Night Shield

by Nora Roberts

  Cilla only smiled, then wagged her finger back and forth.

  And I won’t hurt him. Sheesh.

  “Just set down the fresh rations, Jonah.” Boyd jerked a thumb toward the high table beside the pit. “How’s the lip?”

  “I’ll live.” Jonah sent Ally a steely stare. “Especially since despite unsportsmanlike conduct by the opposing guard, I made the basket. And won.”

  “Lucky shot. We’ll have a rematch after we eat.”

  “She loses,” Bryant commented, “she demands a rematch. She wins, she rubs it in your face for days.”

  “And your point would be?” Ally fluttered her lashes at him.

  “Mom would never let me hit her because she was a girl.” Bryant gave Ally’s ear one hard tug. “I’ve always found that grossly unfair.”

  “Big deal. You just beat up on Keenan.”

  “Yeah.” Instantly Bryant’s face brightened. “Those were the days. I’m planning on punching on him later, for old times’ sake.”

  “Can I watch? Like I used to.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Please. Your mother and I like to maintain the illusion we raised three well-balanced, competent adults. Don’t shatter our dreams. Jonah, you haven’t seen my workshop, have you?” At his daughter’s answering snort, Boyd winged an eyebrow at her. “No comments. Bryant, this is a moment.”

  “Is it?”

  “A monumental moment. I am passing the sacred tongs and spatula to you.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Ally elbowed her brother aside. “Why can’t I do it?”

  “Ah.” Boyd held a hand to his heart. “How many times have I heard you say those very words in our long and exciting life together?”

  Amused and fascinated by the family dynamics, Jonah watched mutiny settle over Ally’s face. “Well, why can’t I?”

  “Allison, my treasure, there are some things a man must pass to his son. Son.” Boyd laid a hand on Bryant’s shoulder. “I’m trusting you with the Fletcher reputation. Don’t let me down.”

  “Dad.” Bryant wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “I’m overwhelmed. Honored. I swear to uphold the family name, no matter what the cost.”

  “Take these.” Boyd held out the barbecue tools. “Today, you are a man.”

  “That bites,” Ally muttered as Boyd swung an arm around Jonah’s shoulder.

  “You’re just a girl.” Bryant leered and rubbed the tools together. “Live with it.”

  “She’ll make him pay for that,” Boyd murmured. “So, how are things?”

  “Well enough.” How the hell was Jonah supposed to make a quiet escape when someone or other was always dragging him somewhere? “I appreciate the hospitality today. I’m going to have to get back to the club.”

  “A business like that doesn’t give you a lot of free time, especially in the early years.” Still he steered Jonah toward a wooden structure in the far corner of the yard. “Know anything about power tools?”

  “They make a great deal of noise.”

  Boyd gave a hoot of laughter and opened the door of the workshop. “What do you think?”

  The garage-size room was full of tables, machines, shelves, tools, stacks of wood. There appeared to be a number of projects in progress, but Jonah couldn’t tell what they were, or what they were intended to be.

  “Impressive,” he decided, diplomatically. “What do you do here?”

  “I make a great deal of noise. Other than that, I haven’t figured it out. I helped Keenan build a birdhouse about ten years ago. Came out pretty good. Cilla started buying me tools. Boy toys, she calls them.”

  He ran his hand over the guard of a skill saw. “Then I needed a place to keep them. Before I knew it, I had a fully equipped workshop. I think it was all a ploy to get me out of her hair.”

  “Pretty clever.”

  “That she is.” They stood for a moment, hands in pockets, soberly studying the tools. “Okay, let’s get this over with so we can both relax and get something to eat. What’s going on with you and my daughter?”

  Jonah couldn’t say it was unexpected, but it still made his stomach clench. “We’re seeing each other.”

  With a nod, Boyd walked over to a small square refrigerator and took out two beers. He twisted off the tops, held one out to Jonah. “And?”

  Jonah tipped back the beer, then gave Boyd a level look. “What do you want me to say?”

  “The truth. Though I realize what you’d like to say is that it’s none of my business.”

  “Of course it’s your business. She’s your daughter.”

  “There we have no argument.” Deciding to get comfortable, Boyd boosted himself up on a worktable. “There’s a matter of intent, Jonah. I’m asking what you intend in regard to my daughter.”

  “I don’t have any intentions. I should never have touched her. I know that.”

  “Really.” Intrigued, Boyd cocked his head. “Mind explaining that?”

  “What do you want from me? Damn it.” Giving in to frustration, Jonah dragged a hand through his hair.

  “The first time you asked me that, in almost that same tone, you were thirteen. Your lip was bleeding then, too.”

  Jonah steadied himself. “I remember.”

  “I’ve never known you to forget anything, which means you’ll remember what I said to you then, but I’ll say it again. What do you want from you, Jonah?”

  “I’ve got what I want. A decent life run in a way I can respect and enjoy. And I know why I have it. I know what I owe you, Fletch. Everything. Everything I’ve got, everything I am, started with you. You opened doors for me, you took me on when you had no reason to.”

  “Whoa.” Genuinely shocked, Boyd held up a hand. “Hold on.”

  “You changed my life. You gave me a life. I know where I’d be if it wasn’t for you. I had no right to take advantage of that.”

  “You’re sure putting a lot on me here,” Boyd said quietly. “What I did, Jonah, was see a street kid with potential. And I hassled him.”

  Emotion swirled into Jonah’s eyes. “You made me.”

  “Oh, Jonah, no, I didn’t. You made yourself. Though God knows I’m proud to have played a part in it.”

  Boyd slid off the table, wandered the shop. Whatever he’d expected from this talk, it hadn’t been to have his emotions stirred. To feel very much like a father being given a precious gift by a son.

  “If you feel there’s a debt, then pay it off now by being straight with me.” He turned back. “Are you involved with Ally because she’s mine?”

  “In spite of it,” Jonah corrected. “I stopped thinking about her being yours. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be involved with her.”

  It was the answer he wanted, so Boyd nodded. The boy’s suffering, he thought, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be overly sorry about it. “Define involved.”

  “For God’s sake, Fletch.” Jonah took a long gulp of beer.

  “I don’t mean that area.” Boyd spoke quickly, took a deep drink himself. “Let’s just leave that particular area behind a firmly locked door so we don’t have to punch each other.”

  “Fine. Good.”

  “I meant, what are your feelings for her?”

  “I care about her.”

  Boyd waited a beat, nodded again. “Okay.”

  Jonah swore. Boyd had asked him to play straight, and he was circling. “I’m in love with her. Damn it.” He closed his eyes, imagined flinging the bottle against the wall, shattering glass. It didn’t help. “I’m sorry.” Jonah opened his eyes again, got a slippery grip on control. “But that’s as straight as it gets.”

  “Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “You know what I’m built on. You can’t think I’m good enough for her.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Boyd said simply and noticed those clear green eyes didn’t so much as flicker. “She’s my little girl, Jonah. No one’s good enough for her. But knowing what you’re built on, I’d say you’re pretty close. I wonder
why that surprises you. The one area I don’t recall you ever being low in is self-esteem.”

  “I’m over my head here,” Jonah murmured. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been over my head in anything.”

  “Women do that to you. The right woman, you never really surface again. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. She blinds me.”

  “She’s also smart, and she’s strong, and she knows how to deal with what’s dished out.”

  Absently, Jonah rubbed his thumb over his sore lip. “No argument.”

  “Then my advice to you is to play it straight with her, too. She won’t let you get away with less, not for long.”

  “She isn’t looking for anything else from me.”

  “You keep thinking that, son.” At ease again, Boyd crossed to Jonah, laid a hand on his shoulder. “There’s just one thing,” he said as they started toward the door. “If you hurt her, I’ll take you out. They’ll never find your body.”

  “Well, I feel better now.”

  “Good. So, how do you like your steak?”

  * * *

  Ally saw them come out of the workshop and relaxed for the first time since the moment she’d watched them go in. Her father had his arm swung companionably around Jonah’s shoulder. It looked as if they’d done no more than share a friendly beer and grunt over the power tools.

  If her father had done any poking or prying into her relationship with Jonah, at least he hadn’t drilled any embarrassing holes.

  She liked seeing them together, liked very much witnessing the very real bond of affection and mutual respect. Her family was paramount in her life, and though she would have given her heart where her heart yearned, it would never have settled with full happiness on a man her family couldn’t love.

  She bobbled the bowl of potato salad, would have dropped it if Cilla hadn’t made the grab.

  “Butter fingers,” Cilla said and set the bowl on the deck table.

  “Mom.”

  “Hmm? We’re going to run out of ice again.”

  “I’m in love with Jonah.”

  “I know, baby. Who’s not blocked in? I need somebody to get some ice.”

  “How can you know?” Ally grabbed her mother’s wrist before Cilla could go to the deck rail and shout for an ice run. “I just figured it out this second.”

  “Because I know you, and I see the way you are with him.” Gently, she smoothed a hand over Ally’s hair. “Scared or happy?”

  “Both.”

  “Good.” Cilla turned, sighed once, then kissed Ally on each cheek. “That’s perfect.” She slipped an arm around Ally’s waist, turned to the rail. “I like him.”

  “Me, too. I really like who he is.”

  Cilla tipped her head toward her daughter’s. “It’s nice, isn’t it, having the family together like this?”

  “It’s wonderful. Jonah and I had a fight about coming here today.”

  “Looks like you won.”

  “Yeah. We’re going to have another fight when I tell him we’re getting married.”

  “You’re your father’s daughter. My money’s on you.”

  “Place your bets,” Ally suggested and walked down the steps, crossed the lawn. It was a calculated move. She didn’t mind being calculating, not when she had a point to make.

  She strolled up to her father and Jonah, cupped Jonah’s face in her hands and pressed her lips hard to his. He hissed, reminding her about his sore mouth. But she just laughed, shook back her hair.

  “Suck it in, tough guy,” she suggested and kissed him again.

  His hands came to her waist, fused there, drawing her up on her toes that intimate inch.

  “Dad?” She eased back down. “Mom needs more ice.”

  “She’s just saying that to make me look bad.” Boyd scanned the yard, homed in on his target. “Keenan! Go get your mother more ice.”

  “So …” As her father chased down her brother, Ally linked her hands at the back of Jonah’s neck. “What were you talking about with my father?”

  “Man stuff. What are you doing?” he demanded as she brushed her lips over his again.

  “If you have to ask, I must not be doing it right.”

  “I’m outnumbered here, Allison. Are you trying to coax your family into stomping me into dust?”

  “Don’t worry. We’re very big on kissing in my family.”

  “I noticed. Still.” He drew her back.

  “You’ve got this quietly proper streak. It’s really cute. Are you having a good time?”

  “Except for a couple of minor incidents,” he said, deliberately tapping his finger on the corner of his mouth. “You have a nice family.”

  “They’re great. You forget sometimes how steadying, how comforting, it is to have them. How much you depend on them for a hundred little things. My cousins will remember coming out here when they were kids, or all of us piling into that gorgeous Gothic fortress of Uncle Gage’s, or trooping up to the mountains to …”

  “What?”

  “Wait. Give me a minute.” She had his hand and squeezed it as she shut her eyes and let the pieces of the puzzle tumble together. “You’re drawn back,” she murmured. “You’re always drawn back to memories, and places where you were happy with the people who mean the most. That’s why people are always going back to visit their hometown, or driving by the house where they grew up.” She paused and opened her eyes as a new thought hit her. “Where did he grow up?”

  She tapped a fist against Jonah’s chest. “Where did he and his sister grow up? Where did they live together? Where was he happy? He has to go somewhere, has to find a place to hide, to plan. He’s gone home.”

  She spun around and raced for the house.

  She was already dialing the kitchen phone when Jonah caught up with her. “What are you doing?”

  “My job. Stupid, stupid, not to think of it before! Carmichael? It’s Fletcher. I need you to do a check for me. I need an address—Matthew Lyle’s old address, addresses maybe. Going back to when he was a kid. There’s, ah …”

  She paused, forced it into focus. “He was born in Iowa, and they moved around some. I can’t remember when he came to Denver. The parents are dead. Yeah, you can reach me at this number.” She recited it. “Or my cell phone. Thanks.”

  “You think he’s gone back home?”

  “He needs to feel close to his sister to feel safe, to feel powerful.” Allison paced the kitchen as she tried to remember details of the file. “The psych profile tags him as dependent on her, even as he sees himself as her protector. She’s his only real consistency, the only constant in his life. Parents divorced, kids got bounced around. Mother remarried, bounced around some more. Stepfather was … damn.”

  She pressed her fingers to her temple as if to push out the memory. “Ex-Marine. Very gung ho, and apparently very tough on the pudgy nerd and his devoted sister. Part of the whole authority complex comes from this instability of family life, ineffective father, the passive mother, the stern stepfather. Rocky foundations,” she said as she paced.

  “Lyle was bright, high IQ, but he was emotionally and socially inept. Except with his sister. His biggest trouble with the law was right after she got married. He got sloppy, careless. He was angry.”

  She checked her watch, urging Carmichael to hurry. “She stood by him, and it appears whatever rift there might have been between them was healed.”

  She leaped on the phone when it rang. “Fletcher. Yeah, what have you got?” She snatched up a pencil, began to scribble on the pad by the phone. “No, nothing out of state. He needs to stay close. Hold on.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Do me a favor, Blackhawk. Would you tell my father I need to talk to him for a minute?”

  It took more than a minute. She moved into her father’s office, booted up his computer. With him beside her, and Carmichael on the phone, they worked through the files, picked through Matthew Lyle’s history.

  “See, ten years ago he was listi
ng a P.O. Box as his address. He kept that listing for six years, even though he had a house on the lake. Bought that house nine years ago, the same year his sister married Fricks. But he held on to the P.O. Box.”

  “And his sister lists the same P.O. Box as her address through the same period.”

  “But where did they live? I’m going to go in and pin Fricks down on this one.” Then she pursed her lips, considered. “Carmichael, you up for another run? See what you can find me on property in the Denver metro area listed under the names Madeline Lyle or Madeline Matthews. Run Matthew and Lyle Madeline, too.”

  “Good move,” Boyd said approvingly. “Good thinking.”

  “He likes to own things,” Ally noted. “Possessions are very important to him. If he stuck in the same spot for six years, more or less, he’d want his own place—or one for his sister.”

  She straightened in the chair. “Did you just say bingo? Carmichael, I think I love you. Yeah, yeah. All right. I’ve got it. I’ll let you know. Really. Thanks.”

  She hung up, jumped out of the chair. “Lyle Madeline owns a condo in the center of downtown.”

  “Good work, Detective. Contact your lieutenant and assemble your team. And, Ally,” Boyd added, “I want in.”

  “Commissioner, I’m sure we can make room for you.”

  * * *

  It ran like clockwork. Within two hours the building was surrounded, the stairways and exits blocked. Using hand signals a dozen cops wearing Kevlar vests ranged the hallway outside of Matthew Lyle’s two-level condo.

  Ally had the floor plan in her head, every inch of the blueprint she’d studied. She gave the nod, and the two officers beside her hit the door with the battering ram.

  She went in first, went in low.

  A stream of men rushed by her and up the stairs to her right. Others fanned out to the rooms at her left. It took less than ten minutes to determine the condo was empty.

  “He’s been staying here.” Ally gestured to the dishes in the sink. She dipped a finger into the dirt of an ornamental lemon tree potted by the kitchen window. “Damp. He’s tending house. He’ll be back.”

  In a bedroom upstairs they found three handguns, an assault rifle and a case of ammunition. “Be prepared,” Ally murmured. “I see extra clips for a nine millimeter, but I don’t see the nine millimeter, so he’s armed.”

  “Detective Fletcher?” One of her team backed out of the closet, holding a long-bladed knife with gloved fingers. “Looks like our murder weapon.”

  “Bag it.” She picked up a black-and-silver matchbook from the dresser. “Blackhawk’s.” She shifted her eyes to her father. “That’s his target. The only question is when.”

  * * *

  Night had fallen when Ally confronted Jonah in his office. The man was mule stubborn, she thought. And more, he was just plain wrong.

  “You close down for twenty-four hours. Forty-eight tops.”

  “No.”

  “I can close you down.”

  “No, you can’t. And if you wrangle it, it’ll take you longer than the forty-eight hours, which makes the entire process moot.”

  She dropped into a chair. It was important to stay calm, she reminded herself. Vital to stay in control. She hissed out a breath, then a stream of violent and inventive oaths.

  “I don’t believe your last suggestion is possible, regardless of my strength