The Bliss Factor

by Penny McCall

  She found herself at her parents’ trailer without knowing how she got there. She didn’t take the time to change, just snagged her purse off the table and turned to go back out. Conn stood in the doorway, filling it completely.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “No,” he said, calm, implacable, almost back to Conn the Floater.

  But she knew the difference now. “I’m leaving.”

  He snatched her purse and took out the Jaguar’s keys. “Not without these.”

  Her vision went red around the edges, fury being a much safer emotion to deal with than the deep, dark well of pain just beneath.

  “I’m on a case.” The appeal for understanding in his voice only infuriated her more.

  “And I’m just a tool, I get it.”

  “You’re not a tool. I got you into this, and it’s my job to keep you safe.”

  “So I’m a responsibility,” she said bitterly. “That makes it so much better.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  She shoved him out of the way and left the trailer, but he caught her wrist, his touch like a knife to her heart because, foolishly, she wanted him to take her in his arms and make it all go away. After everything, she still wanted him.

  “Don’t you want an explanation?”

  More than she wanted her next breath, and to her own shame, she’d probably believe him. She looked at his hand, locked around her wrist, stared at it until he let her go. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she lifted her eyes to his. She’d be damned if she hid.

  “I’m sure whatever you’re doing is classified.”

  “It is.”

  “Then your explanation would only be more lies.” And this time, when she walked away, he let her go.

  CONN WAS IN THE FORGE, BANGING ON A PIECE OF steel that had long gone cold. He didn’t care. The perpetual crowd of women were gathered around, oohing and aahing. He really didn’t care about them.

  When Annie Bliss showed up, he knew he was in for it. He didn’t give a damn about her, either.

  “Where’s Rae?” she said.

  He ignored her.

  She stomped to the front of the enclosure and folded out the wooden shutters with the closed sign on them. Conn picked up the mangled steel with his tongs, ignoring the chorus of angry female voices on the other side.

  Annie put herself between him and the fire, jamming her hands on her hips. “Where’s my daughter?”

  “I don’t know.”

  All the blood drained out of Annie’s face. Conn might have felt bad, if there’d been any room around the anger.

  “You promised to keep an eye on her.”

  “I got a little sidetracked when you sent Harmony and Cole over here.”

  “I thought they would help you with your memory . . . wait,” she clutched at his arm. “It’s back, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he snapped out, pissed at himself more than her because he hadn’t been able to hide the truth from Rae. It didn’t matter that she’d been able to practically read his mind since day one. It didn’t matter that with his memory gone he hadn’t known the importance of keeping his distance from her, let alone carrying on with his mission. His memory was back, had been back long enough for him to get his footing and make the right choices for everyone involved. Instead, he’d made mistakes, selfish ones, right down the line.

  “Does Rae know?” Annie asked him.

  “Rae knows.”

  “She didn’t take it well.”

  “I had to confiscate her car keys.”

  Annie sank back against the edge of the firebox. Conn took her by the upper arms and moved her to his workbench. Letting her catch on fire would not make Rae happy. Then again—

  “How much does she know?”

  It might not be long before Rae wished her parents into the same hell she’d probably doomed him to. “She wasn’t interested in explanations,” Conn said.

  Annie pulled her phone out of a hidden pocket in her skirt and called Nelson. At least that’s what Conn assumed, since she sent the party on the other end of the phone to their trailer to see if Rae was there. And after she’d disconnected, Annie got to her feet, and Conn knew he was in for it again.

  But he’d be damned if he stood there and took it. “She’ll be safe.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” Annie said. “We trusted you—”

  “I need to know what’s going on with the counterfeiting operation.”

  “I need to talk about Rae. What happened between the two of you?”

  “None of your business,” Conn said.

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “And if you weren’t printing money in the back room, she wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  That did it. Annie snapped her mouth shut, looking like she wanted to hurt him. But her eyes teared up.

  Conn stepped forward, hesitating when he realized what he was about to do.

  Annie took the decision out of his hands by throwing her arms around him.

  So much for establishing distance, Conn thought, patting her back awkwardly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, stepping back. “You’re right. We got ourselves into this mess, and dragged you and Rae in with us.”

  “I got myself in,” Conn reminded her. “And I’m going to get myself and Rae out.”

  Annie sat again. “But not Nelson and me.”

  What could he say? Much as he wanted to reassure her, he wouldn’t lie. The Blisses were going to get arrested, maybe do some jail time. The U.S. government had an unforgiving nature when it came to counterfeiters. No matter the circumstances, it was a crime they usually insisted on punishing with something more than probation.

  Nelson raced through the open back of the booth, out of breath, clutching at his side. “Sun,” he gasped, “Sunny . . . gone. Took . . .”

  Annie flew off the bench and grabbed him by the shirt-front, shaking him. “Someone took Sunny?”

  He shook his head. “Airstream . . . she took it.”

  “Christ.” Conn slammed his fist into the shutters, startling a shriek out of an elderly woman who was walking by.

  Nelson cracked the shutter open and said, “Sorry,” then tried to calm his wife, who was having a panic attack.

  Conn was busy trying not to lose his head. It took all of his training, and a reminder that if Harry had Rae he wouldn’t harm her. She would be leverage to Harry. Kemp was another story. Kemp would want payback.

  “Shut up,” he said to the Blisses, pulling out his cell phone, retrieved from his tent last night. Rae didn’t answer. Not meaningful, considering she wanted him dead.

  “Maybe she’ll pick up for you,” he said to Annie. “Call her.”

  “That’s not exactly medieval,” a voice said from the other side of the shutters. “Maybe you should try carrier pigeon.”

  Conn closed his eyes. He didn’t have to see the face to know who the voice belonged to. “What are you, the cavalry?”

  The left shutter popped open, and a man vaulted over the low rail. Tall, dark hair, shit-eating grin. “You’re the one who looks like he belongs on a horse,” he said to Conn, but his eyes were on Nelson and Annie.

  “They’re all right,” Conn said.

  “Do they have names?”

  “Where are my manners?”

  “You never had any, but you have a way with sarcasm.” He stepped forward and held his hand out.

  Nelson took it, then Annie, both of them looking a little shell-shocked.

  “James Aloysius Smith the Third,” he said. “My friends call me Trip.”

  “You don’t have any friends,” Conn said.

  “Casualty of my lifestyle. Yours, too.” He gave Conn a once-over, taking in the no shirt/leather pants ensemble. “Once upon a time.”

  Conn rolled his shoulders. “This is turning into a cluster . . .” He looked at Annie and Nelson, watching them with great interest. He would have pulled Trip aside and finished their conversation in pri
vate, but what was the point? “Why did Mike send you?”

  “He’s FBI, too,” Annie said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  Trip held Conn’s eyes, one eyebrow lifting.

  “They’re acting as CIs,” Conn said. “Answer my question.”

  Trip bumped up a shoulder. “Mike probably figured it wouldn’t hurt for me to scope out the sitch, as the kids say.”

  Conn’s first instinct was to send him packing, but he didn’t have the luxury of pride. “Since you’re here, you can hang out for a while, keep an eye on the sitch. Fill him in,” he said to the Blisses.

  Nelson caught his arm. “You’re going after her? That’s not a good idea.”

  “I’m the only one who can,” Conn said.

  “I can’t wait to hear this fairy tale,” he heard Trip say as he walked away.

  At least Annie and Nelson didn’t know all the details. It wasn’t much, as silver linings went, but he’d take anything he could get.

  chapter 22

  IT FELT GOOD TO BE HOME, TO BE DRESSED IN HER own clothes and sitting at her desk in her home office. It was way after lunchtime. Her stomach was growling but she couldn’t imagine putting anything in it. She was angry and exhausted, but she felt like she was getting her feet under her again. Now if she could only get her mind on work—

  Her cell phone chimed. Her mother, she saw on the display. She shut it off. The house phone rang almost immediately.

  Rae put her head down on her desk. She really didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t even want to think anymore, let alone feel. And if she didn’t answer the phone she wasn’t going to get any peace because her mother would keep calling.

  She picked up the cordless handset and pushed the TALK button. “I’m not coming back.”

  “That’s too bad,” Annie said, “because your father and I have nowhere to sleep tonight.”

  “Get my keys from Conn and come get the Airstream.”

  “Really, Sunny, you took it, you should bring it back.”

  “Nope, but thanks for calling.”

  “Wait,” her mother said, sounding unusually hesitant. “I hope you know how much we love you.”

  That took Rae off guard. Not that her parents loved her. She knew that. So why did her mother feel a need to be so dramatic about it? “Of course I know you love me,” she said. “And I love you guys, too. So why am I going to be mad at you?”

  Annie laughed softly, but it was strained and unnatural. “Just don’t forget that we’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”

  Rae didn’t know how to answer that. Her definition of happiness and her mother’s were so far apart. “I know you mean well,” she said at last. Then she looked up and saw Conn standing in the doorway to her home office. “I have to go, Mom.”

  “Rae? Conn is on his way to your house,” Annie said on a rush.

  “He’s already here.” And Rae disconnected.

  “I know you’re pissed off,” Conn said, “but I didn’t think you’d be this stupid. I checked on Harry and Joe. They’re out of jail, and if this isn’t the first stop on their hit parade, it’s the second. And you’ve got that damned trailer sitting in front of your house like a neon NO VACANCY sign.”

  “I hope Harry and his friends show up.”

  “But not me.”

  There didn’t seem to be a need to agree with that, but it wasn’t for the reason Conn thought. She was afraid she couldn’t resist him.

  She pointed to the door. “You can take the Airstream if it makes you feel better.”

  “I came here to explain, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Suit yourself.” She got up and came around the desk. At least she tried to.

  He blocked her in, and before she could backpedal his hands were on her, framing her face.

  “That won’t work anymore,” she said, even though she wanted him to kiss her more than she wanted her next breath.

  He didn’t, just rested his forehead against hers. “I came here to explain. It’s the least I can do.”

  She pulled free, slipped around him and out of the room, amazed that she managed it with every muscle in her body trembling. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “I owe you my protection.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” he said, following her into the kitchen.

  Rae didn’t miss the part where he stationed himself between her and the back door. Like she was idiotic enough to run from a man twice her size and strength.

  “It’s me or protective custody, and before you commit yourself you might want to consider your parents.”

  She went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. She didn’t offer Conn any.

  “Did you use them, too?” She’d wanted to hurt him, which was foolish since you couldn’t hurt someone who had no feelings. But that wasn’t why he was avoiding her eyes. “Who are you, and what do my parents have to do with any of this?”

  Rae had expected him to prevaricate. He looked her square in the eyes and said, “I’m FBI. Your parents are counterfeiters, along with several of their friends.”

  She went deaf for a second, blind and breathless, too, as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. “You’re lying,” she finally managed to strangle out, the words thin and weak, even to her own ears.

  “Think about it,” Conn said. “A bunch of people on the fringe who don’t want to file tax returns, let alone obey laws. They thought they could get away with making a bit of cash. Literally.”

  Rae didn’t want to believe it. Unfortunately it was just the kind of thing her parents would do for just the reason he’d given. And then there was the cloth she’d seen on her father’s loom, God, not even a week ago. She didn’t even try to absorb how much her life had changed in six short days, beginning with Conn in her bed and ending with her parents being . . . She couldn’t bring herself to call them felons yet. But the cloth on her father’s loom had been stiff, almost paper consistency, the ink swirled on it copper or green depending on how the light hit it. Just like the new bills the government was printing. There was the iPhone, too, and her mother’s hesitation and uncertainty on the phone just moments before.

  Rae leaned back against the kitchen island, all the breath leaking out of her. But she couldn’t stand still. She opened the water bottle and didn’t drink. Her mind was moving a million miles a second. She couldn’t hold on to a single thought.

  Until she noticed the pity on Conn’s face. It wasn’t a thought she settled on, though. It was a feeling, and the feeling was fury. She refused to give him the satisfaction. “You dropped the bomb,” she said when she could keep her voice steady, “now clean up the mess.”

  Conn shook his head. “You constantly amaze me.”

  “You constantly lie to me. Try not to.”

  “The sarcasm I was expecting. I just figured there’d be tears and shouting and, you know, violence first.”

  “Yeah, I’m a constant surprise,” Rae said, still pacing because she was pretty sure she hadn’t heard the worst. “Move on.”

  “This is all classified, Rae. I’m telling you because—”

  “Don’t.”

  Conn scrubbed a hand back through his hair.

  Rae looked away. She didn’t want to see the sympathy on his face, just like she didn’t want to hear any justifications. She had to do what he was doing. She had to keep emotion out of this, or she wouldn’t get through it. “Start talking,” she said, “and don’t leave anything out.”

  “I was born on a rainy morning in July.”

  “Even the heavens wept.”

  He grinned. “You said don’t leave anything out.” “Your birth is over-sharing.”

  “What’s your view on Special Forces?”

  “Sounds pertinent.”

  “That’s what brought me here,” Conn said, turning serious. “Marines, then Special Forces until I opted out. The only thing I was fit for in the private sector was cop
or bodyguard or security of some kind. I didn’t want that.”

  “So you joined the FBI?”

  He shrugged, a gesture that almost made her miss Conn the Armorer before she remembered he didn’t really exist.

  “No confusion, no fuckups,” he said. No kids with bombs strapped to them, no civilians who turned out to be enemy combatants, no split-second decisions where he had to make a judgment call and kill based on it. “I wanted to know who the bad guys are and go after them,”

  “And my parents are the bad guys?”

  “They broke the law.”

  “There have to be mitigating circumstances.”

  “It won’t matter. Printing money is the exclusive province of the Unites States government, and they have no tolerance, no sense of humor, and no mercy when it comes to dealing with counterfeiters.”

  “You picked some really terrifying bad guys.”

  “I don’t pick the missions, they pick me. The U.S. Secret Service has exclusive jurisdiction in counterfeiting cases, but they needed someone with special talents, so Mike Kovaleski, my handler, agreed to loan me to them. I have a degree in history, with a minor in major global conflict.”

  “There’s a shocker.”

  “Before I came I did a lot of research on medieval history, thinking it would be necessary.”

  “And once you got here you realized these things bear no resemblance whatsoever to what the Renaissance was really like.”

  “True, but when I got cracked over the head all that medieval stuff was right there, waiting to fill in the gaps in my memory.”

  “My parents didn’t hit you over the head.”

  “If you’re asking me if Annie and Nelson are on my suspect list, the answer is yes.”

  “Why would they hit you then take care of you?”

  “I don’t believe they’re responsible for organizing the crime.”

  “They wouldn’t hire Harry and Joe and Kemp, either.”

  “Again, I agree with you, but they’re counterfeiting, Rae. They might not be the ringleaders, but they’re participating. It makes them suspects.”