The Return of Connor Mansfield

by Beth Cornelison

  Connor stared at the flower-draped coffin without really hearing what the minister said, words meant to comfort and encourage. But how could he find any comfort knowing he was to blame for his brother’s deep grief? His return was the reason two sweet little girls had no mother.

  Beside him, Darby held Kaylee on her lap, cradled in one arm, but she slipped her other hand onto his knee and squeezed. The gesture startled him from his morose train of thought. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Pushing her sunglasses up, Darby wiped her eyes, then gave him a look that said what words couldn’t. The kind of silent communication they’d had before he disappeared. Her expression said she knew his heart, shared his sorrow.

  Taking her hand in his, he savored the connection to her. He raised her fingers to his lips, thanking her for her silent support and giving his in return. Was this evidence that they still shared that soul-deep unity, a sign that he might still have a chance of winning back her heart?

  His lungs seized, and regret climbed his throat. What right did he have to repair and rekindle Darby’s affection for him if all he could give her was more heartache when he returned to WitSec?

  Behind the affection and sympathy that shone in her emerald gaze, shadows still lurked. Scars he’d left on her heart when he’d vanished from her life. Knowing the lasting pain he’d caused her drilled his chest with a fresh dose of bitter guilt. As long as he was in danger from the Gales, they had no future together. He simply refused to put her or his family in the line of fire any more than he had to in order to save Savannah. Losing Tracy was already too high of a price.

  As he turned his attention back to the minister, a movement in his peripheral vision drew his eye. He glanced beyond the crowd of mourners to the line of cars on the cemetery drive. A dark blue sedan joined the others parked on the shoulder of the road, and a tall man in a dark suit emerged. Connor squinted at the late arrival, trying to discern who’d come so late. When the man removed his sunglasses, a chill snaked up Connor’s spine. Followed by a blaze of fury.

  James Gale.

  “The bastard,” he muttered.

  Darby frowned her curiosity.

  Dropping her hand, he whispered in her ear, “Stay here.”

  As he moved out of the circle of family surrounding the casket, Jones grabbed his arm. The marshal’s eyes were locked on the new arrival, and his grim face said he understood Connor’s intent. “Don’t.”

  Connor jerked his arm free of Jones’s grasp, ignoring his keeper’s order. Jones’s hiss of frustration followed Connor as he stalked across the cemetery grounds to intercept Gale. His body hummed, a thirst for vengeance writhing inside him. He stopped, muscles taut, directly in front of the man responsible for his brother’s suffering.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he grated through clenched teeth.

  “Connor Mansfield,” James said coolly. “So the rumors are true. You’ve returned from the grave.”

  “Can’t you give my family peace long enough to bury an innocent woman?” Connor stuck his face in James’s, blatantly challenging him by invading his personal space.

  Without backing down, James met Connor’s glare. “I have no desire to disrupt your gathering. I came to express my condolences.”

  The gall and hypocrisy of his assertion stoked Connor’s anger. “You son of a bitch! Tracy is dead because of you.”

  James tipped his head, a false dent of confusion puckering his brow. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Don’t insult me with your denials,” Connor snarled. “Tracy was an innocent. A wife and mother whose blood is on your hands.”

  “I have never condoned the killing of innocent women and children,” James said calmly. “You have nothing to connect me to the woman’s death.”

  Connor jabbed James in the chest with a finger. “Believe me, we will get proof. And you will rot in prison for this.”

  “Mansfield,” Marshal Jones said in a low, warning tone behind him.

  James angled his head to glance past Connor. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “No.”

  James chuckled. “Easy, fella. I’m not here to rumble.” He glanced behind him. “As you see, I came alone. Well, except for my driver, but I fear he’d be no help in a brawl.”

  Connor sincerely doubted that. Even now Gale’s driver probably had a bead on him with a high-powered weapon. He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes on James. “Listen to me, Gale. Your beef is with me, not my family. You want me? Come after me. But leave my family the hell alone. Got it?”

  “I intend to.” James leaned closer and pitched his voice low, for Connor’s ears only. “You’re the one who betrayed my father, and you’re the one who must pay. But I haven’t forgotten that you saved my son’s life, and in return, I will spare your family. Consider it a courtesy in light of your heroism on my son’s behalf. My brother, I’m afraid, doesn’t share the same mind-set. Victor is out for your blood, and he doesn’t care who else’s gets spilled in the process.”

  As James straightened, stepping back from Connor, Grant appeared at Connor’s side, his red-rimmed eyes locked on James. “Connor, what’s going on? Who is he?”

  Connor raised an arm to push Grant back from James and shook his head. “Never mind. Leave this to me.”

  “Are you the widower?” James asked, turning toward Grant.

  Grant stiffened. “Who’s asking?”

  “James Gale.” He extended a hand to Grant. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Gale?” Grant repeated, and Connor saw the shudder that shook his brother.

  Facing Grant, Connor stepped between his brother and James. He put a hand on Grant’s chest, trying to stop what he knew was coming. “Go back with the others. I’ll—”

  Shoving past Connor, his mouth tightening to a grim line, Grant lunged at James Gale. He swung a hard, quick punch to the man’s jaw, and as James stumbled back, stunned by the blow, Grant tackled him. “You killed her!” he shouted, his voice full of venom. “You did this!”

  Adrenaline surged in Connor’s blood. He rushed forward, Jones on his heels, and grappled to restrain his brother. Seizing one of Grant’s arms while Jones grabbed the other, they peeled him off James. Within seconds, Hunter arrived, helping restrain Grant and casting a dark glare toward James.

  Grant continued to struggle, snarling and crying at the same time. “Let me go! I’m gonna kill him!”

  Connor noticed Gale’s driver had left the car and was almost upon them, his hand on the bulge under his coat. Jones clearly noticed, too, and drew his weapon. James raised a hand, waving off his thug as he approached, then dabbed with his fingers at the leak of blood from his split lip.

  “Get out of here,” Connor said, his voice taut with rage. “Your fake sympathy is an insult.”

  James straightened his suit coat and squared his shoulders. “I’m sorry you feel that way. It was given in good faith.” He glanced toward Grant, who’d stopped struggling but still glared daggers at Gale. “I won’t bring charges against your brother for assault. I understand his grief. If anyone hurt a member of my family, I’d want a pound of flesh, as well.” He paused, his eyes earnest. “But as I said, I had nothing to do with her death.”

  Connor gritted his teeth. “Leave. Now.”

  James wiped the blood from his fingers onto a handkerchief and held Connor’s glare. “I hope the transplant goes well, for your daughter’s sake. But when it’s over, you’ll be hearing from me again.”

  * * *

  “So there’s a division between the Gale brothers about who’s fair game in their vendetta against you and who’s not?” Darby asked as she paced the Mansfields’ living room after the funeral guests had left.

  “That’s the impression I got from what James said.” Connor sat on the edge of the couch, his arms
resting on his thighs and his fingers steepled. “He claims he has no intention of hurting my family, but Victor has no qualms about collateral damage.”

  “So Victor is the one the cops should look at for the car bomb?” She rubbed her temple, trying to make sense of the bizarre and horrifying events of the past couple of days. She glanced at Marshal Jones, who stood to the side with his arms folded over his chest. Marshal Morris, a trim dark-haired man who reminded her of a clean-cut college frat boy, and Marshal Ramsey, a dirty-blond who was easily twenty years older and thirty pounds heavier than his partner, flanked Jones. The marshals from Shreveport were opposites in their style of clothing and appearance but equally grim faced.

  Connor barked a humorless laugh. “Good luck finding anything that will stick to either of the Gales. They hire professionals to do their dirty work, men who know better than to leave fingerprints or serial numbers that can be traced.”

  “They may be smart,” Morris said, “but so are the men who do our forensics. We’ll find something.”

  “I overheard Gale mention something about his son, something you did for him?” Jones said. “What’s that about?”

  Connor nodded and flopped back on the couch. “It happened about seven years ago. His son was three, I think.”

  Startled, Darby stopped her pacing and looked toward Connor. Seven years ago was before she’d started dating Connor, and she’d never heard anything about an incident with James’s son. She held her breath as he elaborated.

  “I was at James’s house, along with a lot of other employees at Gale Industries, for a Fourth of July barbecue. It started raining a little after we ate, so we’d all moved inside for dessert and drinks. I happened to be near a window at one point, and when I glanced out to see if it was still raining, I noticed Billy, Gale’s son, was out by their swimming pool. I didn’t see anyone else with him, so naturally, I got concerned.”

  Darby bit her lip, seeing where this was going. “He fell in the pool.”

  Connor glanced up at her. “Yeah. In all the noise and confusion of moving the party inside, Billy managed to slip outside. When I saw him out there, I went to bring him inside, looking around for James’s wife as I went. I didn’t find her, and by the time I got out to the pool, Billy had fallen in and was sinking to the bottom.”

  “Damn,” Jones mumbled.

  “I yelled for help, went in after him. When I pulled him out, he wasn’t breathing. James and his wife got there about the time I started CPR on the boy.”

  Darby’s eyes watered, and pride swelled in her chest. “You brought him back. You saved that boy’s life.”

  Connor shrugged. “I did what anyone in my position would do. I was in the right place at the right time.”

  “And even after you saved his kid, James still wants to kill you.” Jones grunted and shook his head. “There’s gratitude for you.”

  “For saving his son, he says my family is safe. From him. But he believes I betrayed his father and that I have to pay for that sin.” Connor sighed. “And then there’s Victor, the hothead of the family.”

  Darby’s shoulders drooped as she sank onto a stuffed chair. “So what do we do? How do we stop Victor from killing anyone else?”

  “You don’t.” Morris strolled deeper into the room and sat on the arm of the sofa. “That’s our job. You’ll need to take precautions, sure, but catching Victor, guarding your family is a police matter. You concentrate on taking care of your daughter.”

  “You’ll have your donation procedure tomorrow as planned,” Jones added, looking at Connor. “And when you’re discharged from the hospital, you will go by our rules. No more sidetracks from SOP. You want our protection, you follow our orders.”

  Sitting straighter, Connor met Jones’s challenging gaze with one of his own. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, Darby might have laughed. Connor, the king of control, being bossed around the way he bossed others.

  A muscle in Connor’s jaw twitched, and he faced Marshal Jones. “And what does SOP say will happen when I’m discharged?”

  “You disappear,” Jones said flatly, and Darby felt the words like a punch in the gut. “No more staying with the family. Clearly the disguises weren’t enough to keep the truth from leaking out somehow.”

  Darby doubled over, dropping her head to her hands and curling her fingers into her hair. She’d known it was coming, but hearing Jones spell it out so plainly left her sick to her stomach and panicky inside. She just buried a dear friend, a woman she considered family. The idea of losing Connor again, so soon, raked through her with merciless claws. Yet she’d known all along he’d leave again. Why did talk of his departure fill her with so much anxiety and pain?

  Despite every intention and caution not to, had she fallen in love with him again? Had she ever really fallen out of love? The ache in her chest was answer enough.

  And wasn’t that why her father’s abandonment hurt so much? Because she’d loved and trusted him and he’d tossed her aside like yesterday’s trash. Now Connor was preparing to leave her for the second time. How stupid was she to allow herself to love a man who’d do just what her father had done? Even with his track record, having already left her once, she still had feelings for Connor. She truly was a glutton for punishment. For her own sanity, she had to find a way to break the hold Connor had on her. She had to protect herself from the pain of another desertion.

  A shadow fell over her, and a warm hand cradled the back of her head. “Darby?”

  She glanced up at Connor, and the concern in his eyes made her heart catch. “Are you all right?”

  She inhaled a stuttering breath. “Do I have a choice? Seems to me things are going to happen the way they’re going to happen, whether I’m okay with it or not.”

  His eyes full of misery, Connor opened his mouth as if to counter her claim, but closed it again without speaking. Because he couldn’t argue with the truth.

  She lifted her cheek in a humorless smile as she shoved to her feet, pulling away from Connor’s touch. “That’s how it has been for months. Years even. I had no choice when you ‘died’ four plus years ago, and I don’t get a say in your leaving again now. I have no control over Savannah’s illness, no power to heal her or ease her pain. You tell me that because our daughter’s sick, we can’t go with you into WitSec. I’ve had assassins gunning for me, and U.S. Marshals living in my home. And I’ve had no choice in any of it.”

  She stalked out of the room, determined not to cry again. She’d already shed too many tears, and they’d gotten her nowhere. As she retreated to the guest room, she couldn’t help wondering what she’d do if she were given the option of joining Connor in WitSec, if Savannah’s illness didn’t make the question a moot point. Could she give up everything she knew and everyone she loved to be with Connor?

  A few days ago she would have said an emphatic no. But since then she’d seen how much his decision haunted Connor. She’d glimpsed the family they could be when Savannah got well—because Savannah’s recovery was the only future she dared to consider. And she’d felt the stir of old emotions, familiar longings, a trusted connection waking inside her, pushing back against the doubts and fears and pain of her losses.

  If Savannah weren’t sick, if she were given the chance, if Connor were to ask her to enter WitSec with him, her answer today might be much different. She scoffed at herself and muttered one of her mother’s favorite sayings: “If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a merry Christmas.”

  And maybe she and Connor could find their elusive happy ending.

  * * *

  Darby looked up from her daughter’s pale face to the observation window when she heard a knock on the glass. Hunter signaled for her to come out of Savannah’s sterile room, and she nodded.

  “I’ll be right back, honey. I promise,” she told Savannah, squeezing her small hand g
ently. Her daughter was heavily sedated, being prepped to go into surgery, and she couldn’t be sure Savannah even knew her mother was there.

  Darby exited through the antechamber of the isolation room, removing the sterile clothing and mask that were required when visiting Savannah, then stepped out in the waiting area where Hunter met her.

  “They’re about to take Connor into the procedure room. I thought you’d want to know.”

  She flexed her fingers and wiped nervous perspiration on her pants. “Yeah, thanks.”

  She’d been dividing her time between Connor’s room and Savannah’s since arriving with the rest of the family at 5:00 a.m. that morning. With one more anxious glance into Savannah’s room, Darby followed Hunter down the hall. They spotted the transplant team wheeling Connor’s gurney into surgery, and she jogged a few steps to catch up.

  Seeing her approach, Connor said something to the orderly, who stopped the gurney and glanced back at Darby. Connor smiled at her, his expression full of confidence and hope as he held a hand out to her. “It’s all good, beautiful. This is gonna work. Everything’s going to be fine. Have faith.”

  Her heart tugged. How like Connor to be encouraging her, even when he was the one about to be put under anesthesia.

  She took his hand and bent to give him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

  His brow dipped. “How’s our girl?”

  “They’re prepping her now. She’s so weak, so limp. If this doesn’t work—”

  He squeezed her hand, cutting her off. “It will.” He twitched a grin. “My marrow’s like gold. Good stuff. She’ll be turning cartwheels and playing dress-up in no time.”

  She smiled, despite the swarm of angry bees buzzing inside her.

  His eyes grew more serious, and he held her gaze. “Before she goes in for the procedure, will you...tell her I love her?”

  Darby’s pulse tripped, and the tears she’d been battling to hold at bay filled her vision. “Of course.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I’ll be there when you wake up.”