Egan Cassidy's Kid

by Beverly Barton

  And all the while he had been planning and preparing, he had known this day would come. The day of reckoning. The day he would finally have the revenge that was long overdue.

  His rottweilers, Patton and MacArthur, trotted on either side of him, two ever-alert canines with the same killer instincts he himself possessed. And like the men under his command, obedient unto death.

  After sunset, even springtime in the mountains maintained winterlike temperatures and tonight was no exception. A cold north wind whipped around Grant’s shoulders. He breathed deeply, dragging in as much fresh, crisp air as his lungs would hold. Invigorated by thoughts of triumph over his nemesis, he experienced a feeling of pure happiness that he hadn’t known since before Nam. Before having been a POW. Before having had his promising military career destroyed by an eighteen-year-old recruit with a Boy Scout mentality.

  Grant Cullen had been the son, grandson and great-grandson of West Point graduates and no one had been prouder than he the day his name was added to that family tradition. And no one had been more willing to serve his country than he. Everyone who knew him had been certain that he would one day be a great general, just as his heroes, George Patton and Douglas MacArthur had been.

  But Egan Cassidy had ruined any chances he’d had of a distinguished military career. Once Cassidy had exposed him as a traitor, even his own father had turned against him. It had been his word against Cassidy’s until that snot-nosed Vietcong major had been captured and had collaborated Cassidy’s story.

  Revenge had been a long time coming, but finally Cassidy was going to get what he deserved. He was going to learn what real suffering was all about.

  Grant entered the two-story fortress through the wrought-iron gates that opened up into an outdoor foyer. Two guards, one outside the gate and one inside saluted him when he passed by. He marched into the interior entrance hall, the rottweilers at his heels.

  “Winn! Winn!” Grant called loudly. “Where the hell are you?”

  The stocky, hard-as-nails Winn Sherman, stormed down the long corridor that led from Grant’s office and met his commander halfway. “Yes, sir!” He clicked his heels and saluted.

  “Bring the boy to my office.” Grant checked the time. “In exactly forty-eight minutes. I’ll be making a phone call precisely at three o’clock and I want young Bent Douglas to say a few words to the folks at home.”

  The corners of Winn’s thin lips curved into a smile. Grant liked his protégé, a man who shared Grant’s thoughts and beliefs. A man he trusted as he trusted few others.

  “You will personally be in charge of Cassidy’s son from now until…” Grant laughed heartily, as he contemplated the various ways he could kill the boy—slowly and painfully while his father and mother watched.

  In her peripheral vision Maggie saw Egan down the last drops of his third cup of coffee and then set the Lenox cup on the saucer that rested on the silver serving tray. The grandfather clock in the foyer struck the half hour. Maggie lifted her head from where it rested on the curved extension of the wing chair. Instant calculations told her it was now two-thirty. Her muscles ached from tension. Her frazzled nerves kept her on the verge of tears at any given moment. And her heart ached with a burden almost too great to bear. No mother should ever have to endure what she was being forced to endure.

  But she had never been a pessimist or a quitter or a whiner. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—give up hope. She had to trust Egan, had to believe that he could do what he had promised—save their son. But who did he think he was, some kind of superhero? Maybe he was a rough, tough, mean son of a bitch. Maybe he did know a hundred and one ways to kill a man. And maybe he did have an elite force of Dundee agents prepared to do battle with him. But did that mean he could rescue Bent?

  She watched Egan as he treaded across the Persian rug centered in the middle of the living-room floor. Weariness sat on his broad shoulders like an invisible weight. He plopped down on the couch and tossed aside a white brocade throw pillow, which landed on its mate at the opposite end of the camelback sofa. Bending at the waist, he dangled his hands between his spread legs and gazed down at his feet. He repeatedly tapped his fingertips together and patted his right foot against the hardwood surface, just inches shy of the large, intricately patterned rug.

  Her feminine instinct told Maggie that Egan was suffering in his own strong, silent way. He hadn’t shed a tear. Hadn’t shown much emotion at all, except anger. And he most certainly hadn’t fainted, as she had. But she knew he was in pain. In some strange way she could feel his agony and understood that he probably could feel hers just as intensely.

  Was he feeling guilty? she wondered. He should feel guilty! Because of something in his past, her son’s life now depended upon the whims of a madman.

  A part of Maggie hated Egan, more than she’d ever thought possible to hate anyone. But a part of her pitied him and shared his grief. And yet another part of her, a small, nagging emotion buried deep inside, still cared for him.

  You fool! she chastised herself. This is the man who broke your heart. He left you and never looked back. He didn’t want you and he wouldn’t have wanted Bent. The only reason he wishes he’d known of his son’s existence is so he could have figured out some way to have protected Bent from Grant Cullen.

  Don’t you ever forget what kind of man Egan is. You were naive enough once to think that your love could change him, could liberate him from the bonds of a lonely, unhappy existence.

  “Would you like me to make some fresh coffee?” she asked.

  Egan’s head snapped up; his eyes focused on her. “Yeah, sure. And maybe something to eat, for both of us. I’ll bet you haven’t had a bite since lunch yesterday, have you?”

  “I’ll fix you something,” she said. “I don’t think I could eat anything.”

  “Why don’t I go into the kitchen with you and we’ll fix something together, and then I want you to try to eat something. You can’t help Bent by making yourself sick.”

  I can’t help Bent at all, she felt like screaming. But she held herself in check, suppressing the urge to rant and rave.

  Egan stood, walked over to her and held out his hand. She stared at his big hand, studying his wide, thick fingers, dusted with dark hair just below the knuckles. A tingling awareness spread through Maggie as she recalled exactly how hairy Egan was. Dark curls covered his muscular arms and long legs. Thick swirls of black hair coated his chest, narrowing into a V across his belly and widening again around his sex.

  Sensual heat spread through Maggie, flushing her skin and warming her insides. How could she be reacting to Egan sexually at a time like this? her conscience taunted. What sort of power did this man have over her, that after fifteen years, she was still drawn to him in the same stomach-churning, femininity-clenching way?

  Apparently tired of waiting for a response from her, Egan reached out, grasped her hand and hauled her to her feet. She wavered slightly, her legs weak, as she stood facing him, her gaze level with his neck. He had once teased her about being tall and leggy.

  I’m a leg man, he had said. And you, Maggie my love, fulfill all my fantasies.

  Without asking permission, Egan slipped his arms around her waist and held her, but didn’t tug her up against him. “You haven’t changed much, Maggie. You’re still… You’re even more beautiful than you were the first time I saw you.”

  She told herself to move away from him, to demand that he release her and never touch her again. But she knew that all she had to do was slip out of his hold. His grip on her was tentative, featherlight and easily escaped.

  Everything that was female within her longed to lean on him, to seek comfort and support in the power of his strong arms and big body. She was so alone and had been for what seemed like a lifetime. And who better than her son’s father to give her the solace she so desperately needed at a time like this?

  Don’t succumb to this momentary weakness, to the seduction of Egan’s powerful presence and manly strength, an inner vo
ice warned. If you do, you’ll regret it.

  She lifted her gaze to meet Egan’s and almost drowned in the gentle, concerned depths of his gunmetal-gray eyes. “I have changed,” she told him. “I have very little in common with that starry-eyed, twenty-three-year-old girl who rushed into your arms…and into your bed, without a second thought.”

  “I was very fond of that girl.” Regret edged Egan’s voice.

  Fond of. Fond of. The words rang out inside her head like a blast from a loudspeaker. Oh, yes, he had been fond of her. And she had loved him. Madly. Passionately. With every beat of her foolish, young heart.

  Maggie eased out of his grasp. He let her go, making no move to detain her flight. When she turned and walked away, he followed her.

  “You put on the coffee,” she said, her back to him. “And I’ll make a couple of sandwiches.”

  Egan went with her into the kitchen and although the room had been redecorated since his weeklong visit years ago, the warm hominess mixed quite well with the touch of elegance, just as the decor had back then. Creamy cabinetry, curtains and chairs contrasted sharply to the earthbrown walls, the brown-and-tan checkered chair cushions and dark oak of the wooden table.

  He went over to the counter at the right of the sink and there, where she had always kept it, he found the coffee grinder. “You still keep the beans in the refrigerator?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t glance his way. Instead she opened the refrigerator, retrieved the coffee beans and held them out to him, without once looking at him.

  He grasped the jar, accepting her avoidance without comment, and pulled out a drawer, searching for a scoop. Then he asked her a question that had been bothering him. Tormenting him actually—ever since Cullen had told him that Maggie had married and divorced the man who had been her fiancé before Egan became her first lover.

  “What happened with Gil Douglas?”

  Maggie almost dropped the head of lettuce she held in her hand, but managed to grab the plastic container before it hit the floor. “Gil and I married when Bent was five.” After I’d given up all hope that you’d ever return to claim your son and me. “Gil and I managed to hold things together for five years and then we divorced.”

  Beginning and end of story! Egan thought. Her meaning had been so clear that she might as well have made the statement.

  “Gil adopted Bent?”

  “Yes.” Maggie retrieved the makings for their sandwiches and dumped the ingredients on the work island directly across from the refrigerator.

  Where was Bent right now? her heart cried. Was he hungry? Was he hurt? Was he frightened? Did he know that the lunatic who had kidnapped him intended to murder him?

  “Are Gil and Bent close?” Egan asked. “Do they have a good father-son relationship?” His feelings were torn between hoping Gil was such a great dad that his son didn’t need him and wishing that he would have the opportunity to be a real father to Bent.

  “Is Gil here, now, waiting with me, out of his mind with worry?” she asked, not the least bit of anger in her voice, only a sad resignation. “That should tell you what sort of relationship they have.”

  “I assume Bent knows Gil isn’t his father.” Egan waited for her to respond. She didn’t. “Does he know…? Have you ever told him…? What I’m trying to say is—”

  “He knows his father’s name is Egan Cassidy. Like you said, your name is on his birth certificate.” She opened the cellophane-wrapped loaf and pulled out four slices of wheat bread. “I’m afraid that I mixed truth with fiction when I told him about his conception.” She unscrewed the mayonnaise jar. “I told him that you and I had loved each other, but that we had ended our affair before I knew I was pregnant.”

  Egan ground the coffee beans to a fine consistency, measured the correct amount, then dumped them into the filter. “What else did you tell him about me?”

  Maggie searched a drawer in the island and brought out a knife, which she used to spread the mayonnaise on the bread. “I told him that you were a soldier of fortune who worked all over the world and that we had agreed there was no way a marriage between us would ever work.”

  Egan filled the coffee carafe from the jug of spring water that rested on a stand in front of one floor-to-ceiling window. “You were generous, Maggie. More generous than I deserved.”

  She washed the ripe tomato, placed it on the cutting board and sliced through the delicate skin. “I didn’t lie for you, Egan. I lied for Bent’s sake.”

  Bent, her precious baby boy, who was alone and afraid. And probably asking why this had happened to him. Oh, God, where was he? And why hadn’t Grant Cullen contacted Egan? What was he waiting for? But she knew, as did Egan, that the man was prolonging their torture, savoring each moment he could make Egan suffer.

  “Will Bent hate me when we meet?”

  “You mean if you meet, don’t you?” Her hands trembled. The knife slipped and sliced into her finger. She cried out, startled by what she’d accidentally done to herself.

  Egan rushed to her side, grabbed her hand and turned on the faucets of the island sink. Holding her injured finger under the cool running water, Egan said, “Cry, dammit, Maggie. Go ahead and cry!”

  She snatched her hand from his and inspected the wound. Enough to require a bandage but not stitches, she surmised. “I’ll just wrap a piece of paper towel around it to stop the blood flow. Later, I’ll put a bandage on it.”

  He stood by and watched her as she doctored her own cut, all the while wishing she would allow him to do it for her.

  “Bent is safe,” Egan assured her. “And he’ll remain safe until Cullen has me right where he wants me.”

  “Then don’t go.” Maggie shook her head, realizing how irrational her thoughts had become. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  Tears glistened in Maggie’s eyes. Egan wished to hell she’d just go ahead and break down. He’d rather see her screaming and throwing things than to see her like this. Deadly calm. Numb from pain.

  If only she would let him hold her. But he knew better than to try again. Every time he got too close, she shoved him away. He was the one person on earth who could even begin to understand the agony she was experiencing, and yet he was the one person she wouldn’t allow herself to turn to for comfort.

  The telephone rang. Egan froze to the spot. Maggie cried out, the sound a shocked, mournful gasp.

  Egan walked over to the wall-mounted, brown telephone that hung between two glass-globed, brass sconces. With his stomach tied in knots and his hand unsteady, he lifted the receiver. Maggie hurried to his side.

  “Cassidy here.”

  Maggie grabbed his arm.

  “Hello, buddy boy,” Grant Cullen said. “I’ve got somebody here who wants to talk to his mama.”

  Chapter 4

  Egan placed the receiver to Maggie’s ear. Her inquiring gaze searched Egan’s eyes, and then suddenly she heard the sweetest sound on earth.

  “Mama.”

  “Bent!”

  “I’m all right, Mama. They haven’t hurt me. Don’t worry—”

  “Bent? Bent?”

  Another voice, one she didn’t want to hear, spoke to her. “Maggie, put Cassidy back on the phone.”

  “No, please, let me talk to Bent,” Maggie said. “Whatever reason you have to hate Egan, don’t take your revenge out on an innocent boy. Bent doesn’t mean anything to Egan. They don’t even know each other.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

  When Egan yanked the phone away from her, Maggie crumbled like a broken cookie, her nerves shattered. Before he returned the receiver to his ear, he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to his side. Holding her securely, he spoke to Cullen.

  “Name the time and the place,” Egan said.

  Cullen chuckled. Egan’s stomach churned. Salty bile rose in his throat.

  “Maggie seems a tad upset,” Cullen said. “I suppose she’s worried about her son. So, how does it feel, big man? I’m holding all the cards and ther
e’s no way you can win.”

  “Name your terms.” Egan tried to keep his voice calm. The last thing he wanted was for Cullen to pick up on the panic he felt. The bastard fed off other people’s misery.

  “I could just kill the boy right now,” Cullen said, every word laced with vindictive pleasure. “That way your son would be dead and your woman would hate you until her dying day.”

  “You want more than that, don’t you, Cullen? I can’t believe you’d be satisfied with such a paltry revenge.”

  Maggie’s wide-eyed stare momentarily broke Egan’s concentration. He realized that she was on the verge of losing it completely. She’d taken just about all she could stand. Without giving his actions a thought, he pressed his lips to her temple and kissed her tenderly. She melted against him, her arms clinging, her body shaking, as she buried her face against his chest.

  “You know me too well, buddy boy,” Cullen said. “After Nam my pretty little wife left me and took my kid with her. My father never spoke to me again and even disinherited me. I left the army in disgrace. And I owe all those good things to you.” Cullen chuckled again. “Now, it’s payback time. And payback is going to be a bitch.”

  “Just name your terms. What, where and when. And I’ll be there.”

  “You and Maggie.”

  “No,” Egan said. “Not Maggie. Just me.”

  Maggie lifted her head, puzzlement in her eyes. He shook his head, cautioning her to keep quiet.

  “You bring your woman or there is no deal. I’ll put a gun to your boy’s head and blow his brains out. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  “Perfectly.” Egan narrowed his gaze, frowning at Maggie when he noticed she had opened her mouth to speak.

  “You haven’t done something stupid, like calling in the feds, have you?” Cullen asked.

  “Maggie notified the local authorities, but no one else.” He kept his gaze focused on her face. She had to keep quiet and let him handle things from here on out. She only suspected what they were up against with Grant Cullen, but he knew. God help them, he knew!