TO HOLD AN EAGLE

by Justine Davis

  "Just as long," Con put in quietly after a moment, "as you're sure she's not a black hat."

  Con's reference to the grim side of the childhood game of warning Linc and Shiloh's father had taught them in case his own work should ever come back to haunt his children, the game Con had learned of when his own work had endangered the sister of one of the two men in the world he called friend, brought all of Linc's unanswered questions rushing back to the fore.

  Linc looked at his brother-in-law intently. He could see the agile mind racing, considering, sorting out the possibilities; the piercing blue eyes held a quick intelligence Con didn't bother to hide anymore. It was that intelligence, and Con's swift, sometimes deadly proficiency that had drawn Linc to him when they'd met while working on a case of sabotage in the Philippines. It had been a job he would not have survived had Con not saved his life nearly at the cost of his own. The scar from the bullet that had been meant for Linc still marked Con's forehead below the thick, dark hair.

  And out of that meeting, eventually, had come this, Linc thought, watching the two of them. They were so obviously in love it made him ache somewhere deep inside, both with joy at what they'd found, and pain at his own emptiness.

  "I think," Shiloh intoned teasingly, "that you're just embarrassed. Thought you didn't have to be careful because she was a woman, huh?"

  "I have you for a sister," Linc shot back dryly, "I've always known I have to be careful around women."

  "Touché, Green-eyes," Con said with a grin as she rolled her eyes heavenward. Then he looked at Linc seriously. "Are you sure it was just a fluke that you found her?"

  Linc shrugged. "As sure as I can be. I don't know how long she'd been in the water, but there was no one else around anywhere. No one could have known I'd be in exactly that spot. Besides, I'm on leave, not on assignment."

  "Right," Con said sardonically.

  Linc knew what he meant. Just because he wasn't working at the moment didn't mean that some people he'd made very unhappy in the past weren't after him now. It was a fact of his life that he lived with day after day, just as his father had, and just as Con had. And as Shiloh had; she'd known far too much of the dark side that stalked her father and brother, and then her husband. For her sake, Linc knew that Con had cut back on his forays into the field since his boss, Sam West, had promoted him to head of the private Problem Management Force of WestCorp.

  "I don't think so," Linc said slowly. "There's been nothing lately that hasn't been strictly military work. Hell, it seems like all I've done for the last five years is fly to the Middle East and back."

  "With a few little midnight swims while you were there?" Shy asked politely. "A few moonlight underwater recon missions?"

  Linc grimaced. Sometimes his sister was too damned good at reading between the lines—in this case, the lines of the sparse news reports of the activities of the SEALs during the Persian Gulf War. He'd never told her he'd been temporarily reassigned to the elite navy unit during the war, but she was too smart not to put two and two together when she and Con had stopped in Santa Barbara after their honeymoon and found him packing up his diving gear.

  "The desert moon is too bright," Con said mildly. "You'd have to wait for a moonless night, or it'd be like going in broad daylight."

  "You two," Linc said wryly, "are a couple of wise guys."

  "Yeah," Shy said with a grin. "Good thing we found each other, huh?"

  Linc watched them for a long silent moment, as Shiloh looked up at her husband with pure, unwavering love glowing in her face, and Con looked back at her as if he still didn't quite believe in his own good fortune that had brought this fiery, loving woman into his lonely life.

  "Yes," Linc said suddenly, intensely, "it's a very good thing."

  Con and Shiloh exchanged a look that was suddenly more than just a loving glance. Shy gave a barely perceptible nod of her head, and then Con turned his gaze back on Linc.

  "I'm glad you think so," he said softly.

  Linc's brow furrowed at the words, and Con's tone. He'd thought all Con's doubts about his own self-worth, his own welcome by his new—and only—family were long past.

  "You know I do."

  "I'll hold you to that," Con said, "when the time comes."

  "What time?" Linc asked, puzzled.

  "Oh, don't worry," Shiloh put in breezily. "You have plenty of time before then."

  "Will you two quit being cryptic? Before when? And plenty of time for what?"

  "To learn, of course."

  "Shiloh Reese McQuade," Linc began warningly, in what Shiloh called his gorilla style. She looked at him, and for the first time since she'd been born when he was fifteen, there was hesitation in her. Apprehension flooded him, and he leaned forward abruptly. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," she said softly. "Unless you don't like the idea of being an uncle."

  "Being a… What?"

  His eyes flicked from his sister to Con, who was sitting there with pride and self-consciousness equally evident on his usually unreadable face. Linc looked back at Shy, who was, unbelievably, blushing.

  "You mean it?" he yelped. "You're pregnant?"

  She gave him a tiny nod. Linc felt a grin spreading across his face so wide it almost hurt as he leapt to his feet and crossed the distance between them in one long stride. He pulled her up off the sofa and into his arms.

  "Damn, that's great, little one!" He hugged her tightly, then twisted around to drag the hesitant Con into his fierce embrace. "Nice work, buddy!"

  "Fun work," Con corrected, deadpan, and Linc knew whatever lingering doubts his friend had were gone now.

  "Connor McQuade, you brat!" Shy blushed furiously as she slugged her husband's arm. They all laughed, and at last Linc released them.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, the words tumbling out rapid fire. "When? Does Dad know? Do you know what it is?"

  Shiloh laughed. "In reverse order, no, we want it to be a surprise, yes, we called him yesterday, in early October, and I'm fine. It's Con you should be worrying about. He's the basket case."

  Con had protested then, but Linc found out late that night exactly how true that last statement was. He'd lain wide awake in the small guest room for several hours, acknowledging ruefully that he normally would have slept as if comatose after several days solo out on the open sea. But his confused emotions over his sister's pregnancy—he was happy for her, he really was, but somehow it made him feel even emptier—gave way to visions that haunted him, flitting, disconnected images of a terrified woman fighting the sea, fighting him, reduced to helpless pleading, too frightened to trust even the man who had saved her life.

  Where was she now? She'd left wearing only a bathing suit and his shirt, with her hair wet, and it was cold out at night in February, even here in mild southern California. And he couldn't shake that certainty he felt that she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She was so small, so fragile… Right, Reese, he told himself tauntingly. Small, and about the softest armful of woman he'd had his hands on in years, or maybe ever. Small, but with more sweet, tempting curves than the mermaid he had called her. Small, but big enough to take up so damned much room in his mind that there wasn't much space for anything else.

  At last he gave up, pulled on his jeans, and wandered toward the kitchen, wondering if the McQuade bar ran to a stiff shot of Scotch. He stopped out in the hallway when he saw his brother-in-law sitting at the table, clad just as he was in only jeans, staring into a glass that held what looked suspiciously like what Linc had been hoping for.

  "Join the 3 a.m. club, my friend," Con drawled without looking up. That he had sensed his presence didn't surprise Linc; it would take more than cutting back on his field work to dull Connor McQuade's finely honed instincts.

  "Thanks. Got another shot of that?"

  Con nodded toward a cupboard, and Linc got himself a glass, poured in a large dollop, and went back to sit across the table from Con.

  "So, what's eating you, father-to-be?"

&nb
sp; Con winced. "Just that."

  Linc felt a chill as the thought crossed his mind that Con might be less than happy about this baby. But he quickly quashed it; Con's joy when they had told him was unmistakably genuine. But he thought he understood.

  "Shy loves you more than anything in the world, you know. And she always will."

  Con's head came up. "I know that. I don't know why she does, I sure as hell don't deserve it, but God, I can't doubt that."

  "This won't change her, Con. She's got more than enough love to go around."

  "I know that, too. I'm not worried about her."

  "Then what?"

  Linc caught a glimpse of near panic in Con's eyes before he looked away, and it took him aback. He'd seen Con face down an industrial spy with an assault rifle without looking this shaken.

  "What are you worried about, my friend?" he asked gently.

  "Me!" It burst from Con on a compressed breath. "Damn it, I don't know anything about being a father! I never even had one, good or bad. How the hell am I supposed to know what to do?"

  Linc let out a long breath. He searched for the right words. "You didn't know anything about being a husband, either, remember? But I've never seen Shy happier. You'll do all right, Con. You're just…"

  Con gave him a sideways look. "Scared? You're damned right. I'm flat out terrified. I don't know anything about raising kids."

  "Well, I'm no expert, either. But I know someone who is. You can talk to him."

  "Who?"

  Linc grinned. "Your father-in-law, dummy. His son is questionable, but he did a pretty good job with your wife, wouldn't you say?"

  "Yeah, but…" Con grimaced. "I can't exactly march up to him and say 'Hey, Commodore Reese, sir, now that I've gotten your precious daughter pregnant, when does fatherhood class start?'"

  "Maybe not. But you can go to him and say 'Dad, I need some help.'" Con looked startled, and Linc went on gently. "You still don't get it, do you, buddy? You're part of this family now. My father would go through fire for the man who made his daughter so happy. And so would I."

  Con looked utterly disconcerted, and Linc knew better than to push him on such an emotional issue. So, rather brusquely, he changed the subject.

  "Now, if we could just solve my problem that easily."

  "You mean your runaway mermaid?"

  "Yeah."

  "It's really eating at you, isn't it?"

  "It's that obvious?"

  "I know the signs," Con reminded him.

  "Yeah, I guess you do." That moment, when she had begged him not to go to the sheriff, flashed through his mind again. "I've seen that kind of desperation before, in people who've lost everything. Or think they have."

  "If you really think you have, there's not much difference."

  Linc nodded slowly. "And it's not far to the next step."

  "The step from thinking you've got nothing left to lose to thinking you've got nothing left to live for? Yeah, I know."

  And he did, Linc knew. Con had been there, when he'd turned his back on Shiloh, thinking himself not good enough for the woman he'd so unexpectedly come to love. And once he'd hit bottom, it hadn't taken him long to set himself up, to put himself in a spot where he was almost sure to be killed. Only a fluke had saved him, and only Shiloh's loving determination had brought him back to the world.

  "You going to start looking?" Con broke in on his thoughts.

  "I don't know. She was so insistent about not going to the cops…"

  "You think she's in some kind of criminal trouble?"

  Linc shrugged. "I don't think so. But I couldn't tell you why."

  "Okay," Con said, accepting it as only one who knew all about hunches that sprang from years of training and experience could. "So she's not on the run from the law."

  "But definitely on the run from someone."

  "Someone who had something to do with how she ended up as potential fish food?"

  Linc winced at the grim picture. He didn't understand that, either. It was nothing less than the truth, and he'd used harsher words himself before. "Maybe. I don't know. Damn, I don't even know her name."

  "And if you start looking, you may give her away to someone you wouldn't want to."

  "I know. If they think she's dead, drowned…"

  "Then she's safe, for the moment. From them, anyway."

  "But she's alone, no money, not even a pair of shoes, for God's sake."

  "And you're between a rock and a hard place. You can't let it go, but if you don't, you could bring it crashing in on her."

  "Or," Linc said with a rueful shake of his head, "I could be way out at sea. She could be just playing some kind of silly game."

  "But you don't think so."

  Linc sucked in a deep breath. "No. No, I don't. She was terrified, Con. And it was real."

  "Abused wife, or girlfriend, maybe?"

  "Could be. No bruises, though."

  "Maybe he just lets her heal, between bouts. Happens that way sometimes, I hear. Bastards."

  The word was uttered with distaste, and Linc knew that, being one himself in the literal sense, Con didn't use the word lightly.

  "Yes," Linc agreed, fighting his own revulsion at the thought. "But she said I'd never guess."

  Con considered that. "So you're thinking it's something less obvious?"

  Linc ran a hand over his hair and let out a compressed breath. "Hell, I don't know what I think."

  "Maybe you'd better let it drop, Linc." Con smiled at Linc's sour expression. "Even though it goes against the grain. Without knowing what you're dealing with, you might only make it worse for her."

  "Maybe," Linc agreed at last with a sigh. "But damn, it's hard!"

  "Always is, for us white hats, isn't it?"

  Linc grinned suddenly, and held up his glass. "Boy, we've got my sister fooled, haven't we?"

  Con lifted his own and, with a matching grin, met Linc's with a small clink. "Yep."

  The liquor burned Linc's throat going down, then spread into a comforting warmth in his belly. He drank the stuff rarely, and knew drinking it now was only a sign of his mental state.

  "You realize, of course," he told Con seriously, "that she's probably right, and the joke's on us?"

  Con downed the last of his Scotch. He set down his glass, then met Linc's gaze. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  "Yep," he repeated.

  Linc had never felt so restless. Con and Shy and gone out of their way to make him welcome, had even let him take them out to dinner to celebrate the news about the baby, but he still felt oddly ill at ease. He tried to chivy himself out of it, telling himself that he had no reason to feel uncomfortable around them, they were hardly on their honeymoon anymore.

  Although you couldn't tell, he admitted, thinking of the morning after his late night session in the kitchen with Con. He'd awakened surprisingly early, and headed sleepily to the one bathroom of the small house. The sound of the shower had stopped him at the door, but he hadn't turned away in time to miss the other sounds; tiny feminine cries of pleasure and a rough, throaty, muffled male growl. He had found himself blushing furiously as he retreated hastily back to his room, a reaction that was simple to deal with compared to the sudden, empty ache that possessed him.

  So maybe he was intruding. Maybe that was the reason for his restlessness. Or maybe, he told himself, trying sterner measures, he was just a jealous fool, envious of his own sister for the happiness she'd found. But even that had little effect; he knew it wasn't really true.

  At last, he'd resorted to a scathing, self-directed lecture, accusing himself of being one of those classic, pop psychology cases of mid-life crisis. Ludicrous as it was, it was better than the only alternative that came to mind, that his entire world had capsized because of one bewildering encounter with a flaxen-haired mermaid.

  Hit forty-two and fall apart, he told himself caustically. Except, wasn't a mid-life crisis when some guy went crazy and dumped wife, family, and home to go chasing af
ter something he thought he'd missed out on? Well, he had none of that to dump. And he'd had all the things those men supposedly went after; adventure, travel and, he admitted, an exciting woman or two. But now, outside of his family, he had nothing but a twenty-year navy career; it had seemed enough, once. Now he didn't know anymore.

  Hell, he grumbled silently, you don't even own a car; that boat down in the marina is all you've got to show for yourself at forty-two.

  But he knew it wasn't his lack of material things that had him so wound up. If it came to that, he'd lived so simply for so long that he had quite a nest egg built up. He could go buy almost any of the toys people seemed to lust after these days. The truth was, he didn't want any of them. The Shiloh II was his only extravagance, the only one he wanted.

  So, Reese, he muttered as he found himself awake and stumbling out to the kitchen—for coffee, this time—in the dawn hour for the second day in a row, what do you want?

  Hell if I know. The disgusted answer came back from the silent depths of his weary mind. Well, you'd damned well better figure it out, he told himself, before you go nuts talking to yourself. If you haven't already. If you—

  His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he stepped into the kitchen and saw his sister sitting at the table with a cup before her and a slice of toast in her hand. She was more than a little pale, and he looked at her in concern as he sat down.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Mmph," she muttered, a bit sourly.

  Linc eyed the cup, and the telltale paper tag hanging over the rim. "Tea? You never drank tea before."

  "I've never been pregnant before."

  "Oh." He blinked, not sure what to say; the idea of his little sister pregnant still disconcerted him. "Morning sickness?" he asked at last.

  "If your interpretation of morning is any time after midnight, then yes."