Egan Cassidy's Kid

by Beverly Barton

  Fifteen minutes later, Joe got up and walked over to an old jukebox in the corner of the restaurant. He dropped in several coins, then selected the songs.

  Three things occurred simultaneously. The waitress brought their order and placed the food on the table. Hank Williams’s distinctive voice wailed the lyrics of “I’m So Lonesome, I Could Cry.” And Egan Cassidy sat down beside Maggie.

  She wanted to ask him what had happened, if everything was all right, but she didn’t. Instead she said, “Did Bentley ever tell you about the hamburgers at Pete’s Café?”

  The edges of Egan’s lips curved up in a hint of a smile. “Yeah, he sure did. Hamburgers. Cherry Cokes. Root beer floats. He said his old man used to take him there—take both of you there.”

  “This place reminds me of Pete’s.”

  “We couldn’t save Bentley.” Egan laid his hand over Maggie’s where it rested atop the table. “But we are going to save his namesake.”

  Maggie wished she could cry. Longed to weep until she was spent. But the tears wouldn’t come anymore. It was as if fear had numbed her completely and dried up all her tears.

  “Let’s eat.” Egan picked up his burger, ketchup oozing down the sides of the bun, and took a huge bite.

  The food was greasy, but good. Unfortunately Maggie had to force down what little she ate. She noticed that both Egan and Joe left over half their burgers and fries untouched and all three of them did little more than taste the pie.

  Egan paid the bill, leaving the waitress a nice tip, and the three of them used the rest rooms and changed into their battle gear. Rugged outerwear and boots, suitable for a horseback ride and eventually a hike in wilds of the Arizona mountains. Within ten minutes, they climbed into the SUV and headed out of town on a dusty dirt road that led higher into the mountains. No one spoke for a good ten minutes.

  “I told the guy at the garage that I had a guide who was going part of the way with us,” Egan said. “I’m sure he’ll report that bit of news to Cullen.”

  “But Cullen told you that we had to come alone, didn’t he?” Maggie watched as Egan’s jaw tightened. “What if he gets upset that we—”

  “Don’t worry,” Egan said. “As long as you and I go in alone, everything will be fine.”

  Maggie nodded. Oh, please, God, let Egan be right about Grant Cullen.

  “Remember, this is all a game to Cullen.” Egan glanced her way, then quickly returned his focus to the winding road ahead of them. “He’s trying to figure out what I’ll do, what I’ve got planned. He thinks he has me right where he wants me, but at the same time, he’ll wonder if we’ll really come in alone and whether or not I’ll have a team waiting to attack.”

  “He’ll be prepared, then,” Maggie said. “What’s to stop his men from gunning down the Dundee agents?”

  “We have a secret weapon.” Egan stole a quick glance in the interior rearview mirror at Joe. “A way to get in Cullen’s stronghold without storming the place. But even with that advantage, this is a risky operation. I won’t lie to you, Maggie. Anything can happen when all hell breaks loose. But the Dundee squad knows that their first priority is to get you and Bent out safely.”

  Grant Cullen ate the last bite of bloody steak, then downed the last drops of Cabernet Sauvignon. With a wave of his hand, he commanded that his wineglass be filled again. Sawyer MacNamara obeyed instantly, then stepped back, standing at attention and waiting. Waiting for the general to drink himself into a stupor. For the past month, Sawyer had been assigned as one of Cullen’s bodyguards. He and two young idealistic morons rotated duty every eight hours. He considered himself damn lucky to have gotten this close to the commander in chief so quickly. After all, he’d just been inducted into this secret order six months ago.

  Sawyer had realized immediately that Grant Cullen, although a highly intelligent man, was insane. Perhaps not clinically insane, but insane by the average person’s standards. The man had taken money he’d earned through a lifetime of illegal dealings all over the world and built himself a fort high in the Arizona mountains. And once he had completed his stockade, he had set about collecting himself a small group of followers, whom he’d trained in warfare. Cullen’s group called themselves the Ultimate Survivalists.

  It had taken Sawyer months to even make contact with one of Cullen’s men and another two months to persuade the man to introduce him to the general. He had memorized the manifesto Cullen had written and using it and the information he already had on Cullen, Sawyer had conned his way into the inner circle. Right where he wanted to be.

  What his superior at the bureau had ordered him to do—only this morning via his cell phone—might well jeopardize nine months of undercover work. But what choice did he have? He had to follow orders, didn’t he? Besides, a fourteen-year-old boy’s life might well depend on his actions.

  Maggie hadn’t been on a horse in years. Not since she’d been a teenager and used to visit Aunt Sue and Uncle Jim on their farm. But the only way to reach Cullen’s fort was by horseback or on foot, unless you could helicopter in the way the Dundee squad was going to do. But then Cullen wasn’t keeping an eye on Ellen’s agents the way he was them. Miles back, Joe and Egan had told her that someone was watching them, remaining a safe distance behind. They had surmised that one of Cullen’s men had been in Minerva and had been following them.

  Joe had found a fairly clear trail and they had followed it for several miles, winding slowly but surely higher and higher up the mountain. Lush ponderosa pines grew in profusion. Thick grass blanketed the ground like carpet in some areas, and towering boulders hovered around them from time to time. When the trail ran out, Joe made a new path, ever mindful of not only their safety, but the safety of the animals they rode. Maggie could tell quite easily that Joe had an affinity with the horses.

  At sunset, they stopped to rest for a bit, and refilled their canteens with cool, clean water from a mountain spring. She heard Joe and Egan talking in hushed tones as they checked the map again. Then Joe came over to her and took her hand in his.

  “I will see you in the morning, Maggie.”

  “Are you leaving us already?” she asked, not wanting to see him go. Not wanting to be alone with Egan.

  “I need to meet up with the others before nightfall,” he told her. “You and Egan don’t have much farther to go before you make camp. Whoever’s following us needs to know that you and Egan are going the rest of the way alone. Doing it this way substantiates our story that Egan hired me as a guide.”

  “What if he follows you?” Maggie squeezed Joe’s hand.

  “I don’t think he will, but if he does, I can easily lose him or I can— Anyway, we figure his orders were to stick with Egan and you.”

  Maggie realized that Joe had been about to say or I can kill him. How had her life come to this? she wondered. Climbing a mountain in Arizona, trying to reach a madman’s fortress, joining forces with a highly trained squad of professionals who were all capable of killing. In the most horrible nightmare imaginable, she would never have dreamed that her son would be kidnapped, the pawn in some sick game of revenge.

  You know how this all happened, a taunting inner voice said. Fifteen years ago, you fell in love with a man you barely knew. You gave yourself to him, body and soul, and he left you pregnant with his child. But he didn’t bother to tell you that by simply existing, your son would be in unspeakable danger.

  Maggie bid farewell to Joe, then she and Egan remounted and, leading the packhorse behind them, resumed their journey upward and onward—straight to hell.

  Chapter 6

  When the sun set in a blaze of color over the western slopes, the temperatures began dropping almost immediately. Egan dug into their supplies for their jackets before continuing the journey. He had hoped to be within five miles of Cullen’s mountaintop fort before they would be forced to stop for the night, but he now realized that eight miles would be as close as they could get. It would soon be dark and he had to set up camp and get Maggie s
ettled. Thank God Maggie was in good physical condition and had experience as an amateur hiker, otherwise this trip would have been far more difficult for her, and thus for him.

  Tonight might well be the last night of his life. He knew that fact only too well. Tomorrow he would meet the enemy, accept the challenge and fight a battle that had been in the making for twenty-eight years. But his life didn’t matter. He had no qualms about dying to save his son or in laying down his life to keep Maggie safe.

  Sweet Maggie. The bravest woman he’d ever known. A lesser woman, when confronted with similar circumstances, would have already broken under the strain. Oh, she had cracked a few times, splintered apart slightly, but she had somehow managed to hold herself together. She was being strong for Bent.

  There were so many things he wanted to say to Maggie, so many things he needed to tell her. Tonight might be his last opportunity. Right before he had departed, Joe Ornelas had given Egan some advice.

  Tell Maggie the truth. Tell her everything. She has a right to know.

  Maggie did have a right to know, not only about the secret plans to rescue Bent, but about his backup plan and the inevitability of his own death. If anything went wrong, there was no way Cullen would allow him to live. Of course, Egan had no intention of giving up without the fight of his life, but if it came down to a choice between saving Bent’s life and his coming out of this alive, there would be no question of which he would choose.

  Twenty minutes later, with the fading sunlight almost gone, Egan selected a small, secluded clearing surrounded by towering trees. From the looks of the site, he figured that sometime in the past few months, someone—members of Cullen’s Ultimate Survivalists group perhaps?—had used the spot. The clearing was man-made. Already the brush was beginning to reclaim the area. A stone circle that had once encompassed a campfire remained intact.

  “We’ll camp here,” Egan told Maggie. “There’s not much light left, so this will have to do.”

  She nodded agreement, then followed him when he dismounted. “Are we still being followed?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure that once he saw Joe leaving, he headed out, back to the fort, to report to Cullen.”

  Egan slid the rifle from its leather sheath and propped it against a nearby pine, then removed the saddles from his and Maggie’s horses and dumped their gear on the ground.

  “We’ll set the horses free in the morning,” he said. “We’ll have to make the last eight miles or so on foot because most of it is a steep climb straight up and the horses will be of no use to us.”

  Again she nodded before falling into step beside Egan, as he strode toward the packhorse.

  “Why don’t you sit down over there—” he pointed to a small boulder protruding out of the ground “—and rest, while I get the tent set up.”

  “Why don’t I help you instead?”

  Egan snapped around to look at her. When he saw the determined set of her jaw and the fierceness in her eyes, he smiled. “Okay. Why don’t you help me?”

  Together they set up the two-person tent without any trouble. Three aluminum poles crisscrossed into a four-pole junction that suspended the canopy. The rainfly attached to the pole with snaps and the tent came equipped with extra-long stake-out loops.

  “I’ll leave the rifle with you,” he told her. “If I remember correctly, you know how to handle a rifle, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know how, but I haven’t handled one in years. I used to go skeet shooting with Daddy and Bentley.”

  While Maggie spread out their featherweight sleeping bags inside the tent, Egan went in search of firewood. By the time he returned with enough wood to build a decent fire, Maggie had placed a blanket on the ground and sat cross-legged, staring up at the starry sky.

  He hesitated at the edge of the clearing and watched her, instinctively realizing that she was praying. Pleading with God. Making a bargain with the higher power. Sending out positive thoughts into the vast universe. The serenity that encompassed her swept over him without warning, as if subconsciously she was sharing her hope with him. In that one instant, Egan dared to believe that the impossible was possible. Tomorrow he would save Bent, keep Maggie unharmed and escape with his life.

  When he dumped the firewood and kindling twigs into the rock circle, Maggie tilted up her head and glanced at him. “Do you want something to eat or drink?” she asked. “We seem to have a week’s supply of rations.”

  “Nothing for me.” Kneeling, he arranged the pieces of dead tree limbs and the handful of sticks into a proper stack, then removed a lighter from his pocket and used it to ignite the dry kindling that would catch the logs afire and leave a warm, glowing fire.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” Maggie said, her gaze returning to the heavens.

  Egan sat beside her and looked up at the black sky littered with tiny, sparkling stars and a huge three-quarter moon. “Maggie, there are some things you need to know.”

  “Hmm-mmm.” She continued staring up at the night sky. “About tomorrow?”

  “About Grant Cullen. About the Dundee squad’s secret weapon. About tomorrow…and about me.”

  He felt her stir beside him and when he turned to face her, she scooted far enough away from him that there was no chance their bodies would accidentally touch. But then she looked directly at him. Her gaze bold. Strong. Daring him.

  He recognized the fear in her eyes and knew she was bracing herself for whatever he would tell her. For just an instant he seriously thought of letting the moment pass, of glossing over the facts in order to protect her. But he owed her nothing less than the truth. By not being completely honest with Maggie, the only person he’d be protecting would be himself.

  “I thought you had already told me everything about Grant Cullen,” she said. “Is there more?”

  “Not about the past…about our past history. But there is more about the man himself. Who and what he is now.”

  “Oh.”

  Her lips formed a perfect oval. Moonlight glimmered in her hair, burnishing the rich mahogany with dark red highlights. A reflection of the campfire’s flames danced in her brown eyes. Attracted to her beauty, tempted by the aura of unaffected sensuality that was a part of the woman, Egan’s body reacted on a purely physical level.

  “Cullen has been a mercenary most of his life,” Egan said.

  “Like you.”

  “Yeah, like me,” he admitted. “But regardless of what I did, I always lived by my own moral code. Cullen has no morals. He amassed a fortune over the years by taking on jobs no one else would take. That’s how he could afford to buy so much land and build his fort here in Arizona.”

  “Why would he want a fort?” Maggie asked.

  “To house his army and rule his little kingdom.” Egan settled his open palms over his knees. “Cullen heads up a group he refers to as the Ultimate Survivalists. Our government suspects Cullen’s little band of merry men are responsible for several bombings over the past few years that have resulted in numerous deaths.”

  “My God!”

  “What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential.”

  Maggie nodded, understanding.

  “About six months ago, an FBI agent went undercover and joined the Ultimate Survivalists. Recently he’s become one of Cullen’s bodyguards.”

  “The secret weapon!” Maggie said. “An inside man.”

  “Yeah, something like that.” Egan flexed his shoulder muscles, trying to relax them. Tension coiled inside him like a rattler preparing to attack. “Before dawn, this federal agent will unlock a secret passageway that leads up into Cullen’s fort. The Dundee squad will be inside and already in place when you and I arrive.”

  “Why would this FBI agent help us? And how did you know about this undercover man? I don’t understand any of this. How have y’all been communicating with him?”

  “Cellular phones that use a scrambling security frequency is our means of communication. We know about the inside
man because the Dundee Agency has some contacts, at pretty high levels, within all the government agencies. You need to remember that seventy-five percent of our agents are either former government agents or were members of various elite military groups.”

  “Then why aren’t government agents handling this raid?”

  “They’re involved,” Egan said. “They’ve been waiting for a reason to storm Cullen’s fort and clean out that vipers nest. We’ve made a bargain with them—they allow us to get Bent out safely and we let them use Bent’s kidnapping as their reason to attack the Ultimate Survivalists.”

  “Now, let me get this straight—the Dundee Agency is working with the government, using Bent’s kidnapping and our rescue attempt as a means to destroy Grant Cullen. Is that right?”

  Even before she shot up off the blanket and her cold stare pierced daggers into him, it wasn’t difficult for Egan to see that Maggie was angry. No, more than angry. She was furious.

  “How could you, Egan? How could you! Our son’s life is at stake, and you’ve turned this rescue into an all-out war with Grant Cullen.” Enraged, she stomped away from the campfire.

  Ah, hell, he’d done it now, Egan thought. This is what happens when you’re totally honest with a woman. They misinterpret, they misunderstand and they overreact.

  “Maggie!” He jumped up and followed her.

  The closer he got to her, the faster she ran, until he had no choice—for her safety—but to chase her and tackle her down to the ground. She fought him at first, but when he pinned her hands over her head and trapped her body between his spread legs, she ceased struggling and stared up into his face. Moonlight glistened off her tears. Egan’s gut clenched tightly. Dammit! He had hurt Maggie again. It was as if everything he said and everything he did caused her pain.

  “Will you listen to me?” he pleaded.

  “Do I have a choice?” Her chest rose and fell in undulating rhythm as she panted, her breath quick and ragged.

  “This whole deal is one of ‘you scratch our back, we scratch yours.’ We need them and they need us.”