by Fiona Brand
"See what I mean?" Carter drove slowly through the centre of town, staring around, amazed. Man, there was no traffic. It was kinda creepy, like some hick ghost town. "You guys should have stuck to 'relationships.'"
Ben eyeballed Carter in the rear-view mirror. "Oh, very cool, Carter. Are we talking about one-night stands here?"
Blade indicated the next turnoff with a jerk of his thumb. "That is a relationship for Carter," he murmured.
"Ah, go on, then," Carter declared, taking the left-hand turn onto a rough gravel road. "Have your fun, but the fact is, one way or the other, you guys are all damaged goods. In the relationship stakes, I'm the only 'virgin' left in this sorry crew."
* * *
Cullen heard them pull up just as he tightened the last nut on the oil sump of his truck. He eased out from underneath, grabbed the bandanna holding his hair out of his eyes, and used it to wipe off his hands and the drips of oil that had hit his torso. As he walked toward the shiny new extended-cab, he ran his forearm across his sweating face. He didn't recognise the truck, but he knew who was in it. He'd only expected Blade, but he should have guessed the rest of the guys would wangle their way on this trip.
He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he watched them all pile out of the truck.
Blade said, "Good to see you, Cul," and something in Cullen's chest tightened up.
He hadn't realised how much he'd missed these guys, how much he'd missed being part of a team. "It's been a while," he agreed, shaking hands all around and getting pulled into a series of hot, sweaty hugs. "Hey, what is this? Male bonding? Next thing you know you guys'll be wanting to stick your tongues down my throat."
Carter made the sign of the cross with his fingers. "Easy, babe, just because you've snagged some poor, unfortunate woman, doesn't mean the rest of us are that desperate."
Cullen shook his head, his expression rueful. "As long as you promise to cook, you can all stay in the house."
"Carter ain't cooking," Ben said morosely. "We all wanna be alive when we wake up. Blade can be in charge of the food. I'll set up the bar."
He reached into the bed of the truck and hauled out a box of beer. Carter grinned, grabbed Ben's face with two hands and kissed him full on the lips.
"Oh, gross," Ben muttered, wiping his mouth on one arm and aiming a kick at Carter, before tearing the box open and tossing him a beer. "If you've gotta do something with your lips, man, plant them on that."
Blade prowled over to the truck and began hauling gear out. He aimed a pack at Cullen who caught it, staggering back under the weight.
"What's in here?" Cullen demanded.
"Ammunition." Blade snagged a rifle and tossed that at Cullen, too.
"Whoa." Cullen caught the rifle with one hand, easing the weight of the pack over his hip. "Just what kind of wedding do you think this is gonna be?"
"We're coming to the wedding, but we don't plan to stay. After you're bagged and tagged tomorrow, we thought we'd leave you to your privacy. We're heading north to do a little hunting." Blade jerked his head toward the towering, brooding bush-clad hills in the distance. "But next time we might try out those hills of yours. That's some of the meanest country I've seen in a long time."
* * *
After everyone was bedded down for the night, Cullen prowled restlessly in his room. He couldn't sleep. He wasn't going to even try.
Having the guys arrive like that had unsettled him completely. They were like family to him, and he wanted to be a part of their action, but suddenly there was this huge, yawning gap, and he didn't know himself. He didn't know what he wanted when this situation with Rachel was over. His career with the military had satisfied a lot of needs, but he just didn't think soldiering was going to do it for him anymore. He didn't know what would.
Beyond Rachel and the baby, that was.
A window shattered. The sharp report of a rifle punched through the sound of exploding glass.
Cullen was on the move, reaching for the sidearm he still kept in his bedside drawer, slamming the clip in place as he loped out into the passage and down the stairs. His mind was working coldly, quickly. The sounds had come from the south side of the house, facing the drive in. The vehicle he'd heard just minutes before meant that someone had parked, then walked to his house before firing a shot.
As he raced out the back door in a crouch, Cullen registered the sounds of feet hitting the floor, weapons being snapped together, and then silence broken by the faint familiar sounds of Blade and the rest of the team forming up in a tight patrol line behind him.
Cullen caught a flash of movement ahead and hand-signalled back: two men. He could hear them, panting, out of breath, their boots thudding on the gravel road. They reached their truck. One swore as he stumbled and yanked on the door; then Cullen and the rest of the boys were positioning themselves around the vehicle, guns brought up to bear.
"Put the weapon down," Cullen ordered curtly. "Then get away from the truck, real easy. Move too fast and one of us might get nervous."
One of the men swore, his hands shooting into the air. "Where the hell did all of them come from?" he snarled at the unmistakable figure of Frank Trask. "You said it would just be him. And maybe some woman."
Blade stepped forward and picked up the shotgun. He motioned Ben and Carter to move in and frisk the men. "You boys are lucky it wasn't just Cullen," he said mildly. "We're all nicer than him."
West and Blade covered the men, while Cullen sorted through the contents of the truck and found a length of rope. "Anyone got a knife?"
Four hands shot into various stash places and produced gleaming blades. "Oh, man," Cullen muttered, "don't you guys ever take a break? I thought you were on leave."
"Bein' on leave doesn't mean we have to walk around naked," Carter muttered, flipping his fighting knife through the air. Cullen caught it with smooth expertise, cut two lengths of rope, then quickly and expertly tied the two men's hands behind their backs.
Carter spun the men around and pushed them into the side of the truck. He wasn't gentle. "And seein' as how your neighbours are so friendly," he continued, shooting a glance at Cullen, "maybe you should be considering your wardrobe."
Blade pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his cutoffs. "Who do I call?" he asked Cullen.
Cullen gave him Dan Holt's number.
Blade stabbed some numbers, waited, then spoke tersely before flipping the phone closed and shoving it back into his pocket. "He'll be here ASAP."
Trask's head came up at the announcement. The glazed look on both the prisoners' faces was fading fast, now that the banter was over and the prospect of an official end to their night's work was in sight.
After a tense interval, a vehicle sounded in the distance. Seconds later Dan Holt's police car crunched to a halt. His eyes narrowed on all the firepower surrounding the two cowering men. He centred on Trask, then glanced sharply at Cullen. "Looks like a war zone."
"Just a few friends up for some hunting," Cullen replied.
Dan lifted his eyebrows. "Yeah, right. SAS I presume?"
Five faces went blank.
"Okay." He sighed, dragging a notebook out of his pocket and flipping it open. "Fill me in, boys."
Cullen gave him a terse outline of events.
Dan produced handcuffs, looked ruefully at the expert rope job cinching the prisoners' wrists tight and stashed the cuffs in his back pocket with a fatalistic sigh. He herded the two men into the back seat of his car and put the weapon they'd used in the boot. He nodded at Cullen. "I'll take these two into Fairley for the rest of the night. I'll see you there first thing tomorrow morning for a statement." Lifting his hand, he drove up to the house, turned around, then drove back and out onto the road.
Blade gave Cullen a hard look as they all headed back to the house. "I think you'd better tell us what's been going on here, Cul."
"I smell petrol," Ben said sharply.
"Yeah, you're right," West said. "Hey, Cul those bastards were gonna burn you o
ut."
Carter examined the splash marks on the side of the house and scratched his head. "Then why the hell did they start shooting?"
Blade shook his head in disgust. "Accidental discharge, probably. Man, do I hate amateurs. Someone could have been hit."
Cullen located the petrol can the men had dropped in their panic. "It's just as well they got careless," he said bleakly. "Otherwise we'd be watching this baby burn right now."
They were all silent, looking at the old house. Carter ambled off to get the hose and began watering down the areas that showed splash marks.
Blade jerked his head at Cullen and walked a short distance away from the others. "What's going on, Cullen?"
Cullen shrugged. "Some stuff's been happening. I got involved with trying to help the son of one of those men, and he didn't take kindly to my intervention. He beat up on the boy, then the boy's mother. And then he threatened Rachel."
"Doesn't seem motivation enough to risk something like this."
Cullen watched Carter turn off the water. Ben and West were systematically checking all the outbuildings, making sure there weren't any more surprises they should know about. Anger still vibrated through him, along with a cold, sick feeling he didn't like at all. Trask's sidekick had mentioned "a woman," which meant they'd been prepared to burn the house down with Rachel inside. "I haven't got to the bottom of Trask's motivations yet. I've got some ideas, but no way to prove any of it. And besides, it's a little difficult pointing the finger around here. I don't exactly have a pristine reputation."
"I know the kind of stuff you did. It wasn't that bad."
"Yeah, right," Cullen said drily. "Running with a gang, learning to survive on the streets. Just your usual youthful exuberance. Around here, you spit on the sidewalk and they consider putting you away."
"So, the town thinks you're some kind of bad boy come back to raise hell?" Blade shook his head. "Don't they know who you are? What you are?"
Cullen shook his head. "This is small-town New Zealand, Blade, and these people saw me at my worst. To them, I am the bad guy."
* * *
The next morning Cullen slotted his truck into a space outside the police station in Fairley. He gave his name at the reception desk before being ushered into an interview room.
Ironically, it was the same interview room he'd sat and sweated in fifteen years ago. Apart from a new coat of paint in a pale pink that was no doubt supposed to soothe the savage breast, it was unchanged. The same scarred furniture, the same feeling of claustrophobia—of being caged. The same stale smell of defeat.
Dan Holt joined him, along with another uniformed detective. The formalities only took a few minutes. The young guy in uniform took the paperwork and the empty fuel can Cullen had brought in, and left the room.
Dan sat back in his chair. "You and Trask seem to have quite a little feud building up here. I'd be interested to hear anything you'd like to tell me about it."
Cullen kept his expression blank. "You talked to him about his claim that he hit my father?"
"Put the emphasis on 'I talked.' If Trask was as silent as that in the pub, a lot of folks'd be relieved."
Cullen shrugged. "Maybe he was just mouthing off. I didn't expect anything to come of it."
"Anything, hell. What he did last night looks like retaliation."
"So what happens now?"
"With the load on district court judges, it'll be months before Trask appears. He's been released pending trial, but I've slapped a court order on him. If he approaches you or Rachel, sets foot on your property, or tampers with any of your possessions, he goes into custody."
Relief unlocked some of the tension in Cullen's muscles. "Thanks. I appreciate the protection—for Rachel's sake."
"But not your own?" Dan met his gaze levelly. "I can understand that. You haven't exactly had a lot to thank the law for. Believe me, if I could've found out what happened to your father all those years ago, I would have. I never thought you did it."
"Thanks," Cullen said gruffly. He'd always thought Dan was fair, but he'd never expected him to offer anything more than guarded neutrality. Just as he was rising to leave, Dan put up a hand.
"Before you go, I'd like to get your slant on that letter Rachel brought in yesterday."
Cullen's senses went on immediate alert. Letter? He could think of only one reason for Rachel to hand a letter to Dan. Fury tightened all his muscles at the thought of someone threatening Rachel. The fury increased when he considered that Rachel had clearly bypassed him with her problem. He found he didn't like that one little bit. Just as he hadn't liked her assertion that she could cope with being a solo parent just fine. "Rachel didn't mention any letter."
Dan fidgeted with the file on the table. Cullen's eyes narrowed. Not much upset the middle-aged policeman. He had a cop's face, a cop's cynical eyes. Something unusual had to have happened to have breached that essential hardness.
Dan flipped open the folder and produced a plastic envelope with a sheet of paper displayed inside. "Rachel received this in the salon's mail."
Cullen read the terse, precisely aligned statement and understood immediately why Rachel hadn't discussed the letter with him. She'd been trying to protect him. His fury condensed into a cold knot in his stomach. Ever since he'd reluctantly returned to Riverbend, he'd been encountering problems. Mostly it was just simple bad manners, sometimes a refusal to do business with him. The most frustrating difficulty was the ongoing problem of finding anyone to work for him. Consequently, it was taking him months to do what should have taken weeks. The sheet of paper was an abrupt escalation of his difficulties. Gossip and speculation, even anger about his past, were one thing, but apparently someone wanted him out of Riverbend badly enough to show their hand. But they'd just made a serious error, because Cullen wasn't eighteen and running scared. He was thirty-three and beginning to be seriously ticked off. "Did you manage to lift any prints?"
"Aside from Rachel's, not a one."
Cullen grunted. He hadn't expected to hear anything different. Just one look at the pristine paper, the carefully aligned letters, provided the information that the person who'd put the letter together was careful and intelligent and unlikely to do anything as amateurish as leave prints.
Dan leaned forward. "Is there anyone who might have reason to … uh…"
"To convince Rachel that marrying Riverbend's bad boy isn't a great move? Take your pick, Dan. Half the town would like to see me gone."
"Not many of 'em would go this far. And I don't think Trask has got what it takes to produce something like this, either."
"It wasn't Trask," Cullen agreed. "Not this time."
Dan sat up straighter, his tired gaze sharpened. "If you've got any ideas, I want to hear them."
"I have ideas. Nothing concrete."
"Damn it, Cullen. If you're withholding information—"
"If I come up with anything you can use," Cullen interrupted, "I'll give it to you wrapped up with a bow."
"If someone's harassing you, it's police business," Dan warned. "Don't try to handle it on your own."
"I won't start anything," Cullen promised grimly. "But if the son of a bitch who sent that letter to Rachel decides to get up close and personal with me, I won't be backing down."
When Cullen stepped out into the hallway, he almost walked into Trask and his cohort. And the elegantly suited figure of Richard Hayward. The lawyer looked right through him, but Trask didn't. His gaze was triumphant, as he strode past.
Cullen followed them out of the station and watched the men get into Hayward's expensive new Lexus and drive away. He wouldn't have thought Trask made the kind of money Hayward would demand for defending him. Or to make bail on attempted arson and firearms charges.
Unless he had someone with money backing him.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
When Rachel arrived at the tiny church just outside of town she was glad she'd insisted they have the wedding th
ere.
The church was beautiful, perched on the top of a ridge, commanding a wide view of the checkerboard valley that fell away at its feet and the hazy, blue distance of the hill country. With its peeling paint outside and hushed darkness inside, the old building possessed a timeless grace and peace that conferred a subtle blessing on her hurried marriage.
"You don't have to do this," Cole said bluntly, halting her at the front steps.
Rachel sent him and the other three brothers who had popped up out of nowhere—minus girlfriends—an irritated look. She adjusted her small, defiantly white silk hat and half veil and ran a last-minute check on her simple white silk suit. "I want to do this," she said calmly. "Now, are you going to give me away, or do I have to do it myself?"
Cole released a strained sigh. "You could at least have waited until Dad could get here."
"He's in Japan for a month," she stated. "And I can't wait. There's no easy way to tell you this, guys, so … I'm pregnant."
Four jaws sagged. Then an excess of testosterone surfaced in a rush. Ethan bunched his hands into fists, Nick's eyes slitted, and Cole had to snag Doyle as he made a violent move toward the doors of the church.
"That's it," Cole said bleakly. "You're not marrying Logan. We'll look after the kid."
Rachel shook Cole's hand off and resisted the urge to ask if the offer would still be open if she happened to have a daughter instead of a son? She stepped back, far enough away that she could stare each brother in the eye in turn. They were all Viking-blond, all gorgeous, and each one of them sported the stubborn Sinclair jaw. The one feature they all had in common. "I want to marry him," she said firmly, not sparing herself. "This is all my doing. I've trapped him. He doesn't want me."
"Like hell," Doyle muttered, giving her a look of supreme disbelief. "Why didn't he use a—"
"It just happened," she said flatly.
"Oh, yeah," Nick drawled. "It was still pretty damned careless of him. He should have been prepared."
"Are you prepared … now?" she asked with delicate precision.
Nick's ice blue eyes narrowed to slits. "This is my only sister's wedding," he replied curtly. "I'm not planning on anything more strenuous than checking out this creep."