The Call of Bravery

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I got my college degree and the career I wanted.” Duncan paused. “When I was a kid, I didn’t let myself think about what would happen to you and Niall. I won’t say I wasn’t shocked by what Mom did or by what it meant to me, but whether you think I’m spouting a line of bull or not, the truth is I’m glad things fell the way they did. I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life with you two on my conscience.”

  Stunned, Conall took a minute before he said, with what he intended to be his usual mockery, “Saint Duncan.”

  He had the feeling his brother was smiling when he said, “I don’t hear any bitterness. Don’t tell me the years are finally mellowing you.”

  Was it true? Well, hell. “I guess maybe they are,” he admitted. “Or something else is.”

  “Maybe someone.”

  “Maybe.” His voice sounded thick.

  They both backed off after that, but, like every time he saw or spoke to Duncan lately, Conall was left shaken by how much everything had changed. His perception of the past had shifted. It was as if two different artists had painted the same scene, interpreting it with completely different sensibilities. Maybe neither was the truth, but both were true.

  Go figure.

  He made a point of seeking out Sorrel before dinner, finding her in her bedroom with the laptop open. “You okay?” he asked.

  Color swept over her face. “Um, yeah.”

  He smiled. “You going to talk to your parents?”

  Her shoulders jerked. “I kind of have to, don’t I?”

  “Probably. One of those parts of being a kid that sucks.”

  She gave a tiny giggle, but her gaze still shied from his. “I’m, well, I’m sorry for…you know.”

  He stayed relaxed in the doorway, shoulder propped against the frame. “Yeah, I know, and don’t worry about it.”

  Sorrel nodded.

  “You know what I’d like? I’d like to see your uncle arrested. Behind bars where he belongs.”

  “Lia says she bets there’ve been other girls. Or there will be.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true. It stinks that he has to hurt more than one girl before anyone takes it seriously.”

  “Yeah.” She sounded militant. Then, the next instant, pathetically young. “I wish I hadn’t let him—”

  “Let him?” That pissed Conall off. “He had the power, Sorrel, not you. Every single thing that happened is on him. You are not responsible. Don’t ever even think that again.”

  “Okay.” Her teeth closed on her lower lip. Then she said softly, “I’ll try not to.”

  He made an effort to hide his anger for fear she’d misunderstand it. “Good girl.”

  “Is it time for dinner?”

  “Lia hasn’t called us yet. I’m going upstairs to check in with Jeff. Knock when it’s time, okay?”

  She nodded, smiled, a shy blooming of beauty to come. “Thank you.”

  He wasn’t going to say you’re welcome, because she didn’t owe him for a thing. It enraged Conall to think of her so vulnerable, betrayed by someone she should have been able to trust. It was worse, so much worse, than the kind of betrayals he took for granted from the scum he dealt with on the job. Would Sorrel ever truly be all right again? He doubted she would; faith in other people, once lost, was probably impossible to recapture.

  Except, like him, she’d gotten lucky. Lia would be her refuge until she no longer needed one. One person could make all the difference.

  Halfway up the attic stairs, his steps slowed. Was it possible he’d regained his own faith?

  I believe that Duncan loved me all that time. It wasn’t entirely duty.

  And, more shocking, I believe that Lia will never fail anyone she loves.

  Lucky Sorrel.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CONALL CROUCHED BEHIND a thin screen of blackberries. He was only a few feet on Lia’s side of the barbed wire fence that separated her acreage from the neighbor’s. Niall crouched beside him, Glock in his hand. Seeing it, Conall had noted the irony that he and his brother had chosen the exact same serve weapon.

  Duncan and one of his men, a detective named Sean, were elsewhere along the perimeter, also armed and prepared to move. Conall’s intense focus was split between the utility truck bumping along the gravel road, raising a cloud of dust, and the house that lay a few hundred yards across rough pasture. The dogs had given some deep-throated warning barks but were now silent as they raced for the head of the driveway to meet the truck.

  “Good thing neither of them wandered this way,” Niall muttered.

  Conall grunted. He carried a stun gun, not his usual weapon of choice, but he was reluctant to kill the damn dogs if he didn’t have to. They were only doing their job.

  As the truck rumbled up to the house, the front door opened and a man emerged. The older of the two, Joseph Cufley had thin, graying hair and a body that was going soft. Through his binoculars, Conall tried to tell if he was armed. Henderson parked, then rolled down his window.

  His voice came through loud and clear. Good. Wires had been known to fail.

  “The dogs gonna bite me?”

  “Rufus, Jinx, heel. Sit,” Cufley snapped.

  The two Dobermans obeyed, but their cropped ears were sharp and their eyes stayed unwaveringly on the intruder.

  After displaying understandable hesitancy, Henderson opened his door and got out. “Glad you were home,” he said, sounding a little nervous. “PUD. Here to read your meter.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  They already knew the meter was on the south side of the house, right beneath the dining room window. It would be natural with the kind of weather they were having for the residents to leave that window open some of the time. Maybe to have some unwary conversations over their pizza or frozen lasagna. Perfect place for a bug.

  Primed, Jeff nodded and started around the house. To Conall’s dismay, Cufley followed close behind, the dogs with him.

  Niall was swearing softly. Conall lost Henderson visually, but knew Duncan would have picked him up. Jeff was doing a hell of a job, somewhat to Conall’s surprise, chatting about the run of sunshine and how those were mighty good looking dogs. “Do you breed Dobermans?” he asked, real friendly but still maybe a little nervous. Who wouldn’t be?

  The pause was distinct. “No, these are both male.” The answer sounded reluctant and not very friendly.

  A metallic sound. Jeff had opened the box on the side of the house, Conall guessed. Shit. Was there any way he could plant a listening device right under Cufley’s nose? Were these survivalists sophisticated enough to check for a bug after the supposed meter reader had left? Conall’s gut was saying, Don’t do it. Bail. Unless Henderson had a chance on the way to the truck to drop it somewhere else. Too bad there were no foundation plantings.

  Conall waited, tense. A moment later, the conversation resumed. Jeff reappeared, Cufley breathing down his neck. There wasn’t a damn thing Henderson could do but say, “Have a good day,” and leap into the truck. He backed out, turned around and drove away, the dogs racing behind until the boundary of the property.

  Conall and Niall were already melting away. The last thing they needed now was for one of the dogs to catch their scent.

  Jeff had already turned down Lia’s driveway, as would be expected. Conall broke into a trot. Jeff was waiting for them when they ducked between the fence rails. He shook his head.

  “Not a prayer.”

  “Shit.”

  “You think I should have—”

  “No. He was suspicious. You did the right thing.”

  The real meter reader, wide-eyed at the excitement, reclaimed her truck and departed. The men stayed where they were, by Duncan’s now not-so-shiny SUV.

  “You think he’s afraid they’re being wa
tched?” Niall suggested.

  “In a general way, yeah,” Conall said. “Specifically, no. Our neighbor’s whole worldview is paranoid. He hates and fears anyone even slightly different from him. Government protects minorities, which means it’s out to get him. Public utility districts are government entities, right?”

  “So why didn’t we send in a pizza delivery instead?” Duncan asked behind him.

  “Because it turns out our guys always pick up their pizza. Seems they don’t want anyone knocking on their door. What’s more, they buy randomly from different pizza places, or frozen from the grocery store.”

  Duncan snorted. “Because variety is the spice of life?”

  Conall cracked a smile despite his frustration. “I seriously doubt it. It’s probably more paranoia in action. Maybe Cufley thinks too much of the same brand will eat up his stomach lining.”

  The other men chuckled. Conall sighed and held out a hand to Duncan. “Thanks for backing us up.”

  “No problem.” They shook and then he clapped Conall on the shoulder.

  Niall did the same, and Sean nodded. They drove away, leaving Niall and Jeff to walk into the house where the boys and Lia lay in wait.

  “Did it work?” Brendan asked eagerly.

  Jeff looked startled at how well-informed the kids were. Conall was momentarily disconcerted by how utterly he’d violated standard operating procedure where they were concerned. But he still couldn’t see the harm, and said, “No. One of the guys stuck to Jeff like stink on— Er, like glue.”

  They both cackled, knowing what he’d almost said. Lia rolled her eyes upward. Boys, her expression said. Men, she might as well have said. Conall knew plenty of adult males who still found bodily odors and human excrement to be the foundation of all humor.

  “Now what?” Lia asked worriedly.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Tomorrow is garbage day,” she reminded him.

  The boys both stared at him. “You go through their garbage?”

  “Fascinating stuff, garbage,” he told them, steering both of them toward the kitchen with a hand on each of their shoulders. “You know archaeologists are especially fond of garbage, too. Nothing they like better than discovering an ancient dump.”

  Walker didn’t look as if he knew what an archaeologist was, but Brendan’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, but that’s really old garbage. It doesn’t smell.”

  “A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”

  Henderson had an air of bewilderment as he excused himself to go upstairs. Conall had come to the conclusion that the other DEA agent lacked any sense of humor. He was an awfully earnest guy. It didn’t bode well for his tolerance of his own kids’ screw-ups and foibles, but maybe they were earnest, too. Stood to reason.

  He grabbed a cola from the fridge and let Lia debate what the boys could and couldn’t have. He drained the drink in a few long swallows. He was beginning to think he was going to have to drug or use the stun gun on the pair of Dobermans so he could sneak close to the house. He hadn’t wanted to do that since he wasn’t sure how often the men checked on the dogs during the night. If they discovered them unconscious or even groggy, secrecy would be a thing of the past. But this couldn’t keep dragging on, either. He needed it to be over, before—

  Conall didn’t let himself finish the thought. He’d long since learned not to dwell on possible risks and wasn’t going to make an exception for a risk that wasn’t physical.

  Lia finally produced homemade oatmeal raisin cookies all around, and he fell on them with as much enthusiasm as the boys did. She watched in amusement. “They’re skinny. You look well fed.”

  He grinned at her, making her cheeks become tinged with pink at the unspoken reminder that she knew every contour of his body. “I usually only get store-bought cookies.” He patted his belly. “I’ll bet I’ve put on ten pounds since I came to stay here.”

  She made a scoffing sound accompanied by Walker’s and Brendan’s laughter.

  “You’re not fat,” Walker said. “You have to run lots to keep up with us.”

  “You do keep me hopping.” He smiled at them, thinking about how long it had been since he’d gotten any real exercise. He didn’t want to make himself visible by running daily, as he did whenever his job allowed it, and Lia didn’t have a treadmill or exercise bike or weights. She kept slim by caring for house, children, garden and animals instead.

  He went out and kicked the soccer ball with the boys for an hour, then elicited their help in doing some work on the barn he’d had in mind. Lia provided gloves for all—she had kid-size ones for her garden. Conall put in some nails to hang yard tools, then laid out smaller tools to determine how large a peg board they’d need. Finally he took the boys with him to the hardware store. Lia kept offering to pay any costs, and he stared her down.

  He purchased peg board and hooks as well as lumber and brackets to put up shelves. For once he worked up a good sweat by the time he had to go in and shower before relieving Jeff.

  Conall was a little surprised when he emerged from the bathroom to find Brendan lurking in the hall.

  “I wish you were having dinner with us,” the older boy said.

  Conall smiled crookedly. “Me, too.”

  Brendan shifted from foot to foot. “You really, really need to hear what those guys are talking about, don’t you?”

  “We’ll figure out a way to do that. That’s what I get paid to do.”

  “Do you think they have guns?”

  Yeah. He was pretty sure the neighbors had enough guns for a small army, but he wasn’t going to say that.

  “You afraid they’re going to shoot me?”

  The kid hung his head and shrugged.

  Conall ruffled his hair. “Better men than them have tried. You haven’t seen any holes in me, have you?”

  Actually, he’d had a few, the ugliest of which had been in his groin and another that left a long scar on his thigh. Lia had discovered both—traced them with featherlight fingertips followed by soft brushes of her lips and moist breath. Who knew having a woman inspect his battle scars could be so erotic?

  “No-o. Has anyone ever shot at you?”

  “Yeah, but most people aren’t very good shots. Especially when the target is moving.”

  Brendan frowned as if concentrating hard and nodded. “So you run really fast, right? And zigzag, like they do on TV?”

  Conall laughed. “Something like that. Listen, I need to work, and don’t I hear Lia calling you?”

  Looking sulky, the ten-year-old said, “How come Jeff doesn’t eat upstairs every night? He hardly talks to us anyway.”

  Conall hid this smile. “I promised I’d let him out of the attic every other day. Otherwise he could sue because the living conditions are inhumane.” Pretending to worry, he said, “Maybe every other day isn’t enough, though. Do you think he’s forgetting how to talk? His wife won’t like that when I send him home.”

  Brendan eyed him. “You’re joking, right?”

  On another laugh, Conall headed for the attic door. “I’m joking.”

  For once, it was Lia who knocked half an hour later to hand over his dinner tray, allowing him to steal a lingering kiss and cop a feel that left him aroused with no way to get relief until three in the morning or so.

  Well, hell. Anticipation was supposed to be half the fun, wasn’t it? He grimaced. He’d rather have made love with her now and later. But he guessed in a houseful of kids that wouldn’t have happened anyway. He couldn’t blame the job for this particular frustration, uncomfortable though it was.

  It felt like a miracle to him that she was awake and waiting eagerly for him every night when he slipped into her room. He had yet to catch her by surprise. Her arms always closed around him with fierce pleasure when he got into bed with her.

&
nbsp; Tonight he growled, “God, I need you,” before taking her mouth with ravenous hunger. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind the entire time he kept restless, irritable watch from the window. Ten hours of his body aching for hers.

  Lia kissed him as passionately and gripped the nape of his neck with one strong hand while the other explored the contours of his back. He loved the feel of her fingers sinking into his hair, and he loved having to search beneath the curtain of hers for her breasts and belly. She’d taken to leaving her luxuriant hair loose when she went to bed, knowing the first thing he’d do anyway was free it from the braid.

  At one point he tore his mouth from hers to say, “I want to make love to you in the daytime. I want to see sunlight across your body. The way your eyes must change color when you get excited. I want—” He groaned when her hand encircled him. He finished in a rough whisper, “I want everything.”

  She didn’t ask what his everything comprised. He couldn’t have told her, only that he had begun to resent the fact that he couldn’t touch her most of the time, not the way he wanted to. Coming to her in the middle of the night like this had begun to feel furtive. He didn’t know why it mattered, but it did.

  “I’d like to see you, too,” she murmured. “But you know we can’t. The kids—”

  Much as he liked the kids, he wasn’t in any mood to think about them. He licked her nipple instead and then drew it into his mouth to suckle. Her hips rose in involuntary response and she apparently lost interest in talking, too. But for one gasp of surprise, a few moans and one keening cry he had to swallow with a hasty, open-mouthed kiss, tonight’s lovemaking was silent after that. Silent but shockingly intense.

  Conall was left winded, sated, stunned and apprehensive. How could it keep getting better? How could it be so good? What if it never was again, once their lives diverged?

  He didn’t know if she was asleep or not when he left her. He only knew he had to get away, that it felt too sweet holding her like this with her head tucked on his shoulder as if it belonged, him inhaling her scent, feeling the cushion of her breast against his side, her breath washing over his chest, her warmth.