Ultimate Sins

by Lora Leigh

  “That isn’t love.” Crowe shrugged carelessly as though what Wayne felt, or didn’t feel, didn’t really matter. “You can kill to protect the woman you love. You can die for her. But you can’t hurt her. You can’t take from her. And you would die before you see her hurt.”

  “Like you love this little bitch?” Wayne sneered, waving his gun in Amelia’s direction.

  “Yes actually.” Crowe nodded slowly. “Just like that.”

  “And if I killed her?” Wayne drawled, leveling the gun on Amelia’s head.

  “I wouldn’t suggest that.” Crowe sighed as though growing weary with the conversation.

  “And why wouldn’t you do that?” Wayne’s gaze snapped back to him.

  Crowe smiled. “Whoever’s helping you forgot to mention that Thea didn’t arrive at this house alone.”

  Wayne’s eyes narrowed.

  “She arrived with that lover you thought you killed when you thought you killed her,” Crowe said softly. “Tell me, did you know he was a sniper?”

  The second the words left Crowe’s throat, the window behind Wayne shattered.

  Amelia jumped for her daughter even as Kimmy was rolling off the side of the bed to the floor. The connecting door to Amelia’s parents’ room was thrown open, Ivan and Jack jumping forward, grabbing Amelia and Kimmy, and jerking them to safety.

  “Crowe,” Amelia cried out, desperate to know if he was okay, to know what was happening.

  Turning, she tried to jerk out of her uncle’s grip and reach the bedroom door. She was hustled into the hall just as quickly.

  “Don’t you fucking distract him.” Ivan was suddenly in her face, snarling down at her. “Your father couldn’t get into the proper position. At the most, Wayne has only been wounded and that makes him even more dangerous. Distract Crowe, and you could cause his death.”

  Her arms wrapped automatically around her daughter as Kimmy threw herself into the embrace. Amelia felt herself begin to crumple.

  “Hey there, Little Bit.” Her uncle caught her, his voice, his arms gentle as he steadied her on her feet. “Crowe’s the best. Remember that.” Lifting her face, he stared down at her, confident, certain in what he was saying. “Remember that, Amelia. When he walks out that door, it’s going to be over.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Wayne wasn’t dead.

  Crowe heard Ethan’s report as he managed to get himself into the best position possible, more than a mile away, and set his sights on the window and Wayne.

  “No mark,” he snarled into the link. “Get that bastard to move.”

  Crowe had only managed a few inches away from Kimmy.

  “I can distract him, possibly wound him,” Ethan snapped, fury rasping in his voice. “That fucker.”

  “Take the shot,” Logan commanded, following the orders Crowe had given him before he stepped into the bedroom.

  “It fucking doesn’t work like that,” Ethan growled. “I could end up hitting Crowe.”

  “Crowe said take the fucking shot,” Logan snapped into the link before he could second-guess the orders Crowe had given. “Take the goddamned shot or he said he’ll kick all our fucking asses. Starting with yours.”

  Crowe had been prepared.

  He was aware of Kimmy rolling just as Jack had promised she would do, and Amelia jumping for her, just as she had been taught to do by her father and uncle. At the same time, the bedroom door had opened and Jack and Ivan had pulled them both to safety.

  Leaving Crowe with Wayne, because he didn’t want Amelia see who he was. What he was.

  Crowe stared at the dead man in the middle of his uncle Sam’s living room floor. He swallowed back the need to vomit. His dad didn’t vomit, neither did Uncle Ben, and they were standing there, too, staring at the man with cold, hard eyes.

  Crowe knew his eyes weren’t cold and hard. He was only twelve and all he wanted to do was puke. But he managed to hold it back.

  “Is he a monster, Dad?” he asked, embarrassed that his voice was shaking.

  “God, Crowe.” His dad knelt beside him. “You okay, son? You sure you’re okay?” His dad ran his hands over him quickly as Crowe stared back at him, seeing fear in his dad’s eyes for the first time in his life.

  “I’m okay, Dad.” He took in a deep breath. “Did I do okay?”

  His dad had started teaching him how to fight monsters. His uncles helped by always jumping from behind doors or trees, trying to scare him.

  When the man had moved from the sliding doors and tried to grab Crowe, he’d done what his father had taught him. He’d buried his fist in the guy’s balls.

  “Did I kill him, Dad?” he asked, his voice kind of funny sounding. Like it wasn’t his voice at all.

  “No, son, you didn’t kill him.” His dad stared into his eyes. Holding his head still, making Crowe just stare at him. “Look at me, Crowe.” His dad’s voice was soft now, firm. That kind of firm don’t-you-dare-disobey voice. “Did you hear me? You didn’t kill him. You understand me?”

  Crowe’s eyes moved to the side involuntarily as he detected movement.

  “Look at me, Crowe.” His dad’s voice got a snap to it, and Crowe didn’t dare not look at him.

  “I am, Dad.” He tried not to, but his father was holding his head. “I see you.”

  “Good boy,” his dad approved. “When I let you go, I want you to forget about this, you hear me.” His dad kept staring into his eyes. “You can’t ever let Mom know, Crowe. Not ever. You’re going to have to be a real man this time, son. You can’t ever tell Mom. You can’t tell anyone. Ever. Promise me.”

  He wouldn’t dare tell Mom. She might cry or something. He’d hate it if he made her cry.

  His eyes widened. “No way, Dad.” His voice cracked as he made the promise. “No way will I tell.”

  “Swear it, Crowe,” his dad urged, his eyes filled with so much pain and sorrow that Crowe swallowed tightly.

  “I swear it, Dad.”

  “Good boy.” His dad nodded, slowly releasing his head as he straightened. “You’re going to be a fine man, Crowe. A good man.”

  Crowe nodded and looked around.

  He frowned.

  There was no body. There was no blood.

  His head swung back to where his father watched him sadly.

  “Dad?” His voice trembled.

  “It was a bad dream, son,” his dad whispered. “Remember that, it was just a bad dream. You okay?”

  A bad dream?

  He narrowed his gaze on his father, seeing the desperation in the other man’s eyes, and he nodded slowly. He didn’t believe it, but he knew his dad.

  His dad said it was his job to protect his family, and he would feel like he wasn’t protecting Crowe if he thought Crowe didn’t believe him.

  “It was a really bad dream, Dad,” Crowe whispered, a little scared now, but knowing his dad needed him to believe it. “A really bad dream.”

  Relief filled David Callahan’s gaze as he reach to ruffle Crowe’s hair, then stopped. His hand fell on his shoulder instead, like he did with Crowe’s uncles. He gripped it briefly. That was a “man hug,” his dad had told him once.

  Did that make him a man now?

  Keeping a secret not just from his mom, but from his dad as well? The secret that he knew, to the soles of his feet: His dad had killed a man that night. And his dad would never forgive himself if he thought Crowe would never forget the sight of it.

  “Come on, son.” David guided him toward the stairs. “I’ll go upstairs with you. Maybe tonight we’ll talk about those monsters you have to watch out for.”

  Crowe leveled his own weapon on Wayne’s head, staring down at him icily.

  “You can’t do it,” the other man sneered. “You’re as weak as your old man.”

  Crowe grinned. “Remember the night your father disappeared, Wayne?” he asked softly, all too aware of the other two men who stepped into the room behind him.

  Wayne’s nostrils flared, his gaze going to Logan and Rafe
as they came to Crowe’s side.

  “That man you’re calling weak,” Crowe stated softly. “He killed that bastard with his bare hands. Ripped his head half off his neck when he broke it. I thought I was going to puke at the sight of his head torn like that, blood going everywhere. Then I remembered.” He aimed the gun right between Wayne’s eyes as they widened and feral, cunning fear filled them. “I remembered, Wayne, monsters don’t count.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  Staring down at Wayne’s body, his eyes wide and glazed, the scent of death beginning to fill the air, he bent, cleaned his prints from the weapon, placed it in Wayne’s hand, ensured his prints were in place, then let the gun fall to the floor.

  Rising, he turned to his cousins, his gaze narrowed on them, knowing the men they were, and knowing that even though either one of them would have pulled that trigger if he had to, still, it would have kept them awake at night.

  Just as he accepted that he wouldn’t lose a second’s sleep over it.

  “He killed himself,” he stated.

  His cousins stared back at him.

  They were men.

  The type of men who knew monsters existed and knew they had to be destroyed to save the innocent lives they fed on.

  Both nodded.

  “He sure did,” Rafe murmured, placing his hand on Crowe’s shoulder and giving it a brief, hard squeeze. “Thank God.”

  “He saved me the trouble.” Logan did likewise, placing his hand on Crowe’s shoulder and squeezing.

  A man hug.

  “Do you think they know?” It was Rafe who spoke the question, his voice soft, filled with regret that the parents who had fought so desperately to ensure their safety when they were younger hadn’t lived to see the day that their sons had avenged them.

  Them, and every innocent life Wayne had taken.

  Crowe nodded. “They know.”

  * * *

  Stepping from the bedroom, he faced Amelia and their child. As Amelia stared back at him, shaking, Crowe saw the fear in his lover’s eyes that he’d been forced to kill again. It would hurt her, he thought, finally realizing the lessons his father had taught him and why. It was a man’s responsibility to be gentle, loving, to be a man who fought monsters, not be a monster himself, in his family’s eyes.

  “Crowe?” Amelia whispered. “Is he…” She swallowed. “Is he dead?”

  “He shot himself with his own gun,” he lied and didn’t even hesitate. He’d sworn to her once he’d never lie to her, but this was one of those lies that didn’t count. This lie would ease her, and it would ensure his daughter didn’t have nightmares of monsters with her father’s face.

  He bent, resting on his haunches in front of his daughter as she stared back at him—and by God, he had to grin. There wasn’t so much as an ounce of fear in her eyes.

  “I knew you would get him,” she said softly as she held on to her mother. Her brown-and-amber eyes were suspicious, though.

  She didn’t believe him.

  Maybe Amelia didn’t, either.

  He lifted his head, staring up at her.

  Whether she did or not, it wasn’t in her eyes. All he saw there was love.

  He turned back to his daughter, opening his arms. As she flew into them, he whispered, “There’s my girl.”

  His arms wrapped around her, tight. Holding on to her, tears filling his eyes, he felt Amelia next to him, her love surrounding both of them.

  “My baby girl,” he whispered against Kimmy’s hair.

  “I love you, Daddy…”

  EPILOGUE

  News of Wayne’s “suicide” exploded around the county just as Thea’s return from the dead and Crowe’s six-year-old daughter were being reported.

  Journalists were once again flooding Corbin County and camping on the doorsteps of anyone who may or may not have been involved. The reporters were told Sorenson had managed to access his former home through a hidden door, where he’d managed to use a silencer to kill the security agent outside the bedroom door of the child Crowe Callahan was claiming as his own. When he found the room empty, then came face-to-face with the Callahan, he’d put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger rather than be taken.

  No one suspected how he’d really died.

  No one, least of all the security agent paid to arrange it, was aware that the experts who had spent a week going over the equipment had figured out exactly how he managed to get past their defenses.

  Crowe knew the mettle of the man he’d partnered with when he went into business with Ivan Resnova. From the moment they’d realized Mike had allowed Wayne to slip past their security and kill Ivan’s cousin, Crowe had suspected Mike’s body would disappear just as completely as Stoner’s had.

  No one was more surprised the next morning when Archer called with news of Mike’s arrest, though. Crowe wouldn’t have blamed Ivan; the young man who’d died had been close to the Russian. Crowe would have considered helping had Ivan asked, because even if Kimmy didn’t have nightmares for years to come, Crowe knew he would have them where that night was concerned.

  He was waiting for Ivan as he stepped into the house that afternoon, his dark, aristocratic face heavy, his gaze brooding.

  “Uncle Ivan.” Kimmy appeared at the doorway, stepping slowly into the foyer, her big dark eyes solemn as she stared up at the man.

  She’d been picking out her own clothes since she was three, Amelia had told Crowe that morning when he first caught sight of Kimmy skipping through the house. She wore black leggings and a knee-length sweater dress of some sort paired with furry boots.

  She was celebrating, she’d informed them all solemnly. The bad man was gone and now they were all just going to live happily ever after like the princesses do in the fairy tales.

  Ivan sighed deeply then squatted down and stared back at the little girl with the air of a man facing a battle he wasn’t certain he wanted to fight.

  “Kimmy…” he started, resigned.

  “I’m very sorry about the bad man killing Rico.” Her voice was soft, the compassion Crowe was beginning to glimpse in her filling it. “I liked him a lot.”

  Ivan’s face softened immeasurably, and for a moment Crowe was given a glimpse of the father Ivan must have been to his own daughter.

  “Thank you very much, Kimmy,” he said softly. “I appreciate your kindness.”

  “If you need to talk, Uncle Ivan, I’m always here.” She nodded sagely.

  For a moment, Ivan looked a little bemused. “Kimmy, your papa has told you I’m not your uncle, has he not?” he asked the girl.

  Kimmy stared back at him with a quiet, solemn wisdom. “But you’re my uncle because I picked you to be. But I understand you’re upset with me and Mommy right now, ’cause you think we were mean to Daddy.” She reached out to touch his cheek with her tiny hand. “I promise, we’re gonna make Daddy very happy, though.”

  His lips quirked sadly. Crowe realized that perhaps Kimmy was right, in some ways. Ivan had been furious since the night Kimmy had arrived.

  “Yes, I know you make your papa very happy,” he said softly. “And perhaps it’s not so much anger I feel as it is jealousy, because my beautiful little girl no longer needs her papa.”

  “All little girls need their daddy,” Kimmy promised him then. “Just sometimes.” She gave Crowe a very firm look before turning back to Ivan. “Our daddies just get silly and hurt our feelings really bad and don’t know it. Did you hurt your little girl’s feelings, Uncle Ivan?”

  “I would hope I did not,” he answered, almost amused.

  “Well, I think you should ask her.” Kimmy crossed her arms and stuck out one little sneaker-shod foot as she nodded wisely. “And just ask her nice, like you would ask her if she wanted ice cream. Maybe have ice cream when you ask her.” She nodded again as she gave this advice.

  Ivan blinked back at her, then lifted his gaze to Crowe.

  “You, my friend, are in so much trouble,” he murmured.

  Kimmy turn
ed back and flashed a Crowe a grin so innocent he nearly winced.

  Oh Lord—

  “Yeah,” he answered Ivan. “I am.”

  “Come, little one.” Focusing on Kimmy once more, he held out his hands. “You may call me Uncle Ivan then.”

  An infectious giggle fell from her lips as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged with all the exuberance of an emotionally confident six-year-old.

  “I didn’t ask for permission, Uncle Ivan.” She smacked a kiss to his cheek. “I already knew it was okay.”

  Then she turned and bounced out of the room just as quickly.

  Straightening, Ivan shook his head as a small grin played at his lips. Then, straightening the belted band of his slacks at his hips, he focused on Crowe once again.

  “I hear you turned Mike in to the FBI?” Crowe asked as the other man slowly slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks and stared back at Crowe for long, silent moments.

  “Unfortunately, Amara and her friend Grace arrived as my men arrived at the offices with him.” Ivan grimaced. “I do try to keep my true nature hidden from my daughter.” His gaze slid to the doorway Kimmy had disappeared into. “I’m certain you understand.”

  His daughter Amara was twenty-one rather than the seventeen or eighteen most assumed she was. She was also making her father insane with her awareness of his former job description.

  “I do.” Crowe nodded.

  “Ah well, time to get the agents home,” Ivan stated. “I’ll have them begin packing and get them out of here so you and your family have a chance to spend time together.”

  Tilting his head, Crowe saw the flicker of anger in his gaze then.

  “Are you angry with Amelia, Ivan?” Crowe asked the question softly as the other man turned to leave.

  Ivan paused then turned back slowly, that air of resignation, of quiet acceptance surrounding him.

  “I believe anger would be the wrong word.” Ivan’s lips quirked with a hint of mockery. “I would say instead, I was a bit put out with her. You see, she did what no one else has been able to do. She kept her secrets hidden from me. No matter my suspicions that the child existed, I could not prove it. I was a bit … perturbed.”