Deadly Games

by Clark, Jaycee

  Kaitlyn joined her and took her husband’s seat. “Has she said anything?”

  Rori shook her head and Kaitlyn studied her.

  “What?” Rori asked. Too damn many people around for her peace of mind.

  Kaitlyn took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I just thought . . .” She closed her mouth, looked down, and picked a nonexistent piece of lint off her pants. “When we got to the window. You and she were closer to us, Ian a bit away . . . And just for a moment, I thought . . .”

  Damn.

  Rori reached out and covered her hands. “Your son saved our lives.”

  Kaitlyn nodded and shoved a coppery curl behind her ear. She shook her head. “There’s so much I want to ask him, so much I’ve missed, so much I want to know, and earlier none of that mattered. I just wanted him alive and you alive. I thought I’d kill that boy that picked me up and carried me to the bathroom.”

  Tanner as “that boy” brought a smile to Rori’s face. “They were following Ian’s orders. Their primary duty is to protect their charge.”

  “Why do we need protecting and who’s after my son?” Those green eyes narrowed, sharpened to hard emeralds. “A car explodes on my front lawn, almost killing my son and his family, and by God, I’ve a right to know.”

  Rori tilted her head. Woman had a point. She squeezed Kaitlyn’s hand, seeing again the plain gold band topped by a diamond anniversary band. “It’s up to Ian to let you know. If you ask questions now, he won’t tell you. After everyone clears out, he might.” At the determined look on the woman’s face, Rori added, “And I stress might more on the probably not side.”

  “Oh, he’ll tell me, I’m his mother.”

  “Which is the reason he probably won’t.”

  Kaitlyn’s chuckle drew attention.

  Jock strode up to their side and in his hand was a bear. An old blond and ragged bear looking as if he’d been in a battle or two. Kaitlyn’s smile grew and turned tender as she looked at her husband. “I’m glad you thought of that.”

  Jock squatted down in front of them, his knees creaking and popping. Rori winced. That had to bloody hurt.

  He held the bear out to Darya, who merely stared at him, not moving, barely even breathing.

  “This was Ian’s. Ian’s, when he was a boy.”

  He held it aloft and still the girl didn’t take it.

  “He’s yours now.” He frowned, looked at the bear, then at Rori. “How do I say that in Russian?”

  “I have no idea.”

  And then she felt him, directly behind her, only a second before his graveled voice said the words in a language no one but the little girl understood.

  Darya didn’t even turn to look at him.

  Rori heard him sigh, but then Darya pulled her thumb from her mouth with a loud pop and tentatively reached for the bear.

  Jock didn’t move, let her take it.

  She snatched the bear, then burrowed back into Rori.

  Ian’s hand rested on her shoulder. Jock looked at her for a long moment, then his eyes rose to look beyond and above her. “What happened to Darya, to make her so distrustful?”

  Rori’s stomach tightened and she cleared her throat.

  Ian’s voice hardened. “You don’t want to know.”

  Chapter 19

  November 16, 2:14 a.m.

  Quiet like a mouse. She walked down the hallway, her fingers brushing the side of the wall, the paint cool, the carpets beneath her bare feet thick. She stopped, listened, and wiggled her toes.

  It was so big here. Not like at the hotel where they stayed before. This was different. People in and out all the time. The same men she remembered from . . .

  She shook her head. Here things were safe. She looked at the back of her hand, to the white bandage there, and remembered the pops, the shattering glass, the fire that backhanded them across the lawn.

  The house was dark and quiet, for the most part. She heard a saw whirr to life near the back of the house.

  No one moved up here. The others had left, she remembered the boy leaving with his parents. The other little girl was in bed asleep down the other hallway.

  She’d had her bath. Rori and Ian’s mother had given it to her. The lady with the red hair singing and squirting water while Rori washed her and talked.

  Darya frowned. She had lain in bed, but something woke her up. She looked down at her other hand, where her new bear hung by one arm.

  Ian’s bear. She smiled and brought the bear up to her nose. He didn’t smell like Mr. Bear. This one smelled dusty and she wanted to sneeze. But she liked him. He didn’t have a name yet.

  Maybe she’d call him . . . She didn’t know. For now, he’d be Mr. K. They’d told her, her new name was Darya Kinncaid.

  She didn’t know why. She liked her old name. And if they changed her name, then what? But she didn’t want Ian or Rori leaving her, or getting mad. What if she didn’t like her name, so they gave her away like Aunt Sonya had?

  Darya shook her head and clutched Mr. K to her. He needed a bath. She’d had a bath, she needed to give one to Mr. K.

  A noise at the end of the hallway jerked her head up.

  The old man with white hair stood there looking at her, his hands in his pockets, something under his arm.

  He smiled, and his eyes wrinkled up. He said something to her, his voice deep and calm.

  Not like it had been back at the hotel, sharp and angry. Slowly, he walked toward her.

  Her heart beat fast and faster, and she looked over her shoulder, but no one was there.

  Darya didn’t move as he stopped in front of her. He said something again, that soft rumbling voice, like the sound of water filling the tub when she lay in the bottom and the water covered her ears.

  He held his hand out to her and she only looked at it, then at him.

  Where was Ian? Where was Rori?

  She frowned. His bushy white brows rose and he pointed back down the hallway, the way she’d come from. Again, he held his hand out.

  He wouldn’t hurt her. Not here with Ian. Ian would get him if he did. Taking a chance, she put her hand in his big one and walked with him down the hallway.

  The room softly glowed from the lamp over on the side table. The bed was scrunched where she’d lay on it. The doors to the balcony were locked up high. She couldn’t reach it, she’d tried. She wanted to open them and breathe the air.

  He walked her to the bed and pulled the covers back. She looked up at him. Rori and Ian did it like that too. He wouldn’t hurt her.

  She climbed in bed and he pulled the blue cover up over her. She tucked it under her arms and stared at him.

  He grinned back and looked around, then he looked back at her and wiggled his brows, saying something.

  From under his other arm, he pulled out a book.

  She tilted her head and watched him.

  Ian had read her a story earlier, but she’d understood it. He sometimes talked like she did.

  This man didn’t. This book was different, with beautiful pictures. She sat up and looked as he opened it and held it on his lap. Darya ran her hand down the page the book was open to. A picture of a princess, the painting so real, she expected to see the lady in the dark red gown move, or see her long wavy hair blow. The edge of the page was all swirly gold and blue. It was the most beautiful thing she’d seen.

  Smiling, she looked up at the old man.

  He chuckled and pulled the book toward him and started to read.

  She had no idea what he was saying, and she tried. Tried until her eyes grew tired and she leaned back against her pillows. His voice was gruff, but she almost felt as safe with him as she did with Ian. His voice rumbled over her, through her, lulling her back to sleep.

  *****

  Jock looked at the little girl sleeping in his son’s old twin bed. She was pale, her dark hair contrasting against the pristine white sheets.

  So small, so . . . haunted. Yes, the girl was haunted.

  He had no idea fr
om what, Ian wouldn’t say, but he could see it in little Darya’s round blue eyes. Ryan had possessed that same look when Jock first met the boy over a year ago.

  Since then, rarely, if ever, did he see it in the smiling, rambunctious boy Ryan had become.

  Darya. He closed the book on his lap, glad he’d thought to get it from the library. He’d planned to check in on her and leave the book, not that he’d told anyone downstairs that. Kaitlyn had given him her “are you feeling all right, you should go to bed” look.

  He was tired. Tired physically and emotionally, tired in soul like he hadn’t been in a long long time.

  “You’re safe here, princess,” he whispered, brushing a hair back off her forehead. “You’re a Kinncaid now and I don’t know if your daddy’s told you, but we Kinncaids . . .”

  A memory, razor-sharp, pierced him, robbing him of breath. Ian, angry and rightly so, standing in the entryway, betrayal and fury in those blue eyes. “Fine. Disown me. Flesh and blood and the Kinncaid line of bullshit you always fed us, is just that, isn’t it? Bullshit. Because when it comes right down to it, Jock Kinncaid doesn’t stand with his own. Instead he believes the worst and disowns them. You’re a goddamn hypocrite.”

  Damn boy had it right then. Now?

  He took a deep breath. He and Ian had never gotten along, not really, not like the other boys. Kaitie had always said it was because they were so much alike.

  Now?

  Now, he’d do whatever he had to, to keep Ian and his family in their lives.

  Crow had never tasted good, and with everything he hadn’t had time to apologize to his son. It was time he did.

  His hips popped when he stood. Damned old age. He’d love to go to bed, but he wouldn’t. At the door, he looked back.

  Little girls needed to twirl and squeal, giggle and whisper—like Tori.

  This granddaughter of his would as well if he had any say in it. Tomorrow he’d buy her a damn dolly. One of those ridiculous frilly ones.

  Smiling, he pulled the door almost to and walked back down the hallway. He’d come up thinking to put the book in her room and just to check on her. But she’d stood just there, silent as a little ghost.

  Forget the doll, he’d get her something else. He’d get her one of those little pink cars she could drive. He remembered Tori had one and chased anything that stood still and mowed down her grandmother’s daffodils.

  He chuckled.

  Jock wondered if they still only came in pink. Maybe he could get her a purple one, or a blue one . . .

  *****

  Ian sat in the living room, listening again as Roth gave him the rundown of the search.

  Aiden and Jesslyn finally went home. Since they lived just down the road and he didn’t want to find out tomorrow morning their house was hit, he’d made certain not only Pete’s team had gone over it thoroughly, but also John. When the all-clear came, John drove up and then drove them back home. Pete had added another guard to everyone. Pete also had Gavin’s place checked out, it too was clear.

  Life was just fucking peachy.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, Rori snuggled up beside him, her head on his shoulder, listening.

  Brayden and Christian had gone to bed earlier and Tori had been sent to bed after Ryan left. She had school tomorrow. Brayden wanted to take them to Louisiana earlier than Thanksgiving. Ian didn’t blame them for wanting to leave. He blamed himself. Supporting Brayden, Ian had said he’d send Tanner or Roth and whoever Pete assigned.

  Quinlan had never shown up, getting busy at the hotel, and then Pete sent a guard to keep him there. Quin wasn’t happy and had called more times than Ian wanted to think about.

  His stomach twisted and he took a deep breath. With the headache, and tonight’s activities, he didn’t dare eat.

  Push past it. No matter what, things could get worse, and he didn’t have time to wimp out now. Things could always get worse.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  “Sorry,” Ian said, “could you repeat that?”

  “We didn’t find anything. John said he found nothing over at Aiden’s place either,” Roth said. “Well, unless you count the raccoon.”

  Ian shook his head and said, “You might as well all go to bed. Tomorrow is another day.”

  And he was leaving in three. He hadn’t told Rori yet, and figured he’d just wait.

  The sawing finally stopped from the other side of the house, and the hammering continued as the four men Pete hired got plywood up over the windows.

  Fuck.

  “It’s not your fault,” Rori whispered.

  He grunted and kept his eyes closed. “How do you figure?”

  “You didn’t put that sniper in the tree.”

  He blew out a breath and sat up, Rori sitting up beside him. He linked his hands between his knees. “A fucking sniper. He could have taken any of them out. Walk by a window and boom. Gone.”

  His mother, his father, Ryan, Tori, whoever the man had wanted—

  “Stop it!” Rori told him. “Quit thinking with your emotions. You will get them killed, you go down that road.”

  He turned his head and looked at her, sitting cross-legged on the couch. She was right and the look on her face said she knew it.

  “I can’t not think with my emotions when it’s my family. He could have easily taken you out first. Darya.”

  Shit. He stood, raked his hands through his hair and paced to the fireplace and back.

  “I never should have come back here, damn it.”

  His mother walked into the room, followed by Becky. Becky.

  She grinned at him and shook her head. “And to think I almost missed ye and yer pranks through the years, boyo.” Her ample frame and dimpled cheeks almost pulled a smile from him.

  He walked to her and wrapped her in a hug.

  Her hands thumped him on the back. “’Bout time ye remembered me.”

  He pulled back, his hands at her shoulders. Why had he remembered her taller? He’d seen her last year when he’d come to help out Brayden, but he hadn’t hugged her. And she still smelled like vanilla and spices. A warm kitchen.

  “I’ve always remembered you, Beck.”

  She snorted. “Well, I’ve got some coffee and tea here.” She motioned to the tray she’d set on the coffee table. “And some cookies.”

  He did grin. Snickerdoodles. “My favorite.” Smiling at her, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Becky. You have no idea how much I missed your Snickerdoodles.”

  “Aye, well. You don’t eat them all. Some are for your wife and that little angel of yours.”

  With that, she picked up another glass and bustled out of the room. He watched her go, realizing how time went on. No matter the place, no matter the situation, the losses, the gains, time went on, and blinking, a person could miss more than they’d ever thought.

  “Blow me, these are good,” Rori said.

  His mother choked and he turned, hurried to her and thumped her on the back. Tanner chuckled and grabbed a cookie. Tanner’s eyes twinkled. “I will not say what I could.”

  Rori’s eyes narrowed. “Gutter mind. That’s not . . . You Yanks.” She shook her head and took another bite, closing her eyes. “These I could live off of.”

  His mother smiled and then giggled. The sound was so refreshing he stopped what he was doing and just studied her.

  “What?” his mother asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “British expression will take some getting used to. Good thing your brothers weren’t here or God only knows what one of them would have said.”

  Rori, eyes still closed, grinned as she finished off her cookie. He realized she had the same expression after he made love to her and she drifted off to sleep.

  Outdone by a cookie?

  Then again, he thought, shoving one into his mouth, they were damn good cookies. Thankfully, his stomach accepted them without too much rebelling.

  He sat and Rori re
ached over and patted his thigh. “I know,” she said.

  He looked at her. “You know what.”

  She only grinned.

  Jock walked into the room, drawing his attention. The old man paused, and a look of . . . confusion? . . . reluctance? crossed his face.

  Tanner grabbed another cookie and said, “I’m off to bed. You know where to find me. I don’t get some z’s, I won’t be alert.”

  “Thanks, Tan.”

  Tanner walked out without another look at them.

  Roth pointed to his own eyes and then circled with a finger. He would check the house out. Ian nodded.

  “None of you make a sound when you walk,” his mother said. “I keep thinking I’ll hear footfalls from them, but they’re like shadows.”

  The living room was quiet with only the four of them in it. Jock finally strode across the room and sat beside his wife on the other couch, facing Ian and Rori. Ian’s nerves twitched. He rubbed the back of his neck, taking a deep breath.

  The air tightened, he could feel it. It was the same every time he got too close to Jock. He looked at the man and wondered what his problem was. He’d been with the worst criminals imaginable and none of them really affected him like this one man could.

  Ian closed his eyes and Rori laid her hand on his, leaning over to whisper, “Relax. He’s difficult, but not that bad.”

  He jerked his head and looked at her.

  Jock cleared his throat again and said, “I’m getting Darya a gift.”

  Ian didn’t say a word. Rori looked at him, squeezed his hand, then took the ball. “Thank you, Jock. What did you have in mind?”

  Jock shifted on the couch. “Well, I thought a doll at first, but . . . oh, by the way, she was up.”

  “What?” Ian asked.

  “Darya. I went upstairs to check on her and she was standing in the hallway. I coaxed her back to her room and read her a story.”

  He looked from Jock to his mother, whose brows rose.

  To Jock, Ian said, “You don’t speak Russian.”

  Jock shrugged. “She didn’t seem to mind.”

  Ian stood. “I’ll go check on her.”

  Jock waved him back down. “She’s fine. Went to sleep before the end.”