by Grady, D. R.
“I need to leave. Have O’Riley call me when he’s done here. Or the two of you can stop by later.” He didn’t want to lose the pattern in his mind and barely caught her surprise.
The picture kept forming, taking a definite shape and Greg waved to Janine, grabbed his empty casserole dish and made for the back door. He took a moment to hug KC goodbye, shook Max’s hand, and patted the kids before he bolted.
KC stared after him, and he knew she understood what was happening. She’d seen the zone take him before. His sister could explain why he had left so abruptly. At least he hoped she did. Even if not, he still needed a paint brush in his hand.
Janine slid into the seat beside KC, her eyes on the door Greg had just hastily exited through. “What was that all about?”
KC jiggled Macy, and readjusted the squirming baby in her arms before answering. “He got an image in his head.”
“And?” Janine frowned. What did that mean?
“He’s an artist, remember?”
“Yes.” She still didn’t understand.
“Well, from the look on his face, a painting took over. He has to go home and paint it.”
“Oh.” A painting had caused that flight. Not her. Not her overwhelming family. Thank goodness. Relief spiraled through her and Janine sucked in a steadying breath. That worked. Artists were different than other people, and everyone knew it, so she could deal with him leaving so fast if he had to paint.
What she couldn’t handle was if she smelled funny or irritated him or something. Not that she truly believed he had been annoyed, but they’d been talking and then he hit the door like he was fired from a tank. Actions like that did not inspire confidence in those you conversed with.
“Nothing keeps Greg when he has to paint.” KC frowned. “Or at least nothing kept him during our growing up years.”
Janine figured his secret operative activities had kept him plenty of times, but she wasn’t about to share that news with KC.
“I can’t relate to his need to paint.”
“Neither can I. But Ryan might.”
“That makes sense.”
KC sighed. “Yes.”
“We have to trust Greg.”
“Why?
Janine heard KC’s pain. “Because what he’s done, he’s done for you. And for Ryan and others who couldn’t defend themselves. We should thank him, not be mad at him.”
Janine felt KC’s hand on her arm and looked down at the familiar shape and feel of it. She didn’t typically touch others freely, but KC and she had established a bond so many months ago that went beyond a normal friendship. Janine covered KC’s hand with her own.
They had faced death and destruction together and had even won some of the time. Touching seemed natural. Janine wondered if she would come to feel the same way about KC’s brother as she did about KC.
She would face down danger and death again if it meant keeping her friend and her family safe. And she’d do so without protest. Greg must feel the same way, because why else would he be here?
“What do you think he’ll paint?”
KC smiled. “Us. This family gathering. It’s probably the only way he knows to deal with this crush of people.”
“Do you think we overwhelm him?” But Janine was pretty sure she already knew that complicated answer. The Morrisons overwhelmed her, and they were her family. They were all she had ever wanted, but they still scared her sometimes.
“Yeah. I’m sure we do.”
“Will he be able to adapt?”
KC frowned and finally placed Macy on the floor. The baby lifted to her knees then pushed to her feet and soon toddled away from her mother. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think he’ll ever be comfortable with the Morrison clan?”
“I honestly don’t know. Greg and I look alike, but we’re entirely different people.”
“You love the Morrison family.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean Greg will.”
“I can’t imagine living without them now that I’ve found them.” Janine didn’t realize how true her statement was until she uttered it. How could she live without her family? They loved her. And she loved them.
“They’re all you’ve ever wanted.”
“Yes.” But was that true now? Did she only want the Morrisons? Or did she want Greg Gilmore, too?
Chapter 8
Greg grabbed his favorite paint brush and smeared it through the dab of blue paint on his palette. He slathered the color over the canvas and watched as the scene in his head took shape. With the next stroke of his brush, he merged the blue with yellow, then red. He mixed more paint to form a flesh color and soon the faces that had blurred in his mind stared at him from the once blank canvas.
Another brush stroke, and there was KC and then Ryan. His precious son. Greg shoved the ache aside as he added Macy. More caresses across the canvas and Janine’s face was revealed. O’Riley, his wife, and their daughter followed. Sam Welby and Ben Morrison, shown in profile appeared in the corner.
Even their hostess and her husband showed up in the background, recognizable through the sea of faces that weren’t. Greg kept adding color and with each addition, the scene formed clearer and clearer. He splashed the many colors across the canvas, and relived the moment in the painting.
His breathing became labored as he worked, adding more color and images to match what he saw in his brain. Normally, the images inside didn’t form like those on a canvas, but he was heartened to see this one did. They meshed so well he couldn’t tell one from the other.
The art consumed him as he added brush strokes and color and the images formed a kaleidoscope across his canvas. This was exactly how he had felt tonight. Except that he could still breathe freely. Here in his living room, with the sun gone down, blended with the familiar shadows, painting. A relaxing place.
The scent of his oil paints hung wealthily in the air. He sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the familiar scent and thought about another he’d enjoyed tonight. Janine’s feminine aroma teased him as he worked. The mixture of the two, the smell of his paints in the room, and the memory of Janine’s fragrance blended another image in his mind. A pleasant, nearly sensual picture that made him pause.
He leaned away from the canvas and stared at it, feeling satisfaction and relief at the unfinished piece. It would look perfect hanging in the empty space over Janine’s fireplace. He noticed last evening that she hadn’t committed anything to the mantle yet.
Greg realized Janine would value the painting, which is why he thought to give it to her. Not that KC wouldn’t value it but it felt right to give the work to Janine. She had shared in most of the experiences with him tonight. Her presence had made the situation bearable.
When he started cleaning his brushes, he noticed headlights slash across the opposing wall. Frowning, he drifted to the nearest window and stared out at whoever had decided to pay him a visit tonight.
He recognized Janine when she swung her long legs from the car. Greg turned his attention to the man exiting the driver’s seat. O’Riley. Janine must have informed him of their previous conversation. That was fine. Now they might be able to come up with some answers as to who was after them. Maybe even figure out why.
That would be nice.
He opened the door when they clambered up the front porch steps. Greg shook hands with O’Riley. Then he thought about refreshments after the pair strolled inside. What did he have? After digging through the refrigerator he discovered a bottle of soda.
Pouring the fizzy drink gave him a moment to assess the situation. Both Janine and O’Riley had greeted him easily as they stepped through the door. Now, both stood in front of his partially finished canvas, and he was oddly satisfied at the reverence he detected in Janine’s reaction. Her respect for his abilities pleased him.
He had never cared what others thought before. Well, maybe only what KC thought. But she was his sister. She had to like him. Janine didn’t.
Greg watched
her drinking in his wet canvas and thought about showing her some of his other work. Of course, that might prove challenging, since he had none with him. Everything he owned was displayed on his houseboat. KC had a few pieces, though. So did O’Riley.
“Would you like it?”
Janine started when he asked the question right behind her. He thrust the glass of soda in her hand and tried not to appear a bigger dork than he felt. Of course he startled her. She had been lost in thought over his painting, he hoped, and he interrupted her.
“You’d give this painting to me?” She blinked at him. Seeing those deep, amber eyes wink at him like that made his heart trip a beat.
“Yes.”
“I’d love it.” She cocked her head at him. “I’m not going to give you room to change your mind. I love this painting.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s gorgeous and of my family.”
“I like to see my work go to good homes. I thought it might suit that empty area above your fireplace mantle.”
“That’s where I picture it. I don’t think I’m even going to frame it. A frame would detract from the piece.”
He didn’t care if she framed it, but he did want to see the picture’s permanent residence. Once he finished it.
O’Riley shifted beside them and Greg handed him the other soda glass. “Thanks,” O’Riley said and took a swallow, still staring at the painting.
Greg nodded in acknowledgement of the thanks. He reached for his own glass and glanced around the room. Fortunately, it had a table, so he seated himself there and indicated to his visitors to take the other seats.
They probably ought to get down to business. That was the purpose of the visit. O’Riley took the seat across from him, while Janine seated herself next to him. Greg could reach out and touch her if he wanted. Which he didn’t, he scolded himself.
No one spoke for a moment, and Greg appreciated that. The time gave him a chance to sort his thoughts and recall the conversation with Janine that had set him thinking.
“Why didn’t we take these dealers into consideration?” Janine asked the same question on his mind.
“From what little I could gather, these guys are small. They don’t operate in most of the major cities. We believe they saw an opportunity and took it,” O’Riley replied as he stared into his glass.
“Have you been watching them?”
“Of course, but they lay low. Their deals don’t appear to be that remarkable.”
“Why would they be after Greg then?” Janine stared at their former boss, her brows touching.
“That’s another piece I’ve been wondering about since you told me about your conversation tonight.”
“What piece?”
“These guys shouldn’t have the technology to discover a dead agent is still alive.” O’Riley shoved a hand through his hair. “The U.S. government would have the resources, but it would take even us some time to verify it.”
“What if this group is just making certain they’re covering all bases?” Janine’s voice was calm, quiet. But firm.
O’Riley shrugged. “I suppose it’s a possibility.”
“Did they actually say my name?” Greg asked.
“No. They asked for a secret operative and mentioned your last mission.”
“And?” Janine’s voice was intense.
“And I told them he died from injuries sustained during that mission.”
Greg nodded. He had died. Michael Lamont was dead and buried, and Greg Gilmore intended to live instead. His life had been put on hold long enough.
“But?” Janine asked.
“They claimed they saw him leave the building.”
“I did leave the building.”
“I confirmed that you had, but the injuries Lamont sustained during the explosion killed him on the operating table.”
“Severe bodily trauma,” Janine murmured, as though reading the information from a paper.
“That’s the official version of his death but it sounds like some people don’t believe it.” O’Riley ran a hand down his neck.
“Do you think they have any idea Greg Gilmore and Michael are the same man?” He directed his question to O’Riley.
“You’re buried deep. I think it’d take a skilled hacker with a lot of knowledge to figure out who you are/were,” O’Riley answered after a moment.
Janine stirred. “So you think your break-in was these dealers looking for facts. They saw Michael leave the building that night...”
“And wanted to make sure he didn’t survive.” O’Riley finished her statement.
“What about the autopsy?” Greg glanced at Janine.
She frowned. “What autopsy?”
“Shouldn’t there have been one? My death injuries were obviously not from natural causes.”
“Oh, you died from injuries sustained in an automobile accident. Not from bomb shrapnel.” Janine stared at him. He thought he could see something churning in her brain, but didn’t want to interrupt until she explained.
“You covered up Lamont’s death.” There was slight accusation in his voice.
“Of course we covered it up. We couldn’t have everyone knowing what you’d been up to.” O’Riley sent him a sardonic look. Greg blinked. Okay, he hadn’t expected the cover-up.
“One person we can send these men to if they come asking again,” Janine said and bit her lip.
O’Riley sipped some soda. “Yes?”
“What about Willie in the morgue? He’s one of us and he would tell them straight out how he personally delivered Michael Lamont’s body to the funeral home where he was cremated.”
“Where they could talk to the funeral director who never stuffed my body into the oven, right?”
“No, they can’t.” Janine’s eyes gleamed with cunning and knowledge, and something shifted in the vicinity of his chest, then other places. Knock it off, he warned his hormones.
“Why not?” O’Riley had the patience of a mother with ten kids.
“Because that funeral director, the same man who would have been the one to cremate Lamont’s body, dropped over dead from a heart attack the next day.”
“Interesting coincidence.”
“Yes,” Janine answered. “It is a coincidence, but one we can use to our advantage.”
“So he’s dead too.” Greg took a swallow of his soda. Interesting.
“We managed to shove the paperwork through and fudge it so there’s a clear record of Lamont being in that oven when it was fired up.”
“What about the remains?” Greg winced at speaking about himself that way, but he knew the cremation process didn’t burn up everything. Bits and pieces of the body stuck around after the burning.
“I fudged that, too.” Janine looked guilty. O’Riley’s mouth fell open in an o while Greg managed to snap his own shut.
“You fudged using real human remains?” O’Riley’s voice sounded unnatural.
“Yes. I was a member of Lamont’s team. I wanted the job done right.” Janine sounded a little exasperated. “So I re-labeled some of the remains. One of the cases was a man with no family. I knew no one would come looking for him, so I tagged him as Michael Lamont.”
“I can’t believe you did that.” O’Riley sounded dumbstruck. At least he’d been able to utter something. Greg was still trying to pry his tongue off the roof of his mouth.
“I had to do something.” Now she sounded sad and a little weary. “I suspected people, enemies, would come knocking, seeking answers to Michael’s death. I knew unless we made it good, they would have cause to believe he still lived.”
“That’s probably true,” O’Riley said and swiped a hand over his face. “What you did wasn’t legal.”
“No, it wasn’t. But then many of the things Michael Lamont performed in his line of work weren’t either.”
Touché. Greg’s lips slid sideways.
“You’re sure this other guy’s family won’t come looking for him?” O’Riley seemed awf
ully worried about that other guy, while Greg recognized a sense of... gratitude.
“I’m sure. He had no family. And even if he did, it doesn’t matter. The funeral directors discard those extra pieces. All we had to do was be sure someone saw evidence of those pieces and ashes and a tag nearby that read Michael Lamont. The remains are long gone, so it won’t matter. We just needed a memory.”
“I guess we got that.” O’Riley’s tone was dry.
“We did.” Janine glared, or as close to a glare as was possible for such a refined lady, at O’Riley. “I just saved your operative from being found alive and you’re worried about a man who is dead, who had no family.”
“I just don’t want this to come back and bite us in the butt.” O’Riley stared at her a moment. “And what about that man’s dignity?”
She stared at her hands. “I took care of that.”
O’Riley’s face softened and he reached over to squeeze her hand. Greg saw her squeeze back and wondered about the bond between these two. He didn’t understand exactly what had occurred, but he didn’t need to.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
“No.” Janine’s lips twisted up in what he suspected was the closest thing to a bratty smile for her.
“So this leaves us with Michael Lamont having some ‘remains’ and a tag and such.” It was incredibly creepy talking about yourself as remains.
“Yes. The technician will remember your tag, or at least will have recorded your name in their log. There is a record of your cremation. And they had to discard your ashes.”
“Did someone pick up the ashes?” O’Riley asked.
“No. Michael Lamont had no family, so there was no one to pick them up. Nor was there a service for him.” Janine’s eyes were bright with what he suspected were unshed tears.
He wanted to reach over and squeeze her hand like O’Riley had, but he didn’t know her well enough to do so. Besides, she might take it the wrong way. He might take it the wrong way. Since he struggled with an unprecedented attraction to this amazing woman.