Allegiances

by Cynthia Eden

  Yes, the whole place would have to be checked. There could be more deadly surprises just waiting for them. Maybe that was what the SOB wanted.

  To see them all burn.

  Then he plans to shoot any survivors. He wants to take us all out.

  “What in the hell did we miss?” Sullivan demanded. Who was this killer? A man who’d been after their family for so long. A man who seemed determined to destroy the McGuires.

  He could still hear the crackle of flames coming from the guesthouse.

  The hunter out there wanted to see them burn. Maybe Monroe was right. Maybe the jerk had corralled them all into the stables. The better to kill us off?

  Too bad. None of them would be dying.

  He knew he had a choice to make. He could go out there and hunt the shooter. Track him down. He could leave Celia inside with his brothers while he searched.

  I don’t want to leave her. She needs me.

  He needed her.

  Yeah, he could hunt or...

  I can work with my family. Together, the way we’ve always done things. No one would be left behind. They’d all be safe. His gaze jerked around the stables. The horses were neighing louder, shifting in their stalls.

  “Get the saddles,” he ordered. “Because we’re getting the hell out of here.” Moving targets were so much harder to hit.

  And we won’t just wait for an attack.

  * * *

  THEY’D ESCAPED THE BOMB. Celia had gotten them out of that guesthouse. Then the whole damn group of them had come racing across the ranch. He’d fired, desperately, because he’d needed to stop Celia.

  But he hadn’t.

  I missed again.

  He’d wanted her heart. He hadn’t gotten it. She’d survived. The woman was so much harder to kill than he’d anticipated.

  Now they were in those stables. Hunkering down. No doubt planning their next move. He hadn’t put a bomb in the main house—he hadn’t been able to get close enough before. There hadn’t been any time.

  So I went for Celia. I knew she thought she was safe in that little guesthouse.

  She was wrong.

  I’ve been too soft. I should have attacked them all sooner.

  They’d be calling in backup. The rest of the family would swarm. They’d close ranks. It would just keep going and going...

  Unless no one was left.

  He pulled out the detonator from his pack.

  No, he hadn’t been able to get to that main house.

  But he had been able to plant explosives in the stables. Just in case. He’d always believed in having a contingency plan in place.

  He stared at those closed doors of the stables. For a moment, the past swam before him. He and Ronald had hidden in those stables. They’d waited until they thought it was a good time to make contact. He’d gone in. The rage had taken over.

  I fired before I even thought about it. My finger squeezed the trigger, and she was just gone.

  There was one thing that he’d regretted—and that had been her death.

  Stop it. Focus. It’s you or them. You or them!

  He pressed the button to detonate, and when the stables exploded...

  He could have sworn he heard his sister scream. But then, he’d been hearing her scream in his dreams for years. Some sins really did stay with you.

  No matter how hard you tried to bury the past.

  * * *

  SULLIVAN HELD TIGHT to Celia, keeping a firm grip around her body as the horses bolted away from the blaze. They’d barely cleared the back of the stables when the place erupted, raining fire and chunks of debris down around them. The horses were going nearly wild now, so desperate to escape from that heat.

  He didn’t head back toward the front of the ranch, or to the main house. Instead, Sullivan and the others surged into the line of trees. That would be their cover. Their protection.

  The horses’ hooves pounded over the earth. He risked a glance back over his shoulder, and he saw the flames shooting into the sky.

  Just another few moments, and they would have been dead. Celia. His brothers. Jennifer. Jamie...

  All dead.

  It has to stop.

  Fury twisted within him. No one attacked his family like this. No one came to their home and tried to destroy them.

  His horse surged forward even faster. He controlled the animal easily even as he pulled Celia closer to him.

  He directed the horse to the right. He was going to the main road, but by a different path than the one Davis and Brodie would take with their wives. Sullivan had wanted the family to separate—that way they wouldn’t present an easy target in case the shooter found them again.

  They would be safe and—

  Someone raced out of the brush. A man who appeared to be little more than a shadow. He lifted his gun and fired.

  But Sullivan had already leaped from the horse. He’d taken Celia with him and he rolled, twisting his body so she was protected and he hit the ground first. The impact knocked the breath from his body.

  A shot rang out. One, two—

  He looked up and saw Monroe take a hit in the stomach. Monroe’s gun fell from his hand and he rolled off his horse. The horse galloped into the darkness, rushing away.

  Monroe groaned and began to rise from the ground.

  And the man aimed his gun right at Monroe’s head. “This wasn’t even your fight.”

  “Stop!” Celia cried. She’d leaped off Sullivan and, even with her wound, she was rushing toward the shooter. “Just...stop!”

  He immediately swung the gun toward her.

  And Sullivan’s world seemed to end.

  * * *

  DAVIS HEARD THE thunder of the gunfire, rising even above the flames. He drew back on his horse’s reins.

  Brodie stopped beside him.

  Jennifer and Jamie were close, edging their mares toward them.

  Davis’s head turned. “Northeast,” he said. His blood had iced. Two shots had been fired.

  He was supposed to keep going to the main road. To safety.

  But no way was he leaving his brother now. He turned his horse. Everyone did, as if on cue. And they took off, riding fast, so fast.

  * * *

  IS THIS WHAT it was like for my father? In those last moments, when a masked shooter aimed at my mother? When she was taken from him?

  Sullivan rose slowly. “Don’t.”

  The flames were still raging in the distance. The horses were long gone. And the gun was too close.

  But the shooter hasn’t fired. Not yet.

  Sullivan put his hands up and walked forward. “It’s my family, right? We’re the ones you’ve always been after. Family. The McGuires. I’m the one you want to kill.” He stepped in front of Celia.

  “No, Sully,” she said, her voice desperate.

  “Me,” he said, “not her.” He made sure his body fully blocked hers. This guy would not hurt Celia again, not without going through him first.

  Monroe groaned and tried to push himself to a sitting position.

  The shooter still hadn’t fired.

  Where are Davis and Brodie? Did they hear the shots? Or had the flames been too loud?

  “Just like your father,” the shooter snarled. “Always trying to play the hero.”

  “My father was a good man,” Sullivan said simply. “And I’m not playing anything.” He had his hands up. “You want to shoot someone? Fine, do it. Shoot me, but not her. She never did anything to you. Not her.”

  “She set this nightmare into motion again! She should never have gone digging—”

  “She did it for me.” Because Celia loved him, and he—he would do anything for her. Even take a bullet.

  Sullivan stared at the man before him. The guy had a mask over his face. The two men who’d come for his mother and father that long-ago night—they’d worn masks, too. Ava had seen those masks. “You killed my parents,” he said.

  Laughter. “And I’ll be killing you, just like I did them.
”

  “Sully, no.” Celia’s hands pulled against him. “Stop it! Not for me. Not for me!”

  Didn’t she get it? Everything that he did, it was for her. He’d protect her with his last breath. He’d give anything and everything for her.

  “Two lovers,” the guy snarled. “You thought you’d get to be happy, didn’t you? Just like her.”

  And Sullivan knew the shooter was talking about his mother.

  “She rode away with her lover, became someone new, but I never forgot. Or forgave. I never stopped.” He took a step toward them. “She wasn’t safe here. I snuck in, I got to her...the same way I got to you.” That hard laughter came again. “I know this land damn better than you all do. I spent so long watching, waiting, thinking I’d find what I’d lost.”

  No wonder the guy had been able to sneak onto the property. He’d probably mapped out the whole area long ago.

  “She wouldn’t tell me. Your father...he wouldn’t tell me.”

  “What do you want to know?” Sullivan rasped. “What was worth killing them for?”

  “Family!” And it was a roar. A scream that cut through the night. “I wanted my family! Your father hid them from me. Took them...and I wanted them back!”

  “Witness Protection,” Celia cried out from behind Sullivan. “That’s what this is about—they were hidden...”

  “And I wanted them back!” His yell. “My woman. My child. But I didn’t get them...and guess what? You won’t get your family, either...”

  He was squeezing the trigger. But Sullivan could hear the pounding of horses’ hooves. He knew his family was coming. I’ve always got them.

  Sullivan grabbed Celia and they flew toward the shelter of the nearest tree as gunfire erupted.

  Gunfire from the shooter’s weapon.

  And gunfire...

  “No one hurts my family,” Davis snarled.

  Gunfire from Davis’s weapon.

  Sullivan looked up. Davis still had his gun aimed at the masked man.

  The shooter was on the ground.

  Sullivan’s shoulder throbbed and burned. He knew the masked man’s bullet had hit him, but he didn’t care about the wound. He was alive. Celia was alive. His family—we’re safe.

  “Sullivan?” Celia’s fingers slid over his cheek.

  His precious Celia.

  “You’re bleeding,” she whispered.

  So was she. They’d both earned new wounds from this night.

  Davis jumped off his horse and closed in on the killer—on the man who’d taken so much from them. But he would not take any more.

  “Doesn’t even hurt,” Sullivan said to her. He rose, pulling her with him, and he kept his arm around her.

  Brodie had leaped off his horse, too, and Sullivan saw that Jennifer had already grabbed the shooter’s weapon. She held it aimed at the prone man, her body tense.

  “It’s over,” Sullivan said. “You’re not hurting us anymore.”

  The fallen man just laughed. He rolled over, still wearing that mask. “The house is going to blow next,” he said. “I’ve planted my bombs—you’ll lose everything. All gone...in a puff of smoke.”

  Was he bluffing?

  But...it didn’t matter. “I’ll lose nothing,” Sullivan said. Blood dripped down his left arm. “Bricks and wood. The home will be rebuilt.” It was the people who mattered.

  Brodie leaned forward and ripped the mask off the guy’s face.

  Sullivan and Celia crept closer. Sullivan expected to see a stranger staring back at him.

  He didn’t.

  He heard Celia’s sharply indrawn breath.

  The man’s face was older, sharper, but...Sullivan had seen him before. In a very old photograph.

  A photograph of his mother’s brother.

  No, no way...he wouldn’t kill his own sister!

  “I told her not to go...to the cops...” he rasped. “When I shot that boy...I told her...I warned her, but she turned on me. Me.”

  A dull ringing filled Sullivan’s ears. He stared at that man—family—and he’d never wanted to kill anyone more.

  “Thought when Celia started digging...” The guy swiped his hand over his face and then his hand dropped to the ground beside him. “Thought she’d find out...that I was the one my sister identified all those years ago...that I was the one she ran from...”

  A killer, intimately close.

  Too close.

  “Faked my death...Uncle Sam helped...I was killing for him...” He laughed. And his hand...it was sliding toward his boot. Sullivan’s eyes narrowed.

  “But then I learned what McGuire had done, what he’d taken...not just my sister...everything!” And his hand slid into his boot. Sullivan knew he was going to pull up a weapon, a gun or a knife, and Sullivan yelled a warning—

  But Davis didn’t need a warning. Davis didn’t even need to fire. Neither did Jennifer. Because Monroe had managed to drag himself up. And Monroe took aim at the killer. The bullet blasted from Monroe’s gun before anyone else could even move.

  One bullet.

  The killer fell back—their uncle. He tumbled into the dirt. His breath rasped out in a sick, rough gurgle, and Sullivan knew the bullet had found its mark. That was the last gasp of a dying man.

  He bent next to the fallen man. The guy’s eyes were still open—wide, desperate, a dark gold. A gold that Sullivan had seen before. Now he knew why Celia had gasped. She’d never seen the picture of his uncle. She hadn’t recognized the guy from a photograph. She’d recognized his distinctive eyes.

  Him.

  When Sullivan had asked Alexandra to identify the shooter, she’d just said that the guy looked like... “Him.”

  At the time, Sullivan had thought that the man must somehow look like him. But despite their blood connection, his uncle didn’t resemble Sullivan at all.

  Instead, his golden eyes looked exactly like Monroe Blake’s. Exactly like the man who’d just killed him.

  The golden eyes closed.

  No one moved. Everyone stood there, staring at the dead man.

  Past and present merged.

  Grief twisted through Sullivan as he thought of all he’d lost.

  Then...

  Celia slipped closer. Her hand curled around his. “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “I promise. Everything will be okay...”

  His fingers squeezed hers. The threat was finally over. Finally.

  Sirens screamed in the distance.

  Justice had come to the McGuire ranch.

  Epilogue

  The fires were out. The body was gone.

  There were no more bombs. No more shooters lurking in the woods.

  The ghosts from the past were gone.

  There was just...family. And that family had gathered together at McGuire Securities, a somber meeting as they closed this final chapter.

  Sullivan sat on the couch, his hands entwined with Celia’s. They’d both been taken to the hospital. Patched up. Stitched. Released.

  The cops had been there, interviewing them, asking questions that never seemed to end. Then the government had taken over. Agents in their fancy suits who were interested in containing the story.

  After all, there were some secrets that weren’t supposed to be shared.

  Like the fact that their uncle—he’d been a trained assassin for the government. He’d spent years working with Ronald Worth, being the guy’s attack dog. When Ronald needed a target eliminated, their uncle had been the man he called for the job.

  After quite a few closed-door meetings with the CIA agents who’d swooped in, Celia had come to Sullivan to share what she’d learned. Apparently, Ronald had kept a secret file in his home office—a file that detailed all of their uncle’s assignments for him. Once the powers that be at the agency had learned of his deception, Ronald’s home was turned upside down. And all his secrets had been discovered.

  Along with the truth about dear old Uncle Jeremiah.

  Sullivan’s mother had only menti
oned him a few times. Her older brother. The soldier who’d survived battle but wound up dead at home. Sullivan had seen a picture of him, once. Jeremiah. He’d had dark hair and a wide smile.

  Celia cleared her throat. “My contacts in the government have said that there will be no further inquiries on this investigation. As far as they’re concerned, the case is closed.”

  The case. The McGuire legacy of pain and death. Now—over.

  “He was a killer,” Grant said, pushing back his shoulders. His voice was grim. “But he was her brother. Mom’s own brother...he pulled the trigger.”

  Sullivan’s gaze slid to his sister, Ava. He could never imagine hurting her. Would never do anything to so much as mar her skin. Tears glistened in Ava’s eyes, and he hated that sight.

  Davis was beside their sister. Ava’s husband was to her right. Mark kept tenderly rubbing her shoulder.

  “Every family has secrets,” Celia said quietly, “and yours is certainly no exception.”

  No, theirs was the extreme.

  “Your father...he helped your mother in many ways. It seems that she needed to make someone else disappear. Someone else that she feared Jeremiah might hurt. It was never official. From what I’ve been able to learn, there was no record of this woman entering the Witness Protection Program.”

  All eyes were on her.

  “Susan Salenger,” she said quietly. “She was Jeremiah’s lover over thirty years ago. His lover and your mother’s best friend. When your mother saw what her brother had done, what he’d become, she knew that she had to get away from Jeremiah. She also knew that she had to protect her friend.”

  “But—but I thought Mom’s brother was dead.” Ava shook her head. “He was killed in a car accident. That was the story—”

  “I’m afraid that’s all it was. A story.” Celia’s voice was gentle. “Your uncle Jeremiah was working with Ronald. When it looked as though Jeremiah would be exposed, Ronald stepped in and tried to cover for the guy. After all, who looks for a dead man?”

  Ava shivered.

  “Ronald got rid of your mother’s most damning evidence and Jeremiah...he got rid of the cops who’d heard her testimony. He ordered the hit on Henry, and then he made sure no one would connect the dots back to him...or Jeremiah.”

  Grant swore. “The guy was a damn monster.”