by Jaycee Clark
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 reached 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 w
as 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.”
He looked to the door; he should probably go check on her.
“I left the door cracked,” Jock said.
Ian looked back at his father, shoved his hands in his pockets and remembered times when Jock had read him and Aiden stories of Celtic warriors . . . Roman centurions. History lessons and bedtime all rolled into one.
Taking another deep breath, he sat back down.
Kaitlyn cleared her throat and set her coffee cup in its saucer with a faint clink. “What did you read her?”
Jock shifted again, then muttered. “Sleeping Beauty.”
Rori chuckled. “All this time I was trying to decide if you were just an ass or an oaf, but you’re all bark and no bite, Mr. Kinncaid.” She chuckled, then said, “Did she like it?”
Jock studied her for one long moment. Ian couldn’t believe she’d said that.
“Don’t blame you there, Rori,” Jock said. Then his eyes shifted to Ian. “We need to talk.”
“Those words make me cringe.”
Rori punched his arm.
“In a bit, or tomorrow,” his mother said. Her head tilted and looked at him. “Why did your car explode?”
“Mom, always straight to the point.” To lie or . . . “It’s being handled.”
Her eyes hardened. She opened her mouth. Jock sat forward. “Your car exploded. Someone was shooting at you, and all you can say is, ‘It’s being handled’?” Jock took a deep breath and blew it out through his mouth, shaking his head. “We thought you were dead, boy. Do you have any idea . . .” He blew a breath out again and raked a hand over his white hair.
Darya . . .
Ian closed his eyes, licked his lips and stood. When he’d come to, it had thankfully been to Roth, and Ian had immediately come up swinging. He always reacted that way when coming to. Never a healthy thing, more than one medic and nurse had discovered. Darya had been crying, her wails slicing through his brain, and Rori was still lying over the top of her.
God.
He rubbed his hands over his face. “Yes. Believe me, I know what went through your minds.” Walking to the windows he said, “I can’t talk about it. Not all of it.”
“What do you do?” his mother asked.
He chuckled and reached for his cigarettes. The breast pocket was empty.
“You’re quitting,” Rori reminded him.
Damn woman could read him like no one else.
“No one thing, Mother. Anything I’m told to do, go where they send me, and that’s about all I can say,” he finally said, looking out into the night. Nothing moved, and the moon wasn’t even half yet. To hell with it. “I’ve been undercover for the last five years. Two weeks ago someone killed the man I was working for and blew my cover.”
He waited. No one said a word.
“There’s a leak and they’re trying to find out who.”
“If they don’t?” Jock asked.
Ian ignored the question, or tried to. Looking over his shoulder, he studied his parents, both watching him with intense expressions, questions and worry in their eyes.
Rori, on the other hand, was eating another cookie.
If the mole wasn’t found? He’d leave. He had to. He’d gambled thinking they’d use his family anyway, but it was clear to him now they were after him. Of course, if they couldn’t find him, who knew what they’d do to draw him out.
“Did you know about this?” his mother asked her.
“What he does?” Rori nodded. “Yes.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
Rori slowly grinned. Looking from his mother, then to him, her green witch’s eyes twinkling, she shook her head. “I’d be . . . lying if I said it did. He’s who he is.”
“And just who the hell is he?” Jock asked.
Rori tilted her head, the line of her neck lengthening. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be upstairs making love to her, kissing her pulse in that little shadow of her jaw.
“He’s someone who risks it all for those he loves. I thought you, as his father, would have known that, Mr. Kinncaid.”
Ian opened his mouth to tell her that was enough.
A scream pierced the air.
Darya.
Chapter 20
Ian tore out the door, Rori right behind him. He jerked his gun free of the holster as the screams kept on and then abruptly stopped.
He raced up the stairs, heard people behind him and ran down the corridor.
Let her be all right. He should have come up here himself. He turned the corner. He should have . . .
He all but flew into the room, his gun held down near his thigh as he flipped the lights on.
The room was empty.
His heart slammed in his chest. Think. Pain beat behind his eyes. Think.
“She’s here somewhere,” Rori said.
He lifted his head and shot her one look. She stepped back, hands out, and he noticed she too held her gun.
Tanner and Roth both stood in the doorway. Roth stepped forward and looked at the balcony doors. “They’re still locked.” Roth frowned and jerked them open, looking out onto the balcony.
“Darya?” Ian said. “Darya!”
He checked the bathroom. Rori looked under the little bed. Nothing.
He took another deep breath. No way could they have gotten to her.
He could see Brayden in the hallway and heard Tanner talking to him. He shoved a hand through his hair, a Czech curse falling off his tongue as easily as English.
Rori stood and shook her head. “She’s not under there.”
“The bear’s missing,” Jock said.
Ian looked to his father, then back to the bed.
His brain flashed images over each other.
Empty beds. Beds of whores. Beds of young girls. Girls trying to breathe. Darya hiding . . . Empty beds.
He shook his head and focused.
The bear wasn’t there. Which meant she took it with her.
Rori strode to the closet and pulled the door open, saying, “We’ll find her.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Ian. You check the bathroom. We found her before. And this is a bloody mansion. Talk about hide and freaking seek.”
He went back to the bathroom, checked the tub, the shower stall, under the sink, the middle linen closet. He noticed his hands trembled. God.
He jerked open the bottom double doors of the linen cabinet.
There she was, curled up atop the extra towels. Her eyes staring sightless, her thumb in her mouth.
Ian sat on the floor, relief flooding through him
more than even the first time he’d found her. He shook his head and reached out. His heart fluttered and beat like a floundering bird against his chest.
Horrors so real, from sleep they chased one so small to hide.
Some parents told their children monsters weren’t real.
Darya knew monsters existed, thundering and slinking through the darkness to prey on children.
“Oh, baby girl.” He eased his hands under her and pulled her out, several towels following her and tumbling to the floor. He tucked her in his lap. As before she was clammy, limp.
He put her head on his shoulder and rocked her, shaking his head.
“If it’s the last thing I ever do,” he said softly to her in English, “I swear on all I hold dear I will find each and every one and kill them.” He didn’t look up when he felt someone behind him. Didn’t turn around, just rocked the little girl in his arms. “You’re safe. I promise I’ll always keep you safe.”
His heart hurt. He wanted to make it better for her, take all the pain away, but he didn’t know how, and he knew he never really could. Not completely. Not like he wanted to.
At least she hadn’t been raped, but what had happened to her? Those black thoughts pushed the rage through him faster and harder.
She tensed in his arms and still he rocked her. Finally, she pushed back from him and looked up. Those big round blue eyes, her curly hair a riot around her face. Confusion shifted as she blinked and glanced around.
“You had a bad dream, do you remember?” he asked her in Russian.
She frowned, then nodded.
“Do you remember getting out of bed and hiding?” he asked.
The lines between her little black brows grew. Then she shook her head.
Wanting to lighten the mood, he took a deep breath and said, “Yes, well, apparently you decided to play hide-and-seek in your sleep. You just about gave me a heart attack, pumpkin.” Still holding her to him, he stood.
Ian kept her clasped against him and met his father’s eyes. Rori stood there, with that look of compassion in her eyes that he’d seen in fleeting moments. Like she knew . . .
Jock moved out of the doorway as Ian stepped through. His mom stood to the side and opened her mouth to say something, but Jock put his hand on her shoulder.
