“When a woman is threatened. The first place to look is her ex. What’s Tasha’s like?”
“Sutcliffe? He’s a piece of work. Tasha’s brother called him a fortune hunter. Tasha’s spending her vacation with Mom and Dad because her ex called at the last minute on Thursday and said he wasn’t going to be in Savannah. She and Becky were packed and about to hop on a plane.”
“Nasty. What’s his first name? Okay. Let me run with this. Can’t do much until I’m back in the office on Wednesday.”
“That’s what TJ said too.” Harrison sighed.
“You relax. Enjoy the Fourth.”
“We’re going to have a parade. The pony gets red, white and blue ribbons, Uncle Grant is going to perform. Quincy and Becky have it all arranged.” Harrison tried to shake his unease. “I hear you are having a major blow-out with Beverly’s people to celebrate the Fourth?”
“I am. We are. Pop Henderson has me on roast pig detail, but I don’t have to do anything until Monday evening when we start the barbecue.”
“Pop?”
“That’s what Bev and her sibs call their old man. Bit of a cultural misunderstanding. But what the hey? Once upon a time, we had to learn to call our Daddy ‘Dad’. Anyway, Pop is going to show me how to slow cook a whole pig.”
Harrison chuckled. “He know you’re from Texas?”
“I might have mentioned it once or twice. But I might as well go be an apprentice. Beverly and I are at outs.”
Harrison felt a chill. “Whatever’s the matter? You go set it right.”
Lincoln sighed long and loud. “There’s nothing I can say that I haven’t already said. She is bound and determined that her Tres Leches cake is not getting cut until Independence Day.”
“You had me going,” Harrison said. “Three-milk cake, huh? You lucky devil.”
“Bev’s been working on it for days. Only trouble is that thing is awfully small compared to the number of Hernandezes who will be wanting a slice.”
Harrison laughed. “I’ll let you go. Call me if you find anything out.”
* * *
“Are you matchmaking, sir?” Grant sipped his beer. Out here by the fire pit he was drinking straight from a bottle, just like regular folks.
Harrison hung back to see what Dad would say.
Dad fiddled with the coals. He was just laying the fire. When Frankie arrived, he would light it and wait until the coals were white hot before grilling the steaks. He shot Grant a sharp glance. “Generals don’t matchmake, son.”
“Of course not. I knew that.” Grant looked amused. “Hey,” he said waving his beer at Harrison. “Want one? There are plenty in the fridge.”
Dad was proud of his barbecuing area. This big grill he was tending was flanked on one side by a small gas range and on the other by a bar fridge. He had made himself an outdoor kitchen. Well, a man was entitled to some hobbies when he retired. And looking after Quincy had undoubtedly put a crimp in George D’Angelo’s plans to spend his retirement traveling to those places in the world the Air Force had neglected to send him during his career.
“Get me one too, son.”
Harrison handed his father a beer. “What do you know about Tasha’s ex?” he asked.
“Other than Cameron thinks he’s a fortune hunter? That he is a neglectful father? And cheated on Tasha? Nothing.” Having dismissed Sutcliffe as a waste of space, Dad tipped up his beer and drank.
Grant whistled. “Tasha have any money for him to fortune hunt?”
“Nothing earthshattering,” Dad said. “But the Reynoldses do okay. Tasha and Cameron’s father is a descendant of that Reynolds who built himself a fortune in the nineteenth century. He invented and patented a cog that was used in every piece of manufacturing equipment in America. That business is long since defunct. But his descendants all have trust funds. They are not in our class, but they get by. I’m not sure if Tasha came into the money – she’s adopted. But Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who’d let his sister starve.”
“I thought Mom said she was some sort of corporate librarian?” Grant murmured.
“And I’m career military, and so are your brothers and your sisters. Your mother taught school. You sing for your supper. What the hell does her having a career have to do with anything?” Dad snapped.
Grant looked mulish but all he said was, “I just thought that if she had family money, she would probably prefer to be a stay-at-home mother.”
Dad grunted. “I don’t know about that. Tasha seems awfully keen on tagging metadata. You should hear her when she gets going.” His voice was fond. “She loves her job.”
Grant leaned against the wall. “Do you know why the Reynoldses adopted a mortal?”
“Tasha’s birth parents were involved in a hell of a car accident,” Dad looked gray. “An airman got hopped up on drugs and drove his motorbike into her daddy’s car. New Year’s Eve. Lily and Davis Morrow were killed instantly. The Reynoldses were in the backseat coming back from the same base party. They survived. Tasha was in her car seat between them.”
“Christ.” Grant gawked at Dad.
“Yeah. The Reynoldses did their best, but Tasha was knocked around anyway. To cut a long story short, her folks didn’t have any families of their own. The Reynoldses stepped up to give her a new family. Did a good job too.” Dad dared them to disagree.
Even though he had heard this story before, Harrison felt hollow.
“How old was Tasha?” Grant asked.
Dad stared off into the trees. “Three maybe? She couldn’t have been four. She was still a toddler. All big green eyes and blonde curls.”
“How badly was she hurt?” Harrison croaked.
Dad frowned. “Badly enough she had to be hospitalized for a good few weeks. But that might have been because social services couldn’t find anyone to take her. I had a woman in my office demanding to see her daddy’s paperwork. She couldn’t believe it when she saw that, other than his wife, Morrow had no next of kin.”
Harrison swore.
“I told the social worker that the Air Force was Lily and Davis’ family. Your mom and I came this close to adopting Tasha ourselves.” Dad parted his finger and thumb a half-inch. “But when Marla and Adam recovered, they insisted on taking her.”
“And what happened to the guy who caused the accident?” Harrison demanded.
“Willet?” Dad picked up his beer and looked at the label as if it held the secret to life. “He was killed instantly. Always thought he did it on purpose, but who knows with a crack user? And the bastard was dead anyway.” He shrugged.
The roar of a big motorcycle filled the air.
* * *
She thundered up the drive like the Queen of the Night. All black and silver and attitude. Her entire family rolled out of the house to welcome their conquering heroine home. She parked that huge puppy and dismounted with a single easy movement. When she lifted her helmet off, her dark ponytail bounced on her shoulders. She posed beside her hog with a big white grin on her face. Strong and buxom and dominant. A Valkyrie come to life.
There were a lot of D’Angelos laughing and talking at once. They pushed past him to sweep Frankie into their arms. She was hugged and kissed and squeezed. Her blue eyes flashed around and noted the strange faces. He kept his face bland when they swept over him and felt victorious when her eyes met his and her cheerful voice faltered.
Caroline D’Angelo recalled her manners. She pulled Tasha forward. “You haven’t seen Tasha Reynolds since you were a kid,” she informed her daughter. “Tasha Sutcliffe now.”
Frankie adjusted Quincy in her left arm and held out her right to Tasha. “Hi. I understand that your daughter is Quincy’s BFF.”
“Yeah,” shouted Quincy over Tasha’s murmured reply.
Becky let go of his leg to squeeze over to her mom. “I am,” she shouted up at Quincy’s aunt.
Frankie squatted in a sinuous, balanced movement. Neither her black leathers nor her niece impeded her gracefulness. “Hi,�
� she said softly and held out a hand.
Becky shook hands shyly. She glanced at her mother. “How do you do?” she enunciated carefully.
Frankie proved she was more than an athlete, a looker, and an ace pilot. She took Becky’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so glad to meet you at last,” she whispered so Becky had to lean close. She let go of her and opened her right arm. “Up?” she asked.
And just like that, Cameron was head over heels in love all over again. And his one true love was holding both little girls like she had won them at the fair and was the luckiest woman in Texas. Well, shift and damn.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“What the fuck do you mean you’re still in Texas?” Mom growled.
“It’s going to take a little bit longer than we thought,” Shawn said wearily.
He was so tired of riding herd on this collection of idiot wolverines. Why was everyone in his fucking family an idiot? “The subject didn’t go home after her accident.”
“Why the fuck not?” Colleen roared as though Shawn was a fucking mindreader.
“We don’t know,” Shawn tried to speak calmly despite his mounting frustration. “She hasn’t used her cell once since she got to Grape Creek. She only left one time, and then she was accompanied. And she came straight back to the D’Angelos’ compound. And she’s been there ever since. But sooner or later she’ll go back to her condo. We just gotta wait.”
Mom grunted. “Why can’t you just take the fucking bitch out where she is? I want this business done and buried.”
Like she was lonely on a long weekend and had planned a family picnic or some shit for her and her boys. As fucking if.
“It’s too dangerous,” he said.
Mom’s brain finally caught up to her mouth. “Did you say D’Angelo?” she roared.
Shawn held the cell well away from his ear. “I did. The D’Angelos are loaded. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they live outside of a city called San Angelo. They probably have a thousand acres of land. Place is guarded like it’s Fort Knox. We’ll deal with the subject when she gets back to her condo.”
“D’Angelo?” In Colleen Willet’s mouth the name was the foulest of curses.
“What?” His belly cramped up again. No wonder he had had the shits for three days.
“It was a fucking D’Angelo who busted your daddy back to airman. You should nuke the whole fucking nest. Take them all out.”
This was what he was up against every time. Ir-fucking-rationality. He tried to be the fucking voice of reason and calm the mad bitch down. “First things first, Mom. We gotta focus on our target. We’re getting paid to do the subject and the brat. We can’t go making the sort of rumpus that’s going to have the Texas Rangers, the FBI and Homeland Security on our asses.”
“You fucking do your job and get your asses home. I got shipments backed up out my fucking wazoo.”
Great. But how the fuck could he run the business when he was in Texas doing Malik and Dustin’s fucking job? If it was up to those two shit-faced losers, they’d mount an assault on those D’Angelos, just like mom wanted. When what they needed was a fucking surgical strike. Something where no one and nobody could connect it back to any fucking Willet.
“I gotta go, Mom. I gotta lose this burner.” That way she couldn’t call him. Not that he said so. Let her fucking work it out for her fucking self. He clicked the phone off. Time to plan a fire.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Of course the parade is at the stable.” Quincy put her hands on her hips. “We’re only allowed to ride Princess in the ring.”
“Don’t know what I was thinking,” muttered Harrison.
“Here’s a flag.” Becky held out a small paper one on a stick. She peered up at him worriedly.
The flag looked small in her tiny fist and like a refugee from a Shirley Temple in his. But she looked so anxious and spoke so kindly, he thanked her gravely. “Who’s riding Princess?” He gave her his spare hand.
“Uncle Sam,” Quincy said proudly.
Harrison stopped asking questions. He looked around at the procession wending its way to the stables. Frankie was nattering nineteen to the dozen to Mom and pointedly ignoring Reynolds, while sneaking peeks at him. What was up with that? Reynolds was riding herd on her as if he had his brand on her. Interesting.
Tasha had her straw hat back on and had found a red, white and blue scarf to tie around it. Grant had to be telling her tall tales again, because she was gurgling once more. Time to do some branding of his own. Mom put her hand on his arm. He turned to look down at her. She was dressed entirely in white with a jaunty red white and blue neckerchief and a flag in her hat band.
“Don’t they make a lovely couple?” she angled her chin toward Tasha and Grant. Her blue eyes were alight with mischief.
“No.”
Mom giggled. Mrs. General D’Angelo giggled like her granddaughter. For an instant her resemblance to Quincy was absolute. How did you ask your mom if she was stirring up shit?
“I want her to marry me,” he said into Mom’s ear. On his other side, Becky performed a rapturous rendition of “She’ll be Coming ’Round the Mountain When She Comes” and drew circles with her flag.
“It’s too soon.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure.”
“Too soon is too soon,” Mom whispered. She looked worriedly at Tasha. “You don’t usually make strategic errors.”
Which meant what? That he shouldn’t have asked her yet? He knew that.
They arrived at the stable. Onyx and Champ were out in the paddock with red, white and blue rosettes braided into their manes. “You planning to ride in this parade, Mom?”
“Of course.”
“Who gets to watch?”
“You, Frankie, Cameron, and Tasha.” Mom was smug.
Tasha and Frankie were engaged in a conversation about of all things, quick-drying nail polish. It would never have occurred to Harrison that Frankie had the remotest interest in painting her fingernails. But the two women bellied up to the corral fence and hashed out the subject.
Harrison glanced down at Tasha’s hands. Her nails were smooth taupe ovals. At least, Stephanie would have called that shade of tan taupe. He could stand beside her and rest his own hand beside hers. Or he could watch the parade from behind her. Close behind her. Decisions. Decisions.
Reynolds strode directly over to the fence and planted himself beside Frankie. He had a small flag like the one Becky had given him tucked behind one ear and another in his fist. He looked patriotic. And stupid. But he had a big happy grin on his face.
The sound of the “Star-Spangled Banner” floated in the air. Grant was invisible, but he filled the air with his song. Mom and Dad and the girls joined in. Reynolds raised his baritone. Frankie added her soprano to his bass and Tasha’s contralto. Grant knew all the verses but so did they all. They kept right on singing to the end.
When the national anthem was over, Mom rode out of the stable with Quincy in front of her, followed by Dad on Champ with Becky. Dad was leading Princess on a line. A top-hatted, straw-stuffed effigy of Uncle Sam slumped on the pony’s back. As the three horses plodded around the ring, Grant marched behind. He strutted behind the horses yodeling “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” The girls joined in, and in between laughing, the rest of them did too.
Reynolds was beating time on the top railing. He had an arm around Frankie’s waist. She was laughing and singing and waving so hard it seemed a long time before she noticed that grasp. But when she did, she couldn’t dislodge it without making a fuss. Reynolds left it in place just long enough to make his point.
Harrison looked down. His hand was on top of Tasha’s. Under her huge hat, she was singing and blushing. He gave her fingers a squeeze and left his hand where it was.
* * *
“I told you,” Becky told Quincy. “They’re kissing again. On the lips.”
“Ew,” Quincy said.
“Grownups do,” Becky said. “They like it.
It’s a good sign. We’re going to be sisters.”
Quincy spun in a circle nearly taking out a woman with a double stroller. “Aunt Frankie likes Uncle Cam.”
Tasha pulled out of Harrison’s arms. She knew that she was brick red. “The girls can see us,” she hissed.
He took his arms away and tugged her out from the alcove made by a tall hedge and the green and white storage shed. Tasha pulled at her blouse and glanced at Harrison. It was unfair. He looked as crisp and unruffled as he had when they had left the house. He didn’t look like he had been necking in a public park.
Becky and Quincy were milling in the crowd. There were enough visitors to the Fourth of July celebrations at Grape Creek Park that they were in danger of getting lost. When the parade had ended, the other adults had gone to look at the monster truck racing. She and Harrison needed to keep a better eye on their girls.
“Rebecca. Quincy,” she called. “Come here.”
Harrison took her hand and held his other one up. “Becky, Quincy.” He added his voice to hers.
The girls materialized in front of them and greeted them both with big hugs. She felt her heart settle down.
“Here we are,” Becky said. “Me and Quincy found a donkey.”
Harrison squeezed Tasha’s hand. She relaxed more. “You girls need to stay with a grownup at all times.”
Becky made footprints in the dirt, but she nodded. “We went to see why the music stopped.”
The bandstand was silent after a morning of playing marches and folk tunes. Harrison squatted down. “The band is having a break. What shall we do instead? You can pick, but you have to stay close to Mamma T and me.”
“I want to pat the donkey,” Becky told him.
“Did you see a donkey?” he asked Tasha.
“There’s one advertised at the petting zoo,” Tasha replied. “We can go over there, but you girls need to hold hands with us.
Becky took Harrison’s spare hand with her free hand and Quincy took hers. They walked across the grass to the temporary corral. It took a long time because there were so many people and because they were all four holding hands.
Phoenix Aflame (Alpha Phoenix Book 2) Page 11
