Deadly Games

by Clark, Jaycee

  Please let her new papa be all right, she prayed.

  She wanted her papa. She wanted to go swimming again with him.

  Darya tried not to think of Papa or that he was behind that one big door where Rori kept going in and out of.

  Instead she focused on the big man’s voice, listened to the calming rumble and wondered what he was saying. When he sniffed again, she pulled back.

  Tears glistened on his old weathered cheeks.

  She frowned, reached up, and wiped them off. Maybe even big people got scared too.

  *****

  The shrill notes of his cell phone woke him. He blinked and smelled the stringent smells of the hospital. He looked to his right and saw Rori and Pete.

  He blinked, looked around, looked to the side of the bed and lifted his hand. God, how long had he been out?

  “’Bout time you woke up.”

  He tried to lift his other hand and realized it was taped to his chest. A crackle against his chest between his fingers made him look down. A crinkled photograph lay there. He smiled.

  “She left it,” Rori said. “You want a drink?”

  He licked his lips. God, he hated anesthesia. She held a cup and straw to his lips, her long fingers wrapped around it, the light glinting off her wedding ring. He closed his eyes.

  Ian swallowed, shook his head, then settled back into the pillow. He looked at Pete. “What are you doing here?”

  Pete glanced to Rori, who patted him, said something to Pete and walked out of the room. Pete stood by the bedside shaking his head. “Hell, I let you quit and still you cause trouble.”

  Ian waited, then remembered. “Quinlan?”

  Pete frowned. “Holding his own. She’d OD’d him. He was crashing by the time we got him in, his brain so hot . . .” He shook his head. “Coded in the ER here. But they got him back. Still unconscious, had to do extensive surgery on his leg, bullet messed up his knee, but your mother and brother seem confident.”

  Fuck. “He’s okay though?”

  “Far as anyone can tell. They won’t know the extent of any damage until he wakes up.”

  He looked around. “Where are we?”

  “Naval hospital. Seemed the best way to keep it quiet.”

  Ian snorted. “Is Darya all right?” Images flashed in his brain. The shot, the pain, his father’s eyes. “My father?”

  Pete nodded. “Yeah. Both fine. Tired. Everyone seems worried about your mom. Had some dizzy spells and the doctors told her to lie down or they’d admit her. She didn’t listen, they learned her blood pressure was up, so Gavin bribed one of the docs here to give her a sedative that first night and they poured her into one of the empty beds. She’s still pissed. But she’s better, pressure’s down. Your dad is fine.”

  Ian took a deep breath and winced, the oxygen dry in his nose. He still hadn’t asked about Roth. “Roth?”

  “Roth is still in surgery. Took a bullet to the lung. Gar was unconscious at the penthouse, but the sedative she injected in him has worn off. He’s outside still apologizing to your parents.”

  Ian closed his eyes. Damn. Thoughts and images, disjointed, jagged, sharp and blurred, danced endlessly through his brain.

  Pete cleared his throat. “Thought you might be interested to know that all loose ends are now tied, knotted and snipped.”

  “When?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

  “I have no idea. But, considering Brasher’s history, for him to call and tell me it was done was enough.”

  Ian felt Pete thump the railing on the bed. “Get better fast. The longer you’re in here, the harder it is to keep things quiet.”

  He didn’t open his eyes as he heard Pete leave, heard the door shut. The squeaks and rolling of a cart out in the hall carried into the room. God, he’d failed them. The entire situation . . .

  He heard the door open, heard the whisper of voices and then felt the bed give.

  The small hand on his face had him opening his eyes. Rori held Darya on the edge of the bed. “Hey, pumpkin,” he said in Russian.

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  He looked at Rori, noted the exhaustion in her eyes, the taut pull of her face. She was worried and he didn’t like it. Smiling at her, he reached his good hand up and laid it on top of hers. “You make a damn good Kinncaid.”

  She smiled. “Your father said the same thing, then quoted some family motto or something.” She shook her head, and tried to pull her hand free.

  He didn’t want to let her go. “No, stay. Both of you.” He was tired. So tired.

  “I want to take a trip,” he said.

  Her chuckle warmed him. “Another one?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I was thinking something more family-oriented. Like the theme parks in Orlando, Florida.”

  Her grin grew. “Really? I’ve never been there.”

  He nodded and hoped. Hoped she wouldn’t walk out of his life one day as unexpectedly as she’d strolled into it. “We could all practice being a family.”

  Darya leaned over, kissed his cheek, then squirmed off the bed and ran to the doorway. Jock stood on the other side staring in. He nodded to Ian and took Darya’s hand, pulling the door closed again. Ian relaxed in the quiet, closed his eyes and just held Rori’s hand.

  Neither spoke for a while. The occasional beep of the IV machine pierced the quiet.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  He sighed, felt his heart relax, and grinned. “I love you too.”

  “There’s just one thing we need to discuss,” she said, her voice edged on a tease.

  “What?”

  “You ordering me about.”

  Still he didn’t open his eyes. “Well, before we talk about it, I should go ahead and give you this one last order. Then we’ll talk about it.”

  She sniffed.

  “I think you make a great mom and you have to keep doing it.” He opened his eyes. “I won’t let you leave. You’re mine. A Kinncaid, and by all that I hold dear, I’ll keep you in my life. Period. You’re my other half, the balance I’ve looked for, and I’ll be damned if I have to live without that.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, just stared at him. Finally, she scoffed. “Well, I think there are some unsettled issues there, at least with Darya. We need to close her past so we can all move forward.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “So you’re staying with us?”

  Her eyes narrowed back. “She’s my bloody daughter as well, and why the bloody hell would I tell you I loved you, then turn around and walk away?” She took a deep breath, as if getting ready to battle. Then she exhaled, the breath hot in his face and faintly minty. “I’m going to write this off as your brain’s still fogged from your injuries, boyo.” She sniffed. “Now, as I was saying, before I was interrupted. We need to close Darya’s past.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her again and tightened his hold on her hand. “You’re not going after them. They’re mine.”

  She jutted her chin up. “I can if I want and she’s mine as well, so I’ll do as I please.”

  “No, you won’t.” He closed his eyes.

  “You can’t stop me if you’re in bed, here in the hospital.”

  He shook his head. “Rori, wait until they release me, then we’ll argue over which of us will or won’t kill the bastards.”

  *****

  December 1, 3:45 p.m.

  Ian sat beside his brother’s hospital bed. He’d been here for two hours. Everyone else had something to do today, but he knew they’d all be by later.

  Roth was released last week and had to go through rehab. The chest wound had not been nearly as severe as it could have been, thank goodness. He was on the mend and on paid leave, which the stubborn ass had argued about.

  Ian leaned up and grabbed his brother’s hand.

  Quinlan had awakened from his semi-coma state earlier this week. But he still had long episodes of sleep, with only brief spurts of alertness.

&nb
sp; Why, Ian didn’t understand. Since she’d used a new combination of chemicals, no one really knew what the outcome would be.

  But Quin, when awake, knew them all and spoke a bit. So that was a good sign.

  He knew his brother wasn’t awake now, but still he talked. He had to. The guilt was eating him up inside. No one blamed him.

  But he did.

  “Hey, buddy. You really should wake up. You know we’ve done this before when you were like what? Seven? Wasn’t cool then. Isn’t cool now.” Nothing. “Your schedules and time sheets and what all are going all to hell.” He waited, but Quin didn’t wake up. “And I went by your office. Place is a wreck. With you gone this long, the whole place is just going to hell.”

  One corner of Quin’s mouth kicked up under the oxygen hose still in his nose.

  “Your secretary quit,” Ian said.

  Quin opened his eyes. Licking his lips, he said, “She did not. She came by before you did.”

  Ian stared at his brother, bit down until pain shot up his jaw and began to hum at the base of his skull.

  “You just like lying there?” he asked.

  Quinlan snorted. “Real fun.” He tried to shift.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Quinlan closed his eyes. “Ever been run over?”

  “No.”

  “I think this is what it might feel like. Leg fucking hurts.”

  Silence settled between them. Quin’s hand tightened on Ian’s before his voice whispered, “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

  Ian shook his head. “No. I should have watched closer.”

  “As Mom had been preaching, if I’d come around more, I’d have known what was going on.”

  And if Ian had paid closer attention, things would have turned out differently.

  “I’m sorry,” Quin said.

  “Don’t.”

  He opened his eyes. “I will.” He blinked slowly. “I let the viper into our family.”

  “No, you didn’t. I did.”

  “You always had to have your way. I remember that now. Annoying as hell.”

  Ian smiled. “Yeah, well.”

  “What happened that night? No one will tell me.” Quin’s hand tightened even more on his and his eyes, so like their mother’s, bore into him.

  Ian took a deep breath. “You sure you want to know? I’m not going to tell you if you’re only going to lie here, beat yourself up and feel sorry for yourself.”

  “Cold bastard.”

  Ian nodded. “I am that.”

  “Tell me.”

  “She drugged you, almost killed you, strapped a bomb to your chest, got you into the house under the guise you were sick. Shot Roth, and then held everyone hostage . . .” He trailed off, the anger still fresh and hot.

  “And?” Quinlan asked.

  “Shot you too, if I didn’t mention that. Why your leg hurts like a bitch. Messed your knee up, they replaced part of it, but the bullet did damage to your femur as well.” He took a deep breath. “Yes, well, then my wife showed up and decided to take matters into her own hands.” He was still pissed at her for that stupid stunt.

  Quinlan took a deep breath, shook his head, and gave Ian a small smile. “You two are perfect for each other.”

  Ian grunted.

  They lapsed back into silence.

  Ian rubbed his forehead. “You need anything?”

  Quinlan’s eyes were closed again. “Yeah.”

  “What?”

  Those eyes opened and were clearer than he’d seen them since Quin had first awakened. “Tell me where the bitch is.”

  Well, then. “Dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “You want details? I don’t have them, but I’m sure I can get them.”

  Quin shook his head. “Christ. I don’t want to know, no. Just . . . just . . .” His hand fisted. “Damn it. I slept with the woman.”

  “Yeah, so did I.”

  Quin frowned. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

  Ian chuckled. “If it’s any consolation, I think she liked you better. She said you were marvelous.”

  “Fuck you.” Quin closed his eyes and waved toward Ian. “Go away.”

  Ian waited a minute, then rose from the uncomfortable chair. “I am sorry, Quinlan. Sorrier than I can ever say, and just can’t figure out a way to make it right.”

  “And people say I worry too damn much.” He opened his eyes and still the clear brilliance shone through them, the sharp intelligence.

  Just as Ian suspected. Quinlan was hiding.

  “I don’t blame you, Ian. And like a coward, I did try. I was pissed.” He shook his head. “But I’m more pissed at myself. I’m so fucking mad I can’t think straight. And I just don’t know how to get around that.”

  Ian studied him a moment. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself for one. I’m an ass, I know that. But I won’t let her win you over in any damn way, shape, or form. And if you blame yourself, feel sorry for yourself, hide behind a fake front, you let her win.”

  For a long moment, Quin’s angry green eyes pierced him. Then he said, “When you can follow that advice you just gave me, let me know.” He leaned back against the pillow and sighed.

  Probably enough for one day. And damn it, if the kid wasn’t right on that last shot.

  Ian smiled as he left his brother’s room. Quinlan would be all right.

  And Ian wasn’t going to let the darkness win any part of them. Some jobs were simply never done.

  Epilogue

  Christmas Eve

  Ian, Rori, and Darya had returned the day before from an extended trip to Florida and the Caribbean.

  They were home with Jock and Kaitlyn for the holidays and probably a while after—if Ian could find a way to live with that—until he and Rori found their own place.

  He’d decided D.C. would be the best place for their American office of KB Securities.

  His parents were in town picking up Quinlan and driving him out here. He knew what his brother must think of that.

  As the quiet of the day settled around him, he wondered what Rori would think of her present. He’d debated over jewelry, even went so far as to buy and wrap a pair of ruby earrings. But then, he decided it just wasn’t her. So he bought her a SIG P222. Of course, she’d have to then regale him with the fact it would never equal her Walther, but that made things interesting. He’d bought Darya anything that caught his eye from clothing, to toys, to ride-on outdoor equipment. He’d learned her real name was Ayrena Vacladova. Parents died in a plane accident. He was still trying to find the aunt who was guardian of little Ayrena, who was five, and her older sister, Zoy, fourteen. As yet, there was no sign of the aunt or her rumored boyfriend.

  Just the thought brought the anger back, but he ignored it and sipped his coffee. All he needed was time, and he’d find them.

  She was Darya now. A new life. A new beginning, leaving the pain and old memories behind, as much as she could. He and Rori were looking into child psychologists. Gavin gave him the name of the one Ryan saw. He’d have to check the woman out first before he let Darya see her.

  Darya Lenora Kinncaid, so her adoption papers said. He’d contacted Uncle Brody to draw the papers up. Kinncaid, Kinncaid & Associates of New York were a very selective law firm. It helped that he was related to them. Also had them draw a will for him while he’d been at it. The firm already handled other legalities he needed and were handling his corporate side as well. Personally, he normally didn’t give a damn if things were legal—guess that would have to change. He smiled out over the winter scene beyond the window, cold and gray, the clouds low, the trees bare.

  Rori and Darya were around the house somewhere.

  “Oh, there ye are,” Becky’s voice drew his attention from the window and his own musings.

  “What can I do for you, Becky?” he asked, turning to see her walk into the room.

  She tossed a package to him and he caught it one-handed. Becky muttered about cooking and mail servi
ce. He didn’t quite catch it all as she left.

  Across the front of the Express envelope was his name and this address.

  Something prickled under his skin.

  He took the package to his father’s office to open it in private.

  Damn good thing too. Glossy photos slid out and into his hands. Not what anyone wanted to see caught forever on a freeze-frame. The photographs were not for the faint of heart. There were four eliminations in all. Three males and one female. Two of the males matched those in the crime video they’d taken the night they’d found Darya. Two men who murdered her sister and went after her.

  Eliminated.

  The other male he didn’t recognize, but the woman he did. Darya’s aunt.

  Ian shook the envelope and a paper fluttered out.

  He sighed, pissed, and yet strangely enough, almost relieved. The note only read: Take care of my daughter and granddaughter. —N

  The notorious Nikko, whom Ian suspected was none other than Nickolas Morano. British Italian who worked the cold war, only to drop off the scene to become more of a shadow than he was before when he was paid to not be seen. Morano had so many kills marked to him that Ian could safely say, in comparison, he was an amateur. He had yet to meet Nikko, though he’d talked to the man twice in the last month. Nikko was always cordial, polite, and yet warning at the same time. Ian rather liked him.

  Great.

  Hell.

  He picked up the phone and dialed John.

  “What?” Johnno asked.

  “You know that search I wanted you to continue to work on?”

  “Which particular search would you be referring to?”

  “The one where I wanted you to find the men who killed Darya’s sister and the people who sold her to begin with.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  He looked at the gruesome black-and-whites on the desk, picked them up and shoved them in the envelope. After he showed them to Rori, he’d destroy them. “Forget it.”

  “Do what?”

  “It’s a done issue. A wedding present.”

  “Who the hell from?”