer’s father had first made the prediction, his expression tight with anger, as he’d pushed a red pin into place on the map.
Moving behind the desk Archer took his seat, leaned back, and waited.
“Forty years ago, there was an unfortunate event that the three of us happened to come upon. None of us were involved in it, but having arrived when we did, it gave someone we still have yet to identify the opportunity to frame us for it,” John began heavily. “Because of that one situation, and our inability to foresee that by not telling anyone what had happened, whoever had set it up would be able to destroy our lives.
“Because of that event, Archer, we were forced to disown our daughters when they married men who interfered in whatever plans this person had. Then we were forced to turn our backs on our grandsons and disown them as well. Because of whatever godforsaken plans the bastard has, nearly a dozen women have been murdered because of their connections to our grandsons. And now”—John’s voice roughened—“because of a situation we could not control, and could not prove had not happened, I’ve had to disown my granddaughter because this person finds it, for whatever reason, inconvenient for her to be in Corbin County. If you don’t convince her to leave, if you don’t get her out of Colorado, then she could die for her stubbornness in staying, and for aligning herself with her cousin in that job she’s accepted at the head offices of Brute Force. You have to get her to leave, Archer. You’re my last hope to save her.”
He didn’t pretend to hide his shock.
Sitting back in his chair, he stared at the three “Barons,” wondering if his father had ever suspected any of this.
No, he couldn’t have, Archer thought. If his father had suspected it, he would have surely told Archer, or left him that information before Alzheimer’s had taken his mind and a massive heart attack had taken his life.
“Well, fuck me,” Archer breathed out roughly as he stared at the three men, not even pretending he wasn’t speechless.
Hell, his father had always surmised the Barons had more to do with all of this than any of them could ever imagine, and how right he had been.
“What happened?” He let his gaze touch on each man.
John answered for them all. “Once you figure out the identity of the Slasher and his partner, then we’ll tell you everything. We’ll tell you about a conspiracy of blood and death that possibly stretches back far longer than any of us want to consider. But until both killers are taken into custody, revealing the secrets we’ve kept for so long will do none of us any good. Least of all my granddaughter.”
Archer stared back at him silently.
He remembered the first time he’d met the older man. Archer had been no more than seven, motherless after Mera Tobias’ death, and lost. His father hadn’t quite known what to do with him, so Randal had taken his son to the Corbin Ranch and left him with his friends, John and Genoa Corbin, for the summer.
Archer had grown fond of the fatherly John, and he’d begun looking forward to those visits. As he entered his teens he’d taken summer jobs at the Corbin Ranch until he joined the Marines.
He’d gotten to know John well enough that he could read the determination in the older man’s gaze. That glitter of stubbornness ate at Archer. For ten years, even before he’d left the Marines, Archer had been investigating the rapes and murders of the original six women, and any possible connections they could have had to the Callahan cousins and whoever had been attempting to frame th
e boys for those murders.
To learn that the killings might have begun long before he’d imagined made fury churn in his gut. It was bad enough he couldn’t even come up with one suspect, let alone a list from which to identify the Slasher and his partner, but to have what could be vital information held back from him only pissed him off further.
“You have knowledge of a series of murders that could predate twelve years before, and you’re refusing to reveal that information to an officer of the law?” he asked the three men, careful to keep his tone quiet and controlled.
“To tell you now, without proof, will only hurt us,” Saul Rafferty spoke up, his voice a dark rasp that still held the deep baritone of command. “You will still have no suspect, and without proof of what happened, no way to identify even a possible suspect. But if knowledge of it became known, then the three of us could be blamed for it, and for so much more. Forty years, Archer. We’ve had to stand aside, disown the daughters we love more than life, and then to disown their children, or see their blood spilled and our hands appear to be stained by their blood. I’d rather die than see those boys suffer further.”
“And now I’ve lost Anna as well,” John grated out, his voice filled with bitterness. “If we tell you what we suspect, and what we know of the past that’s being held against us, it then endangers not just our grandsons, but our entire families. If we wait until you identify the Slasher, or at the very least his partner, then you can pin far more on him than the murders the Slasher thus far claims.”
“That’s not enough,” Archer informed the three men as his jaw tightened with anger. “You could have information that would help me identify the bastard and you’re withholding it.”
“No, there’s nothing that could help you,” Marshal Roberts promised as he spoke up, decades of grief lining his face and filling his voice. “Nothing we know could help you. If it could have, I swear to you on my own life, you’d have the entire story, no matter the danger to us personally. My grandson means everything to me, and to my wife. Just as the others meant everything to John and Saul. We’ll only endanger them further if it’s ever learned we told you even this much.”
Hell, this was going to come back and bite him on the ass, and Archer knew it. But he could also sense that the three men weren’t going to give him whatever it was they were holding back.
At least not yet.
“Does any of it tie into the murders that have been used to attempt to frame Crowe, Logan, and Rafer?” he asked them.
“I suspect they’re tied together by the killer, the Slasher himself.” John sighed.
And he was supposed to accept their word for that, of course.
Archer didn’t think so. What he would do instead was look into any major events that had occurred in the time frame he had just been given.
“And this is why the three of you came together to this meeting?” he asked mockingly. “Why can’t I believe that, John?”
“We came together because it’s not a story that belongs to just one of us, or to just one of our family members. It involves all of us,” Saul reaffirmed. “Besides, Anna’s as close to my family and Marshal’s as our grandchildren are to John. Seeing her hurt because of this would break us all.” For a second, moisture sheened his eyes. “Archer, we’ve lost too much already. None of us can bear to lose more.”
“And that’s why you have to convince Anna to leave until this has finished,” John demanded, his tone harsh now. “You know she’s not safe in Corbin County, Archer.”
“Anna’s safe as long as she stays here,” Archer informed them all, surprised at the ferocity of his statement. “I won’t force her to leave. I won’t ask her to leave.”
John lifted his head, his expression tightening as he stared at Archer coldly from intense blue eyes. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you? The rumors of you two being seen all but naked and fucking in one of the park’s grottos were true.”
“Watch what you say, Corbin.” Archer stared back at him, doing nothing to hide the fury rising inside him. “I don’t know what the fuck you said to her before you forced her out of your house with nothing but the clothes on her back, but I know you destroyed her.”
“And who the fuck do you think was standing there with Robert and Lisa when she called you?” the other man grated. “Do you think I’d leave my granddaughter helpless and alone for even a second? I knew when she shimmied up that trellis into her bedroom and collected that backpack and her purse. She’d have her car, too, if she hadn’t been so pissed she forgot I always leave the side door to the garage unlocked.”
“Then the fact that she’s sleeping with me should comfort you rather than upset you, shouldn’t it?” Archer snapped. “Because having her in my bed wasn’t a decision I made lightly. I will protect her, John, with my life if need be.”
“But will it be a decision that involves a ring?” John growled. “I won’t let you treat her like you have your other women, Archer, never doubt that. My granddaughter isn’t a fucking mark on your bedpost.”
*
It was a lack of warmth, a feeling that something wasn’t quite right, that woke Anna.
At first she felt disoriented, uncertain why she was naked and why the blankets were tangled across the bed, not quite covering her enough to keep her warm.
In a second, the memory of Archer’s touch, his kiss, and the incredible pleasure he’d given her flashed into her mind. A flush stole across her face before racing through her body with remembered warmth. And renewed arousal.
He’d been beside her when she went sleep. She couldn’t imagine he would lie next to her, let her think he was going to sleep with her, only to change his mind so quickly and leave his own bed to find another.
Oscar was there at the bottom of the bed.
His own pillow, her ass, she thought with a smile as she felt the furry warmth at her feet.
Archer couldn’t have gone very far, and leaving the house itself wasn’t something she believed he would do without waking her or leaving a note next to her first.
Rising from the bed she found her gown and robe, which he must have lain across the back of the chair. Barefoot, she left the bedroom and silently began moving through the house.
Anna had made a point earlier to pay attention to which floorboards squeaked and which weren’t quite flush with those around them as she had made herself familiar with the house.
Avoiding those particular pitfalls, she made her way downstairs and continued through the house until a sound made her pause several feet from the study. Her head tilted to the side to identify the sound of voices coming through the narrow slit between the door and its frame. It hadn’t been closed fully, leaving an inch or so view into the room.
Archer was meeting with someone? At this time in the morning?
Moving closer she paused near the narrow opening to hear if she could recognize the voices and make certain it wasn’t intruders. What she heard lit a flame of anger so deep and so hot inside her it was all she could do to remain hidden.
“Then the fact that she’s sleeping with me should comfort you rather than upset you, shouldn’t it?” Archer snapped. “Because having her in my bed wasn’t a decision I made lightly. I will protect her, John, with my life if need be.”
“But will it be a decision that involves a ring?” John growled. “I won’t let you treat her like you have your other women, Archer, never doubt that. My granddaughter isn’t a fucking mark on your bedpost.”
“My relationship with Anna is our business, not yours,” Archer stated coolly. “Remember that, John. You’re the one who threw her out rather than being honest with her. I won’t lie to her, and I’ll be damned if I let you endanger her further.”
“You’ll get her killed,” her grandfather accused him fiercely, his voice echoing with a vein of deep, tortured fear.
“I’ll protect her with my life,” Archer retorted. “And with the truth. Until the three of you decide to come clean with that little commod
ity, then you have no say in how I protect her. I’ll take care of her and I’ll take care of my own end of things. Until then, you do your part and see if you can’t find a few more truths to give me to help figure this crap out.”
“Fuck my part. And don’t think for a second you won’t get her killed if you tell her what we’ve just divulged. I’ve protected her from the so-called truth for a reason. She’s a damned good girl, but she trusts people, Archer. Too much. She’d need someone to talk to and she’d tell someone. She tells her friend Amelia everything. I can’t tell you the times Wayne Sorenson has snickered over Anna sneaking out of the house to catch sight of you at those damned socials over the years. Or how often his daughter has told him about the arguments Anna has with me. Because Anna can’t keep her mouth shut. And that’s beside the fact that she doesn’t know how to stay the hell away from those boys. They’ll get her killed.” Her grandfather was raging, albeit without the raised voice she was normally used to.
Her fists clenched as humiliation tore through her.
Her grandfather didn’t trust her with whatever this “truth” was, because she told Amelia about their arguments? Or because she’d slipped from school a few weekends, hoping to see Archer or find a moment to talk to the cousin who had been so unfairly ostracized?
She had been told all her life to stay the hell away from the Callahans. Crowe was her cousin and she wanted to get to know him, especially now that she had been disowned as well.
But to be thrown out of her family, to be forced from her home and never told why, because they based whether or not she could be trusted on those few instances?
It was beginning to feel as though there was a hell of a lot more going on than her family’s arrogance and determination to have their way. She’d always known something dark existed in her family, but she’d never revealed that suspicion. Not to anyone. Even Amelia.
Still, her family didn’t trust her.
It hurt.
Oh God, it hurt so bad.
That knowledge was digging razor-sharp talons into her chest and ripping her apart.