The Return of Connor Mansfield

by Beth Cornelison

  “The hell it isn’t! It sure felt like my battle when that creep was shooting at me!” she volleyed.

  As it had the first time he’d heard about the shooting, Connor’s stomach fell to his toes, leaving a cold pit of fear inside him.

  Darby huffed a sigh. “In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the smartest move—”

  “Ya think?”

  She glared at him and continued. “But at least I did something to try to put an end to this mess. I wanted to confront the situation, have some say in my life, not meekly let life trample me like it has for the past several years. My choice. My call. Maybe it was a bad decision, but it was mine! I had to take some authority back in my life. Why can’t you understand that?”

  He had no answer for Darby, so he turned to Jones and the deputies who’d arrived that afternoon to investigate the intruder, and he vented at them. “And where were you? Why didn’t you stop her? You’re supposed to be protecting her!”

  A muscle in Jones’s jaw twitched, and he cleared his throat. “No, we’re here to protect you. Ms. Kent is only our responsibility insofar as she directly affects our job of protecting you. She left while I was handling the little matter of a finding out who the dead guy in her bedroom was.” Jones’s expression matched his sarcastic tone.

  “Are you kidding me?” Connor raked his hand through his hair. “You don’t care that she went to see the very man I put in prison? The reason you’re protecting me in the first place?”

  “Obviously we aren’t happy about it,” Raleigh said. “But she is a private citizen and, as such, she’s free to do whatever or go wherever she wishes.”

  Connor gaped at the marshal. “No, she can’t!”

  “Excuse me?” Darby crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head, full of attitude.

  He sighed and held his hands up, hoping to placate her before another fight started. “Darby, before you blow up, think about who we are talking about. Do you have any idea how dangerous the Gales are?”

  She twisted her mouth as if in thought. “Oh, I’d say dangerous enough to send a hit man to my house to ambush and shoot at me.”

  Connor waved a hand in frustration. “Exactly! And knowing that, you still drove down to the prison to rattle daddy’s cage? Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe I am,” she tossed back with a humorless laugh. “And maybe nothing will come of my appeal to Mr. Gale. But I didn’t see how asking for a truce could make matters any worse. How can things be worse than having members of organized crime gunning for you?”

  “It could be worse if they succeeded. We don’t want to make things easy for them!”

  She glanced away, and when she met his gaze again, Darby’s tone was calmer and pleading. “I wasn’t in danger, Connor. I had a thick sheet of glass between us and guards all around. Please understand. I had to do something. I hate the idea of constantly looking over my shoulder, of being passive instead of proactive.”

  He crossed the room and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “And I hate that my return from the dead has put you and every other person I love in jeopardy.” His chest seized, making it hard to breathe. He ducked his head, mumbling. “The sooner I leave again, the better for everyone.”

  If not for Savannah and his scheduled marrow donation, he’d leave town that night.

  Beneath his hands, Darby trembled, and when she spoke again, the tears in her voice brought his head up, his gaze latching on to her. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?” He couldn’t hide the frustration in his tone.

  “I don’t want you to leave again! I’m trying to find a way that you can stay! Your family needs you. They love you. Savannah deserves a father in her life. I was trying to make that happen rather than accepting defeat without a fight!” A tear broke free of her bottom lashes, and seeing it track down her cheek kicked him in the gut. And gave him hope.

  “And you?” The muscles in her shoulders tensed, but he continued. “Do you still love me? Can you forgive me for leaving?”

  “If I did forgive you, would it really make a difference? Aren’t you still planning to leave again?”

  Defeat weighted his shoulders, and he sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Darby, try to understand—”

  She wrenched free of his grip, her face a mask of hurt and disappointment. “That’s what I thought.”

  * * *

  “Daddy!”

  James Gale scooped his five-year-old daughter into his arms as she bounded across the foyer to greet him. “Hello, princess. Have you been a good girl today?”

  Melinda nodded vigorously. “I helped Angela make our dinner. She let me stir the gravy!”

  He kissed her cheek. “Fabulous! I can’t wait.” He set his squirming daughter back on the floor and glanced down the empty hall. “Where’s your mom?”

  “In there.” She pointed to the closed door of his study. “Uncle Victor is here. He brought me bubble gum. See?” She opened her mouth and showed him a wad of pinkish goo.

  “Yeah,” he answered, distracted by the news that Victor had felt it necessary to see him at home rather than the office. “Tell Angela I’m home. We’ll eat after I talk to Uncle Victor.”

  Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt, James entered his study and divided a glance between his wife and brother, who sat in chairs opposite each other in the conversation nook by the empty fireplace.

  They both stood when he came in, his wife crossing to him to kiss his cheek. “Look who stopped by. I asked him to stay for dinner, but he declined.”

  “Victor, what brings you by?” James closed the door behind him.

  “Family business. I had an interesting call today.” Victor paused and sent James’s wife, Heather, a meaningful glance.

  She pulled a face and turned the doorknob. “I’ll give you two privacy.”

  When she’d gone, James propped against his desk and crossed his arms. “Go on. Who called?”

  “Pop.” Victor shuffled to a seat by James’s desk and sat down.

  “Pop? What’d he say?”

  “He had a visitor.”

  “And?” James waved a hand, egging him on. “Get to the point. My dinner’s getting cold.”

  Victor scowled. James knew he resented being bossed around by his older sibling, but he had little patience with Victor’s petty beefs. “Connor Mansfield’s girlfriend went to see Pop. He said she wanted us to call off our contract on Mansfield.”

  James grinned. “You don’t say? Takes balls to come right out and confront Pop like that.” Sobering, he eyed his brother sternly. “Wait a minute. Was the man seen going into her house last week confirmed to be Mansfield?”

  Victor cleared his throat, hesitated. “Yes and no.”

  “Victor...” James growled.

  His brother sighed. “The photos weren’t conclusive, but my gut said—”

  James grumbled a curse. “Your gut? Damn it, Vic, what did you do?”

  Victor surged to his feet, his face suffusing with color. “I did exactly what you’d have done. Don’t get all high mighty, Jimmy.”

  James tensed hearing the nickname he despised. He wasn’t a five-year-old and hadn’t used the childish name since he was in first grade. “What. Did. You. Do?”

  Victor opened, then balled his fists as he regained his composure. “I told Hollister to take Mansfield out. To make it look like an accident.”

  “I take it he failed.”

  “He broke into Darby Kent’s house when no one was home. We believe Mansfield has been staying there the past couple of days. Darby came home, Hollister shot at her. She had a cop with her, a bodyguard or something.”

  Groaning, James stroked a hand down his face, knowing where this was going before his buffoon of a brother confirmed, �
��Hollister’s dead.”

  “And his connection to you leads the cops right to our door.” James gave Victor a snarl of disgust. “Brilliant, Victor.” He paced over to the picture window looking out on his back terrace.

  “So following this home invasion, Darby goes scurrying down to visit Pop in prison to beg a cease-fire.” He shot his brother a glance. “What’d Pop tell her?”

  Jerking a shrug, Victor scoffed. “That he had no knowledge of any contract or other threat from our family, of course.”

  “Of course.” Pop was no fool. “Did she buy it?”

  “I doubt it. She rephrased her plea, kept harping on him for a promise we’d leave Mansfield alone. Pop gave her nothing.” Victor narrowed his gaze, his expression smug. “She confirmed what we suspected, though. Mansfield faked his death. He came back ’cause their little girl has cancer. He’s the kid’s donor for some kind of transplant.”

  James grunted, mulling the information, and glanced at a photo of his children on his desk. “That’d be enough to bring me out of hiding. When’s the operation?”

  Victor shrugged. “Don’t know. But if we’re gonna get him, we need to act fast. Once he’s made his donation, he could disappear again.”

  James watched a robin hop across his lawn in the fading daylight. Once again, it was up to him to fix one of his brother’s screwups. Facing Victor, he took his time answering. “Your premature action has Mansfield and his bodyguards on the alert. It will be difficult to get to him.”

  “But not impossible.” Victor leaned forward, moving to the edge of the chair, his eyes narrowing. “Seeing as Ms. Kent has seen fit to insert herself into the equation, I think she might be our best way forward.”

  James gritted his back teeth. “No.”

  “She made herself relevant to the situation when she confronted Pop.”

  “No.”

  “Think about it, James. It would hurt Mansfield more than anything else. Killing him draws a line under the whole affair too easily. But by eliminating Ms. Kent, Mansfield suffers a bit first. He has time to consider the pain he caused our family by locking Pop away.”

  James slammed a hand on his desk. “I said no! Leave his family out of this, Victor.”

  Victor lunged to his feet and braced his arms on James’s desk. “It’s not your call to make! Pop wants Mansfield to suffer, and I say taking out Kent or his kid is the least he has coming!”

  James stood slowly, squaring off with his brother. “Darby and the little girl are off-limits. Do you hear me? I owe Connor that much.”

  “Because he pulled Billy out of the pool seven years ago?” Victor shouted, his tone incredulous. “That’s ancient history!”

  “Yes! Because he saved my son’s life.” James stalked around his desk and stuck his face in Victor’s. “You might be able to write that off as old news, but I will never forget that Billy is alive today because of Mansfield.” James’s body hummed with tension and intensity as the horror of that night replayed in his mind like a bad dream. “I cannot allow you to hurt his family. Not when he gave me back my boy.”

  Victor’s mouth twisted in an ugly sneer, and he poked James in the chest. “You’re pathetic. Avenging Pop should be your priority. The strength of the Gale family has always been in our unity. But you’ve let your kids and some crazy idea of nobility turn you soft.”

  James balled his hands, resisting the urge to smash a fist in his younger brother’s smug face. “Mansfield will get what’s coming to him for betraying Pop. I haven’t changed my mind on that. But you will leave his family alone.”

  Victor stared at him, a muscle in his jaw working. With a scoff, his brother shook his head. “No. Darby Kent and the rest of the Mansfields are fair game. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring Mansfield down, even if that means collateral damage.”

  With that, he turned and stalked toward the office door.

  “Victor—” James said, his gaze falling on the photo of his children. His brother paused at the door, sending James a dark glare. “I’m warning you. You may be my brother, but I will not let your mistakes sink my family.”

  Victor yanked open the door, scowling. “My only mistake was ever thinking you had the balls to head this family and make the hard calls. I have no trouble avenging Pop, whatever it takes.”

  Chapter 14

  With Darby’s bedroom now a crime scene, the U.S. Marshals decided to move Connor, Darby and Toby the cat to his parents’ house until a better safe house could be secured. Additional deputy marshals from Shreveport arrived to assist, and new protocols regarding transportation back and forth to the hospital and guarding the Mansfields’ house were put in place. In addition to taking alternate routes, the marshals would use different cars, including those of the family members, different passenger groupings and transportation schedules to keep the Gales guessing. Connor would never travel with fewer than two marshals, one driving him, one armed and ready to take defensive measures.

  Out of concern over Darby’s possible germs, Dr. Reed ordered Connor to stay clear of Darby and anyone else with even a hint of illness. He had to stay as healthy as possible in preparation for his donation. While at the hospital keeping vigil over Savannah, he wore a surgical mask and stayed out of public areas. At his parents’ house, he slept in his old bedroom, longing to hold Darby, who slept in the guest room down the hall.

  On the third night of their stay with his parents, a light knock roused him as he restlessly searched for sleep. “Yeah?”

  The door creaked open, and Darby stood silhouetted by the dim light from the hall. “You awake?”

  “Yeah. What’s wrong?” He propped up on his elbows and squinted through the darkness, trying to read her face.

  “Nothing really. I just...” She shifted her bare feet and glanced away for a moment. “Have I thanked you properly for what you’re doing? Because I don’t want you to leave again without knowing I’m eternally grateful for the risk you’ve taken coming back and for your willingness to donate your marrow to our daughter.”

  Our daughter. His pulse quickened hearing her use the plural possessive. He cleared the emotion from his throat and said, “It’s my honor. I only wish I could do more to ensure her recovery.”

  “Me, too,” she rasped.

  She hovered in the doorway, silent and pensive. After a moment, Connor asked, “So...how are you feeling? Any fever? Sore throat?”

  “No. I’m fine. I told you it was allergies.” She straightened her shoulders resolutely. “I’m going to the hospital tomorrow, and God help anyone who tries to stop me.”

  “In that case...c’mere.” He patted the side of the bed and waved her over. “I’m calling an end to this quarantine.”

  She hesitated only a few seconds before crossing to him and cuddling next to him on his old twin bed. He held her close in the shadow of his high school tennis and baseball trophies, Saints pennant and dusty collection of CDs. He found he needed the reassurance and strength he gained from holding her as much as she needed his support.

  “How is she, Connor?” she asked, breaking the silence. “The truth. Don’t spare my feelings or whitewash it. How is Savannah? Really?”

  Connor pictured the listless, pale little girl he’d left at the hospital that evening, and his gut tightened. He’d wanted to shield Darby from the harsh reality of the toll the preparatory chemo was taking on Savannah, but he wouldn’t lie to her. “The treatment’s been hard on her. She’s weak and nauseated most of the time. She sleeps a lot and has no appetite. The rest of her hair has fallen out, and her skin is even more sallow than before.”

  She raised a hand to her mouth, muffling a sob. “Oh, God.”

  “But...” He sat all the way up and fixed a hard stare on her. “Look at me, Darby.”

  Her head came up, and she met his gaze with anxious eyes.


  “Everything she’s going through is within the parameters of what the doctor expected. It’s normal, considering the treatment. Our girl’s a fighter. She’s going to be fine.” She didn’t answer, and he added, “I know you’re scared for her, but this...this is the darkness before the dawn. She’s going to be okay.”

  Darby bit her bottom lip when it quivered. “Promise?”

  He pulled her close, cradled her head against his chest and kissed her hair. He wished he had the power to guarantee their daughter would survive, would grow up and live a full life. But if he had that kind of magic in him, he’d never have been separated from Darby to begin with. All he could do was hope, pray and use every resource available to him to protect his daughter and Darby from the men who wanted him dead.

  * * *

  The next morning, Connor woke, alone, to the sound of voices and laughter from the front rooms of his parents’ house. He tossed back the sheet, stretched the kinks from his back and stumbled to the guest room door to peer in. Darby was still asleep in the double bed, clearly having left him at some point after he fell asleep with her snuggled against him. Toby was curled in the crook of Darby’s legs, a tight ball of sleeping fur.

  As if sensing his presence, Darby rolled to her back, disturbing the cat, and blinked sleepily at him. “What time is it?” she asked with a yawn.

  He flipped his wrist and checked his watch. “Seven-eighteen.”

  She groaned and closed her eyes. “What’s all the racket?”

  Connor tipped his head, listening. “Well, Mom’s up, for sure. And I think I hear Jones. And—”

  A baby’s wail drifted down the hall, followed by a deep voice calling, “Tracy! Your daughter wants you.”

  Connor grinned. “Grant’s family.”

  Toby arched his back, then stretched his lithe body as he hopped off the bed and sauntered over to rub against Connor’s legs. Darby smiled as she stretched like the cat and slid her feet to the floor, her hair tousled and sexy. “Dang, they must have been up at oh-dark-thirty if they’re here already.”