by Lora Leigh
“Perhaps they are also desperate to find something,” Ivan stated as he finished. “We Russians, we understand family, and we understand tracking and tracing family in ways Americans have forgotten. You make a hobby of tracing your ancestors. To a Russian, it is not a hobby; it is a part of who and what we are. It is a part of our honor and has much too high a potential to be a part of our disgrace as well. So we must know.”
“I’m getting really impatient, Ivan,” Crowe warned him.
Gregor snorted. “Remember, Ivan,” he mused, “what impatience gained you?”
“Don’t make him smack the back of your head, Crowe,” Ivan suggested. “We may never finish this part of the tale if you do.”
Crowe slid Antoli a smug, mocking look, but he said nothing more.
“As I was saying,” Ivan continued. “Russians know how to find ancestors. Knowing this, I placed several families of the Resnova clan, particularly talented in collecting family rumors and following them where they may go, onto this particular problem. Some worked on the Internet and followed what was found there, contacted others in the appropriate cities and so forth. I have at last collected quite a history on the Barons of Corbin County, and the Callahans as well, as to what may have fueled the killings of the past forty years that seem to have no explanation.”
“When you’ve finished bragging on your fine Russian talents, you could get on with the story.” Crowe sighed.
Ivan chuckled, then began. “Nine generations ago, the founding fathers of Corbin County pooled their money, filed a land grant, and bribed certain officials to ensure their land was secured against all other claims that might come in. Then Patrick O’Hara Callahan, Douglas McQuire Roberts, Dennis O’Halloran Rafferty, and Augustus O’Ryan Corbin made the journey to the land of green pastures and wild mountain passes in Colorado. They had been here once before, plotted the land they fell in love with, and rushed to Washington to ensure their claim before a retired ship captain—some said pirate—and his son, could make their claim. The pirate, known as the Raider, and his son, known only as Blood, were only days late in attempting to claim the land when word reached them that the lush valley they had been building their cabin within was no longer theirs. They confronted the four men, and in a shoot-out with Patrick Callahan and Augustus Corbin, Raider and Blood took a bullet in the heart apiece. There were rumors though, and many believed them, that the two men, each captain of his own pirate ship—Raider for nearly three decades and Blood for more than two—had brought their chests of gold, jewels, and priceless plunder with them to the valley they called Raider’s Valley. There, it was said, the pirates had found a cavern so well hidden, so perfect to preserve their treasures, that they had no fear of it being stolen. They were a paranoid lot though. The men who had come with them came on the promise of rich land to raise cattle, horses, and crops, and that the numerous chests of treasure would be divided once the pirate son’s wife and small son arrived. They had worked hard ensuring the two captains had everything they needed. When Blood’s wife and son arrived, though, the pirates were dead and no one knew where the treasure was hidden.
“Now the wife, strangely enough, had never known her husband’s true surname. He gave her the name Clavern, promising that she would know everything once he had built their home and sent for her.
“When the wife and child showed up at the Callahan Ranch, she begged for mercy, claiming to have no funds and no way of returning to her brother’s house in New York. So Patrick Callahan, being the kind soul he was, allowed her to stay in the cabin built for her until she could reach her brother and have funds wired to her.
“Not long afterward, the Indians who hunted those mountains came to the Callahans with tales of a madwoman and a child with dead eyes whom they called ‘Devil.’
“A few months later, Patrick and his friends found this madwoman in the back of a cave, her fists bloody from pounding on the hard stone walls, her eyes glowing with madness as her son looked on with no emotion, no sense of a soul in his gaze.
“It was said the wife had driven herself mad searching for the treasure, and the son whispered a curse on the Callahans and the Corbins each night as he watched his mother claw her hands bloody searching for the doorway to the treasure.
“Nothing was ever found, and the rumors of treasure faded into the past, but the pirate’s bloodline did not. With each generation the tale is retold, the eldest son is taught the stories and told from the cradle that it’s his fate to find this vast wealth. At least every other generation, whichever son decides to take on the task of vengeance changes his last name, moves, sometimes fakes his death, so it was rather hard to find a few of them.” His lips quirked in amusement and pride.
Crowe rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter.
“Now, shall we fast-forward to a mere three generations ago? Corinne and Cable Ritchie, living in San Bernardino, California, received word that their eldest brother had changed his and his son’s names, and had arrived in Sweetrock to begin the quest to search for the treasure—a treasure said to be hidden in Raider’s Valley, a vast sweetgrass valley belonging to JR and Eileen Callahan. And that he had a plan to restore to the family all that had been stolen from them.” He glanced at each man and woman now listening intently to his tale. “I have the letters arriving by courier tomorrow, actually,” he promised them, eager to see such madness and attempt to make sense of it. “Corinne Ritchie’s brother said he and his son had created bonds with one of the four families, known then as the Barons, though he did not say which. But his first order of business was to poison JR Callahan, kill him, then marry his wife before their sons could return home from the war. That is, if they returned. Many of America’s sons were dying in Vietnam, and he was certain luck would be on his side. Eileen had just given birth to an infant boy, a child he was certain would be easy to kill without suspicion. But then there was word Eileen’s son died of some fever, and within weeks JR was out of the hospital and well on his road to recovery. JR was also aware he had been poisoned. He managed, Ritchie wrote to his brother and sister later, to throw suspicion on the other three families he was now plotting against.
“By now, Joseph was getting on in age, and growing ill himself, and this was when his son decided he would take this quest and complete it. He had fallen in love with the daughter of one of the landowners, and an employee heard father and son raging violently over the son’s decision to halt some quest and to live a life of idyllic, blissful love by his bride’s side.
“The young woman was headstrong, determined though. He wrote to his sister that he didn’t believe the daughter of this family would marry his son, as the son believed she would.
“That was the final letter they had from him. There was no word what he and his son had changed their names to, and no way of finding out when this occurred. I would guess they began this quest of vengeance somewhere around the nineteen thirties, give or take a good five to ten years. The daughter Joseph’s son was wooing would have been one of your mothers.” Ivan shrugged. “What I do have are records, news clippings, and a Mulrooney family history that would make your hair turn gray.” He cast an amused glance at his uncle, who deliberately ignored it. “Suffice to say, you’re looking at nearly two hundred years of deliberate deaths and attempts to either frame or murder the Callahans, and to find a way to acquire Raider’s Valley.”
“Wasn’t it around forty years ago that JR and Eileen Callahan lost control of their truck and went over that cliff?” Archer mused.
“Close enough.” Crowe’s tone was so hard that his cousins looked at him warily.
“The ‘Barons’ said the event someone was attempting to frame them for happened around forty years ago,” Archer told them. “Joseph Ritchie wrote that he and his son were attempting to frame others for this attempted poisoning of one of the parties as well?”
“And JR Callahan’s illness was proven to be a poisoning,” Ivan agreed.
&nb
sp; “You know,” Anna spoke then. “When I was little, before I went away to school, there was this guy that came to Grandfather. I was staying the weekend while my parents were away. I forget who he said he was; I wasn’t paying a lot of attention,” she admitted. “But I do remember he said he was researching an old pirate rumor written in a captain’s journal centuries before, that two bloodthirsty pirates had settled in Sweetrock or nearby. He’d identified some valley on Callahan property as the area they had first settled. Grandfather gave him permission to search the valley, and they sat and discussed where that treasure could have been hidden. He was supposed to return a week or so later, but he never came back. That was probably fourteen, fifteen years ago.”
“His name was Greg Cabot,” Ivan revealed with an approving nod in her direction. “And for the record, Gregory was a college professor actually researching Raider and Blood, a father-and-son pirating team who were said to have stolen as booty the actual crown worn by the king of Spain during the English and Spanish War. The treasures they looted, not just from other ships but also from private homes along several different coasts, would be considered priceless now.”
“Hell.” Rafer rubbed at the back of his neck in shock. “There’s no way something like that is on our property. We were all over that place as kids, and later as teenagers.”
“And there are two hundred years of death and bloodshed that prove otherwise,” Ivan pointed out. “There’s also a rumor that this family line has a sickness. A sickness that requires blood to ease the madness. They’re serial killers, my friends. They often work with someone else, someone they can control or feel they can control. They’re always in some way close to their victims, and are rarely suspected of being the monsters they are until they’re caught. They’ve changed their names so many damned times I doubt many of them even remember their original surname.”
“And that surname is?” Logan demanded.
“Mulrooney,” Ivan stated, his accent giving a lush, broad flavor to the name as he said it with an air of expectation.
When no one seemed surprised, or seemed to have heard of the name, his face fell with disappointment. “Ah well.” He shrugged. “I had hoped someone had heard it before.” A grin curled his lips. “I believe, though, with my excellent help, we shall indeed solve this mystery, save the damsels in distress, and I shall once again watch them ride away with their white knights on their white steeds.”
“Always a best man and never a groom, Ivan?” Jack laughed.
“Ah yes, the trials and tribulations of a man such as I,” Ivan bemoaned as he laid his hand against the white silk shirt covering his heart. “So many women, so much heartache to mend, and so very little time.”
“Even less time, Dad, if you keep pissing me off. Even less time,” Amara warned him as she strolled past him, then headed upstairs.
Ivan watched her with a mock glare.
“She threatens to dare to be a prosecutor,” he muttered, and though his expression was fiercely mutinous, his tone was filled with pride.
Chuckles sounded around the group as it slowly broke up. Jack and Jeanne announced they had to be going and minutes later, Archer and Anna made their good-byes as well.
As Ivan and Gregor watched the sheriff’s truck disappear down the lane, Antoli sighed heavily. “She has heard the name,” he murmured to his nephew.
Ivan nodded. “Is there some way we can perhaps aid this memory in returning?”
His uncle had solved harder problems in the past. And it wouldn’t be the first time Gregor, Sophia, and Ivan had adopted a family or an individual with none other to stand for them, and fixed whatever tormented their lives.
Sometimes the world was a cruel and dark place, filled with shadows and monsters, if one had no one to look to for laughter or love.
Gregor narrowed his eyes and gazed into the mountains thoughtfully before he shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and gave a slight nod. “I will work on this,” he promised Ivan. “Give me a bit of time. I work on this.”
And if it could be done, then Gregor could damned sure do it.
CHAPTER 17
Archer’s arrogance was driving her crazy.
Four days later, four days of miserable, solitary sleeping arrangements and boredom the likes of which Anna had never experienced before.
She couldn’t leave the house without enough bodyguards to make her crazy. Ivan Resnova had actually listened to Archer when he requested six men to guard her. And they listened when he said she wasn’t to leave the house except to go onto the patio.
And that left only one option. If he was going to be all possessive and male, then the least he could do was give her something to make the confinement seem not so intolerable.
And if he couldn’t stomach going to bed with her and actually touching her, then she would take the Resnovas and the Callahans up on their offer to move to the ranch. Because she couldn’t stand living with him without touching him.
Putting the finishing touches on the dinner prep, she heard the front door open and close, announcing he’d arrived home for the evening.
Moving into the foyer, Anna leaned against the walnut sideboard positioned halfway to the door, propped one hand on a hip, and watched him coolly.
“I cooked tonight. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I could eat,” he stated, his tone cool.
“Then go ahead and shower.” Straightening, she let her gaze narrow on his face. “Is everything okay?”
He shook his head slowly. “Everything’s fine, Anna. I’ll shower.”
Moving past her, he headed up the stairs to take his shower.
Limping back to the kitchen, Anna moved to the cabinet, took two more pain pills, then returned to fixing dinner.
Restraining herself from turning and sticking her tongue out in the direction he had taken upstairs, Anna instead took a slow, deep breath.
Moving to the other side of the counter, she checked the text she’d sent to Amelia earlier, her lips pursing at the lack of an answer.
She knew Amelia was pissed, but she hadn’t expected her friend to take it to such an extreme as to ignore her calls and texts.
She pulled marinated steaks from the fridge, and the lettuce she’d broken up earlier. The vegetables she’d cut up went into the lettuce; potatoes were in the oven. Once dinner was done she would find out exactly why Archer felt the need to sleep in the guest room and what the hell made him think he could ignore her so easily.
Skye had laughed at her when she called earlier, asking her friend’s advice on the best way to handle the situation. She had asked why Anna was bothering to fix Archer’s dinner. She should be pissed instead, Skye had drawled. Give him hell. Don’t let him get away with it.
She wasn’t going to allow him to get away with it any longer, that was for damned sure.
He stepped out to the patio and Anna glanced at him from her position by the grill as she laid the steaks on the rack.
His dark blond hair looked darker wet, his jaw harder and freshly shaved, without the short shadow of a beard and mustache. There was no missing the uncompromising set of his chin or the rough-hewn lines and angles of his face.
Inherent male stubbornness, determination, dominance, and arrogant pride were now fully revealed. The challenge in the natural set of his jaw was enough to set a woman’s nerves on edge.
Or ensure a woman set her own challenge.
There was no mistaking the fact that he was pissed as well, but that was okay. Because, Anna decided, she might be more pissed.
To reinforce the fact that she was not making the first move, Anna gave him a long, hard look, then pretended he wasn’t even there and went about finishing the meal.
*
Archer recognized the challenge snapping in her gaze, as well as feeling it tug at the dominance and possessiveness already rising inside him.
She hadn’t even realized he was home early. Early, because Sophia Resnova had called and informed him that Skye wa
s under the impression Anna would be moving to the ranch, if not tonight, then tomorrow. And as Anna had called earlier to ask for Skye, she was giving it great credence.
Like hell she was. He dared her to even mention such a thing to him. Of course, that would be hard for her to do considering she hadn’t spoken to him since he stepped out to the patio. He was damned tired of it, too.
Narrowing his gaze on her as she set the meal of steak, potatoes, and salad on the small table, he waited.
Anna took her seat, and still she didn’t speak. She lifted her fork and knife, and pretended he wasn’t even there.
As a matter of fact, as his own ire grew, she finished the meal and never once spoke to him.
“If you’re that pissed, then why bother fixing my dinner?” he asked, jaw flexing as she moved to rise from her chair and stack the dishes.
Anna paused, her nostrils flaring as only her gaze lifted.
“You provide a roof over my head and keep me safe. I appreciate it.”
She appreciated it?
He provided a roof over her head and she fucking appreciated it?
“You fixed my dinner because you appreciate being able to live here?” he asked carefully. “Fuck you, Anna. I don’t want or need your damned gratitude. That’s not why I do it, I do it because—”
Because—the thought of anything happening to her had the power to make him enraged. Because he had to hold her. Because she fucking belonged to him.
And he knew he couldn’t tell her that.
“That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Fuck. That sure as hell wasn’t the right thing to say.
“Because it’s what you’re supposed to do?” Fury lit in her gaze. “How dare you look me in the eye and say something so damned asinine? Are you actually trying to tell me you’re protecting me because it’s your fucking job?”
Archer almost winced. Hell, he hadn’t wanted it to come out that way. That wasn’t actually why he did it.