She gave a snortlike laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“Well, then try to focus on a happy memory or a quiet place.”
His deep, slow massage continued, moving from her shoulders to her neck and hair. She tried to unwind, but her body had other ideas. Her scalp tingled, and her nerves sparked. Every inch of skin that touched his crackled with supersensitivity.
“Do you remember that covered bridge we found when we took a wrong turn in Georgia that time? It crossed over that big stream, and there were giant flat rocks around where people could sun, or fish, or just hang out.”
Her heart clenched, then warmed from the memory. “We had an impromptu picnic. Tuna sandwiches from the minute mart.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled, the sound a quiet rumble from his chest. “And that ugly stray dog smelled the tuna and came rambling up to beg for scraps.”
She poked a finger in his ribs. “Which you gave him.”
“He was hungry. And the sandwich had sweet pickles in it.” He gave a little shudder. “I hate sweet pickles.”
“And because you are a giant softie at heart.” Tears filled her eyes as other memories flooded her mind, other acts of kindness and generosity Connor had shown through the years. Giving the last dollar in his wallet to a talented street performer. Giving up his day off to help build a wheelchair ramp for an elderly neighbor. Bringing her favorite almond M&Ms to her dorm when she had to study for finals.
And the way he’d doted on Peyton, his first niece. She’d known back then, watching him patiently play blocks on the floor with Peyton, that he’d be a loving, attentive father.
A sob welled in her throat so quickly, an anguished hiccupping sound escaped her before she could muffle it. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to stop the burn of tears.
“Darby?” He levered back and put a hand under her chin to tip her head toward him. “Are you crying?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, not bothering to give the obvious answer. He’d missed so much of Savannah’s life. First smiles, first steps, hundreds of bedtime stories and games of blocks...
“Darby, what? I didn’t mean to upset you. That was a happy memory for me, and I thought—”
“It was happy. We were happy. At least I thought we were. I know I loved you. But then you left. So maybe I didn’t make you happy enough.”
Connor flinched. “That’s crazy talk. Of course you made me happy. I didn’t want to leave! Surely you know that.”
She sighed heavily, her minty breath fanning his cheek. “I thought I did. But I thought my father loved me, too. And he left and never looked back.”
“Darby, you know this isn’t the same. I’ve told you why I had to go without you.” The reassurance rolled easily from his tongue since there was truth behind it. But an uneasy niggling nipped his conscience. He’d had another reason for not asking her to go with him. One he could barely admit to himself. Because it shamed him, haunted him. And he still hadn’t found a way around the obstacle, which was even bigger and more threatening since his return.
“I know the reasons you’ve said, and I guess they make sense, but...” Her voice cracked, and bitter pain and rejection in her voice lanced his heart. “I thought you loved me as much as I love and needed you. But if you had, how—”
“Darby, don’t...” He pulled her closer, squeezing her against his chest and burying his face in her hair. “Don’t second-guess what we had. It was real. It was deep and true, and I wish to God I’d never had to give you up. I did what I did, made the choices I did, because I loved you. I had to protect you the best way I knew how.”
Darby stilled, grew quiet for several seconds, then asked, “What if we left with you? What if Savannah and I joined WitSec? Would they let us?”
The tremor of fragile hope in her voice broke his heart. “Jones and Raleigh think it’d be too risky, that it’d be too easy for the Gales’ men to find us through her medical records. Her illness means there’d be a paper trail. Too many computer files that could be hacked and too many health care workers who could say the wrong thing to the wrong person. They won’t even discuss that option.”
“So we’re back to square one.”
“We never left square one.” He closed his eyes, feeling the burden of his choice like a boulder crushing his soul. “Because I still love you enough to want you safe. I want you and Savannah to be safe more than I want my next breath. More than my own happiness. More than anything else. For that to happen, I have to leave.”
“Then your mind’s made up?” He felt the moisture of her tears drip onto his skin. “When the transplant is over, you’re going to disappear again?”
“I don’t see any other way this can end.”
Darby made a small noise, full of hurt, as she pulled away and turned her back to him. “That you don’t...tells me everything I need to know.”
Chapter 12
Darby woke the next morning with a sore throat and a sinus headache. The symptoms were not unusual, given her allergies and the abundance of pollen in Louisiana, but she cursed the rotten timing. She took a vitamin C supplement and two acetaminophen tablets before she left for the hospital with Connor and Marshal Jones.
As part of Marshals Jones and Raleigh’s plan to keep Connor safe, Jones took a different route to the hospital that morning. Darby saw Jones check the rearview mirror frequently as he navigated the back streets of Lagniappe. The plan was to continue to change routes throughout the transplant process so no definitive pattern was set that the Gales could manipulate to set an ambush. Connor would rotate disguises, as well, and today he was clean shaven and wearing Hunter’s clothes, favorite Saints cap and Ray-Bans.
Connor squeezed her hand and flashed a confident smile as they rode the elevator up. “We got this. Our girl is strong. If she has even a fraction of your fight, I know she’ll be racing around the yard with her cousins before you know it.”
His encouragement stirred a warmth in the center of her chest. His smile calmed her nervous jitters enough that she managed a deep breath before they stepped off the elevator. Holding his hand, she twitched a cheek in the nearest facsimile of a smile she could muster. “Thanks.”
Savannah’s doctor was waiting for them outside her room when they arrived.
“Are we late?” Darby asked, standing on her tiptoes to peer past Dr. Reed through the observation window to the sterile room.
“No.” Dr. Reed tucked a clipboard under her arm and greeted them with a smile. “Her numbers are still right where they should be. Everything is a go. The nurse is starting the IV drip now.”
The doctor launched into an explanation of the procedure, much of it a repeat of what they’d already been told. Darby couldn’t help fidgeting as she listened to Dr. Reed. As much as she appreciated the woman’s candor, knowing how vulnerable Savannah would be to germs and infection, knowing that the chemo was poisoning her daughter’s body to prepare it for the transplant made her uneasy.
“How long—” she started, then paused to clear her throat. “How long will it take to administer the chemo?”
Rather than answer her question, Dr. Reed frowned at Darby. “Are you feeling all right today?”
“Uh, well...” she stammered, caught off guard by the question. “I’m nervous about the procedure, naturally. Why?”
Now Connor was eyeing her with concern, as well.
“Your cheeks are flushed, and I noticed you’ve cleared your throat and pinched the bridge of your nose several times since you arrived,” Dr. Reed said, setting the clipboard aside.
“Well, I woke up with a little sinus headache, but I’ll be fine.”
“Hmm.” The doctor stepped up to Darby and ran her fingers along the sides of Darby’s neck. “Is your throat hurting?”
“Um, a little. But I’m sure it’s just allergies. Sinus stuff
, you know?”
“Your skin is overwarm. I think you have a fever.”
Darby’s shoulders drooped. If they delayed the procedure because of her stupid sinuses, she’d scream. “Of course my skin’s warm. It’s ninety-three degrees outside.” She scoffed. “I’m fine.”
Dr. Reed shook her head. “We can’t chance it. Savannah will be extremely vulnerable to illness. What might be a little cold for you could make her quite sick.”
“You want to delay the treatment?” Connor divided a worried look between Darby and Dr. Reed.
“No. Savannah has been prepped and is already receiving the drugs.” The doctor’s brow furrowed sternly. “But you need to go home. I can’t have you around Savannah and risk passing her your germs.”
“But...” Darby goggled at Dr. Reed. “I have to be here! I can’t let her go through something so difficult alone!”
Dr. Reed shook her head. “I’m sorry, Darby. I know you’re worried about her, but Savannah won’t be alone. My staff will take good care of her.”
“And I’ll be here. And my family, your sister...” Connor added.
She shot him a dirty look. He knew how important being with Savannah was to her. How could he be siding with the doctor?
“I won’t go in her room. I promise. I’ll stay out here and watch through the window. But I want her to be able to see me, at least. She’ll be scared—”
“No, Darby. I have to insist.” Dr. Reed looked as stern as Darby had ever seen her. “You can’t be here and risk passing anything on to her or my staff who work with her. You can come back when you’ve been symptom free for twenty-four hours.”
Connor signaled Marshal Jones, who stood off to the side by the vending machine. “Will you take Darby home? She’s got a little cold or something—”
“It’s just allergies! I swear,” she pleaded, her heart sinking.
“—and the doctor thinks she should go home. Just in case.”
Now her head really pounded. They couldn’t honestly be thinking of pumping poison into her child without her there! Leaving Savannah overnight was difficult enough, but during the procedure itself? Impossible.
“Connor...” She faced him with pleading in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Darby. But think about it. You don’t want to risk giving Savannah anything, risk her getting sick if it’s not allergies.”
She drew a breath to argue, but couldn’t. Of course she didn’t want to risk getting her daughter sick. She wet her lips. “What if I just wait for news in the cafeteria or the waiting room?”
Connor framed her cheeks with his palms. “If you are coming down with a cold or sinus infection, then your immunity will be low, too. The last place you need to be is a hospital, around other germs.”
Dr. Reed aimed a finger at her. “Doctor’s orders. Go home and rest.”
Darby snorted. “Rest? Not likely.”
She looked from one stubborn, concerned face to another and realized she was outnumbered. Damn it. She sighed in defeat. If her staying put Savannah in even the remotest danger of complications, then how could she take the chance? She couldn’t.
After waving to Savannah from the observation window and blowing her kisses, Darby followed Marshal Jones back out to the car and rode home. She stared silently out the window on the drive back to the house. She fumed with frustration, and her body hummed with anxiety over the harsh procedure her baby had to endure. Without her there.
When she huffed a sighed for about the hundredth time, Marshall Jones sent her a commiserative glance.
“I’ve got kids of my own. I understand how hard this must be for you.”
“It’s just allergies,” she complained as if he had any say in her banishment from the hospital.
Darby had the passenger door open almost before Marshal Jones had the engine turned off. She stormed to the front door, knowing she was being petulant and not caring. She didn’t want to be sitting idly at home. She wanted to be beside Savannah. Or in lieu of that, if she couldn’t be in the room with her, she wanted to be doing something useful. Something that helped her daughter recover faster. Something to make the burden of the procedure easier for her family. Something to ensure the transplant of Connor’s tissue was a success.
“Help yourself to anything you want from the fridge,” she told the marshal as he entered the kitchen behind her and stooped to give Toby a pat.
She tossed her purse on the counter and headed back to her bedroom. She was in no mood to make friendly chatter with Marshal Jones. As she walked down the hall, she toed off her sandals. Grunting her frustration, she plowed through the door to her room and threw her shoes toward the closet.
Rest, the doctor had said. As if she could relax knowing—
A movement across the room snagged her attention, and she glanced up.
A large man stepped out of her bathroom, swung up a gun. And fired.
Chapter 13
Darby screamed as the door frame by her head splintered. She spun out to the hall, cringing as a second shot pocked her bedroom wall.
Marshal Jones was there in no time, his weapon drawn. “Get out of the house!”
Her legs wobbled, rubbery, as shock and fear coursed through her. Staggering back down the hall, she fumbled her front door open. The echo of more gunfire followed her outside.
She raced back to the marshal’s car and climbed in the backseat. Reaching for the auto lock button on the driver’s door, she locked herself in and huddled on the floor. Her breath stuttered from her as she fought to calm her panic.
Was the man in her house one of the Gales’ thugs, or had she stumbled across a common burglar? A neighborhood addict looking for cash or items he could pawn for drug money? She shivered despite the summer heat.
Over the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears and the uneven rasp of her breathing, she listened for signs of what was happening inside. Closing her eyes, she replayed the seconds that felt like an eternity. The intruder raising his weapon. The sting of splintering wood hitting her cheek. The desperate scramble to get out of the line of fire.
What would she have done if Savannah had been with her? Or Connor? He was, after all, the target of the Gale family.
With a sickening clarity, she remembered arriving at the hunting cabin almost five years ago and getting the crushing news that Connor was gone, stolen from her. How much more horrifying would it be to see him shot? Or know he died taking a bullet to save her? Because that is what Connor would have done, she had no doubt. Her stomach rolled. If she hadn’t come home early, would the shooter have been lying in wait to ambush Connor?
A whimperlike moan formed in her throat. As mad as she was at Connor for his deception, his unilateral decision making and the pain she suffered without him, the thought of losing him again, mourning him again, sent a chill to her heart. And wasn’t that why she was keeping him at arm’s length? The agony of loving him, then losing him again? Because he had said he saw no other choice but to leave again when Savannah’s transplant was over. Fresh pain slashed through her, remembering his stubborn mind-set last night. He still refused to even ask her to join him in WitSec.
She forced enough spit into her mouth to swallow and shoved thoughts of what would happen down the road out of her mind. Right now she had a more immediate crisis to handle. She strained to listen but heard nothing from the house. The quiet was almost as unsettling as gunfire. What did she do if Marshal Jones had been shot?
As the initial shock and terror of being fired at dissipated, she took stock of her position, huddled on the floor of the car, shaking and hiding. This was not who she wanted to be—the victim, the target, the passive, frightened lamb waiting to be waylaid by the big bad wolf. Drawing a cleansing breath, she scrubbed her hands over her face. Whether the intruder in her house was one of the Gales’ lackeys or just
a druggie looking for a fix, she refused to sit back and wait for the next bomb to drop in her life.
Since Connor had returned, the U.S. Marshals had been looking over her shoulder and directing her life, as if she were part of some chess game, a pawn they could move about at will. While she understood the need for the security—the man in her house was proof of that—she couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving her life up to the dictate of someone else. Not Connor. Not the marshals. And especially not the Gales.
Savannah’s cancer had already run roughshod over her, taking away any power she had to protect her daughter from pain and illness. She needed to do something to make her feel she had some control over her future. She needed to be proactive, emphasis on active.
She leaned her back against the car door and chewed her bottom lip. What could she do? Order Connor and the marshals out of her house? Clearly the protection of Connor’s bodyguards was needed until the threat from the Gales was eliminated. If only she had a way to put an end to the danger Connor was in.
But only the Gales had the power to do that. The Gales...
Her mother had always said, if you want results, go to the person in charge. Start at the top. Her heart pattered harder. Was it possible she could negotiate a cease-fire on Connor’s behalf if she confronted the Gales?
Pressing her thumbs against her eyes, she huffed a sigh. The Gales were organized crime. She’d have to be crazy to walk into their business office or knock on their front door and challenge them over their vendetta against Connor.
The sinus headache she’d woken up with now pounded with the added vigor of postadrenaline tension and anxiety over the plan she was brewing. She gritted her teeth. Think. Think. Think.
A public meeting? They wouldn’t hurt her with witnesses all around, would they? Witnesses...protection...of course!
She dropped her hands from her eyes and raised her chin as an idea took shape. William Gale, the head of the family, was sitting in the midst of the best protection she could ask for. A federal prison. Did he still wield influence over his sons from behind bars?
The Return of Connor Mansfield Page 12