Pride of a Hunter

by Sylvie Kurtz

  Once they got home, Brendan hit the ground running, managing to race a still stiff Maggie and drop half his belongings before crashing into the kitchen.

  “Wash your hands and I’ll get you a snack,” Luci said, shooing Maggie out of the way and reaching for the cookie jar above the refrigerator.

  A pffft noise exploded from the tap. “No fooling around, Brendan.”

  “I’m not!” Brendan protested. “It’s the tap. It’s doing it all by itself.”

  With a little help, I’m sure. Luci turned around, lifted the tap and was rewarded with the same raspberry of air and tiny spray of water, followed by nothing.

  She didn’t need this complication right now. She already had too much to worry about.

  Luci stared at the waterless tap, tracking the bubble of anger inside her as it rolled and rose. She welcomed the pitch of blinding fury, welcomed its heat and fire. But as it reached her throat, it froze, keeping her prisoner yet again.

  She had Brendan to think about. Seeing his mother turn into a volcano wasn’t something that would make him feel safe and secure.

  She snapped the tap back to its closed position. Blank. That was better. If she let the monster out, she wasn’t sure she could control it. And what she needed more than anything now was control.

  Lunch with Dom and the dry faucet reinforced that need.

  Her safe little world was cracking apart all around her and it seemed there wasn’t much she could do about it. Standing in place, she swiveled slowly, taking in the bottom half of her house. The doorless cupboards in the kitchen, the half-stripped wallpaper. Down the hallway, the worn carpet needed replacing, the wood floor beneath refinishing. The couch in the living room was a hand-me-down from her mother.

  The house and everything in it was old. Something needing repair was normal, not an act of aggression aimed directly at her. Those kinds of things happened all the time around the farm. The plumbing, the wiring, the furnace were all ancient. What should surprise her was that they’d held up for so long without needing attention.

  She tromped down to the basement to examine the water pump. Fiddling with the Reset button didn’t bring the thing back to life.

  All she’d wanted was a quiet, ordinary life. Safety and security for Brendan. A fresh start. A second chance.

  But she hadn’t made peace with her mistake, and it was coming back to haunt her.

  She thought about calling Dom. Maybe he’d know how to repair the water pump. But the last thing she wanted was for him to start questioning her ability to help build the case against Warren. He’d already buried the dead chickens. She could deal with this crisis on her own—just as she’d dealt with facing life without Cole every day for the last seven years.

  Nerves raw and exposed, she hunted down the phone book, picked a plumber from the Yellow Pages and placed a call for service.

  OUT IN THE BARN later that night, Dom invited Fanny onto the milking stand. The goat jumped up and shoved her head through the stanchion to gobble up the mix of grain in a bucket on the other side. He disinfected the udder, positioned the hooded pail in place, then sat on the bench at Fanny’s right side. Before he started drawing milk, he dialed Seekers and crimped his cell phone between his shoulder and ear. As the phone rang, he directed the first squirt of milk into a strip cup and examined the results for lumps, clots or stringiness that would signal a call to the vet was in order.

  “Is Kingsley in?” Dom asked when Falconer answered the phone.

  “It’s seven-thirty. He does have a life outside Seekers.” Amusement tinged Falconer’s voice.

  “Yeah, of course.” This time of night, a sane man was home, enjoying his family, not milking goats worrying if the next act of desperation from a con man was going to hurt someone he cared for. He started milking into the pail, finding a rhythm that was strangely relaxing. “I need an update on the Swanson case.”

  Papers shuffled in the background. A beep, followed by some clicking keys came next. “No activity on the Courville accounts, except by Jillian herself. Her expenses are following their usual pattern.”

  Swanson wasn’t going to get greedy until after he had full access, but Dom would have expected him to test the borders of Jill’s generosity by now. “Kingsley was going to follow up on some leads.”

  “He’s still looking into the previous employment and character references he culled on the private detective application. The criminal justice degree is real, but its value is debatable.”

  “Luci checked it out. It’s one of those Internet universities. No work needed. Just money.” Dom wondered at the pride filling him with warmth. Luci was wasting her skills here. Surviving. Hiding. Did she even realize she was using up most of her energy on building walls of self-protection?

  “But good enough to avoid suspicion,” Falconer said. “We’re dealing with a master here. Don’t rush things. We don’t want to lose him again.”

  Dom didn’t need the reminder. “Swanson’s gotten this far because his risks are calculated. But even someone like him depends on others to make his scam work. He buys his papers from someone. He befriends someone at each port of opportunity. The key to all this is in Florida.”

  “Got anything to back it up?”

  “Mostly gut.”

  Falconer made a noise that could be taken a dozen different ways. “What do you need?”

  A simple question with no simple answer. A part of Dom wanted to walk away from Seekers, from Swanson and all the pond scum, the way he’d walked away from the Hostage Rescue Team. He’d do anything to give Luci the peace she needed, deserved. He’d screwed up, and Luci had paid the price. But he’d left a vital part of himself behind when he’d walked away from the team. And he’d found a corner of inner quiet again with Seekers. He needed Seekers. He needed Luci. He needed her forgiveness.

  “I need someone to watch the farm while I’m tracking Swanson,” Dom said as he gently bumped the udder and stripped the last of the milk in the teat. “He didn’t stray out of his office, but someone messed with Luci’s water pump.”

  “What makes you say that? She lives in an old house.”

  Old, but sound. Luci had done a good job keeping up with maintenance. “The damage on the pump wire looks too fresh for something that crept up with age. The technician agrees.”

  Which meant Swanson had some help. Someone local or someone he’d brought with him? And why would he suddenly take on a partner?

  “Bring them in to the Aerie,” Falconer offered. “I’ll get Liv to prepare a couple of rooms. We can keep them safe.”

  Dom could imagine what kind of reception that suggestion would get him. This was Luci’s home, the island of serenity she’d built for herself. “Luci won’t go for that. She’s a stubborn woman.”

  “Use her son’s safety to convince her.”

  Falconer was putting him in a spot that was too tight for comfort. “If she and Brendan disappear, Swanson’ll wonder what happened to them, especially with the wedding coming up, and why. He’ll bolt.”

  But if anything happened to Brendan, what was left of Luci would implode. And if Luci got hurt because of his choice, he’d never forgive himself.

  “I’ll make sure the farm is covered,” Falconer said. “What time will you be heading to town in the morning?”

  “Swanson usually stirs around nine.”

  “I’ll send Reed and Harper for the first shift.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  Dom signed off and stuffed the phone in his pocket. He rested his head against Fanny’s warm hide, closed his eyes and watched Cole fall, bleed, die. Not a damn thing he could do about it. Words had failed him. His best friend had died, along with two innocent hostages. The helpless feeling that had paralyzed him then crept back into his limbs. That’s why he’d quit, why he’d gone for work that required him to depend mostly on his own wits, not on his words. He’d never wanted to feel that helpless again. He’d tried to make things right for Luci, but all he’d managed was to put her
in the one place she so desperately wanted to avoid—square in the middle of conflict.

  If he lost Swanson now, finding him again would be harder the next go round. How many others would have to suffer because of his failure?

  And if Dom wasn’t more vigilant, Swanson would get away with another big payday.

  THE TECHNICIAN had worked a miracle and rewired and revived the water pump in a couple of hours. Warren The Worm had come and gone. He’d examined the chicken coop, asked her if she’d had any problems with neighbors or the kids in the neighborhood. He’d taken notes and made all the right noises, but hadn’t offered any hope of ever finding who had killed her chickens. Was Dom right? Had Warren killed her chickens in some sort of twisted reasoning that this would keep her off his back? He hadn’t provided the promised list of wedding guests, either.

  Luci scoffed as she stuffed another plate in the dishwasher after dinner. Warren had refused her invitation to dinner and managed to make it sound as if he was doing her a favor. But Warren didn’t know her mother. Barbara wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She’d have that list before the night was out. And that would give Luci another clue to follow.

  She’d call her mother after Brendan was in bed. Then she could start checking out Warren’s friends on the Internet.

  Dom was upstairs reading to Brendan—per Brendan’s insistence—while Luci cleaned up the kitchen. Having someone with whom to share the chores was nice. Don’t get used to it. Dom’s presence here was temporary. Still, having someone watch her back was a security she hadn’t experienced since leaving the team and it felt…good.

  Almost like a real family.

  Luci jostled loose the wistful thought, chucked the counter sponge in the sink, then went upstairs. As she stood outside her son’s room, peeking in at Brendan snuggling up to Dom, she was very much aware of Dom’s maleness, of his big body next to her son’s small one, of his deep voice contrasting with Brendan’s more high-pitched one, of how Brendan could easily relate to Dom in a way he never could to her. Maggie had sandwiched herself between the guys, her shaggy head perched adoringly on Dom’s knee as if she, too, enjoyed the story. And Luci found herself yearning for something…more.

  Shaking her head at her foolishness, she stepped into the room. “Time for lights out.”

  Nothing would bring back Cole.

  If she hadn’t hesitated so long seven years ago, Cole would be the one sitting beside Brendan, reading him bedtime stories. Now Brendan was lapping up the unprecedented male attention too eagerly, following Dom with hero worship in his eyes.

  “Aw, Mom.”

  “It’s way past your bedtime, buddy,” Luci said, picking up discarded clothes as she went.

  Brendan hung on to Dom’s arm as if his small weight could anchor his new friend in place. “Just one more story. Please.” He dragged out the please for as long as he had breath.

  Dom’s departure would hurt. She’d never taken that into consideration when she’d invited him into their lives.

  She had to hope they caught Warren soon. The sooner Dom left, the less disruption his departure would cause.

  For all of them.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” she said, a heavy weight settling on her heart. “It’s late and you have school in the morning.”

  Brendan grumbled for a bit longer, but gave in when Dom promised to kick around a soccer ball with him after school the next day. Maggie settled on the rug, but Luci had no doubt the dog would hop onto the bed as soon as the door was closed.

  Back in the kitchen, Luci punched the coffeemaker’s On button with a knuckle, then spun around to face Dom, arms crossed. Her mouth opened, but the words dammed up in her throat because seeing him at home in her kitchen brought back the breathtaking imprint of his kiss still a ghostly pulse on her lips. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  Dom plunked a briefcase of rich mahogany leather onto the table and sat. “Done what?”

  “Promised Brendan you’d play with him.”

  Dom shrugged. “I don’t mind. He’s a great kid.”

  “He’s getting too attached to you.”

  Silently Dom pushed aside a blue place mat and pulled out Warren’s case file from the briefcase. As eager as she was to scour its contents and review the updates, she couldn’t pull her gaze from Dom’s eyes. The longing in them was so strong that its gravity pulled her closer to the table. She gripped the edge and leaned forward. “It’s not fair to him, Dom. In a few weeks you’ll be gone.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. I live close by, Luce. I could be there for him.”

  The yearning in his voice was like a dagger to her gut. Her heart beat so fast, for a second she feared it would jump right out of her chest. The possibilities unfolded before her—Dom teaching Brendan to pass a football, showing Maggie a new trick, checking the oil on the van. Then the images collapsed under the crush of pain, leaving a bruising ache in her chest.

  “It would be too hard.” Her legs gave out and she dropped into a chair.

  Dom nodded, and the blue of his eyes seemed to dull. “I understand.”

  Luci reached for his hand, all sinew and muscle, and covered it with her own. “Thank you. That you care means a lot.”

  “Right.” He grabbed the edge of the file and yanked it open, dislodging her hand. “You wanted to go over this again.”

  She sheathed her bereft hands between her knees. “Maybe there’s something we overlooked.”

  Putting aside her sudden regret, Luci waited patiently as Dom laid out five piles of papers. Better to concentrate on the things she could control than the ones that were nothing but useless wishes.

  Seeing Jill’s name on the last pile sent a shiver down her spine. Next Dom matched five photos of Warren’s various incarnations with each sheet. Then the five photos of his victims. He’d added one of Warren’s current role and one of Jill. Her sister’s face lined up with the rest of the women Warren had hurt made the terror he could wreak seem that much more threatening and stopping him that much more urgent.

  Luci scooted her chair closer to Dom’s—for ease’s sake, nothing else. She’d hurt him; she deserved the coolness that frosted the air between them.

  “Five women, of all shapes and sizes,” she said, analytically observing the dry facts in black and white laid out on the pages. “All divorced. All with a seven-year-old son. Why? Because something happened to him when he was seven? If so, what? And why is it pushing him to marry these women and steal their money?”

  Dom remained silent, organizing the contents of his file, matching them to con man and victim.

  She tapped each of the victims’ photos in turn. “The victims live all over the country. All the better not to get caught in his life of lies. He takes all their money.” She glanced at Dom as the coffeemaker’s final sigh steamed. “How does he do that?”

  “Liquidates the assets once he’s co-owner,” Dom said. “Then he transfers them to an offshore account through a web of accounts that make it hard to trace and impossible to pinpoint the final owner. It all happens in a matter of minutes.”

  A lifetime zapped to nothing so fast. Destroying someone’s life shouldn’t be that easy. “So would financial knowledge be a way to trace his origin?”

  “Not unless we have more personal details,” Dom said, reaching for the platter of brownies she’d taken out of the freezer after dinner.

  Brain churning, Luci got up and filled her cup with coffee. “If you’re going to liquidate the whole account, don’t financial institutions require both signatures?”

  “Not necessarily. You’d be surprised at how easy it is. All it takes is a phone call and a few key code words. Swanson would have access to all the open-sesame secrets.”

  She raised the cup, silently offering it to Dom. He shook his head. Free hand flat against the tabletop, she bent over Laynie’s case sheet once more.

  “She’s the last one he left,” Luci said and sipped her coffee. “His tracks are freshest there.”
>
  “I’ve gone over the files a thousand times.” His voice rumbled with his frustration.

  Typical Dom, living with a case 24/7 until it was solved. She’d seen him talk to hostage takers for hours straight, until desperate men would trust him as if he were their older brother looking out for their best interests. All the while, it was the victims that drove him past the point of endurance.

  Saving lives.

  That had been all of their goals that hot, humid morning in August so long ago.

  The unconscious fear that had festered deep in her gut suddenly exploded. What if she couldn’t save Jill the way she hadn’t saved Cole? What if she missed this time, too? What if she miscalculated and Jill ended up dead?

  She sat again, too aware of the cold shaking of her limbs, of the heat discharging from Dom’s body, of her desire to sink into its promise of security. Of the way his unintentional breach of her personal space thawed something inside she wasn’t sure should leave hibernation.

  “They were all introduced to Warren by someone they trusted,” Luci continued, forcing herself to focus.

  Dom covered a yawn with a hand. He’d been up for more than twenty-four hours, working like a horse for most of them. He had to be tired.

  “Go to bed,” she said, grabbing the coffeepot. “I’ll put the file away when I’m done with it.”

  “In a few minutes.”

  “I’m fine. You don’t have to babysit me.”

  “I know. I just wish—” He shrugged, dismissing his own needs.

  And the sudden urge to grant him a wish sucked in her breath. “Wish what?”

  His gaze, soft and intent, took her in as if he were try ing to etch her into his memory. “I wish circumstances were different.” Regret rippled beneath the words.

  Frowning at the hard pummel of her pulse, she turned back to the file, anchoring herself by holding its edges with both hands. “Me, too.”

  She reread the scant details the file provided. They were taking her nowhere, except one big circle. “I need to talk to these women.”