Egan Cassidy's Kid

by Beverly Barton

  Maggie speared her fingers through Egan’s salt-and-pepper hair, grasped his head and titled it backward so that she could see his face. “If we—” She cleared her throat. “If we all three come out of this alive—Bent and you and me—I want you to get to know your son. He’s a wonderful boy. And he’s so much like you.”

  Egan eased up into a sitting position, bringing Maggie with him. “I want the opportunity to get to know Bent, but how do you think he’ll feel about me? After all these years, he probably believes I don’t give a damn about him.”

  “What you’re doing today proves that theory wrong, doesn’t it? He’s a smart boy. He’ll know.” Maggie brushed her lips over Egan’s. A gentle kiss. “No matter what happens, I’m glad we had this time together.”

  He caressed her cheek. “Me, too, Maggie, my love. Me, too.”

  Maggie cherished the hope that the rescue attempt would come off without any problems. She would not allow herself to even think about the worst-case scenario—that she and Egan and Bent could all die. She clung to the dream of a happily ever after for the three of them. But that was all it was—a dream. And probably a foolish one at that. There was a good chance that even if Bent and she made it out alive, Egan wouldn’t. And if he did somehow survive, that didn’t mean he’d become a part of their lives on a permanent basis. How would Bent react to a father he’d never known, a man he refused to discuss with her? And would it be possible for the three of them to actually become a family? Or would the anger and pain from the past and the sheer terror of Bent’s kidnapping form a wedge that would forever keep them apart?

  Maggie sought Egan’s lips, longing for one final kiss. She had never been in love with anyone else, not even Gil. Egan had been the true love of her life, and after being with him again last night, she realized that there would never be anyone else for her. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. Not unless the bond was equally strong for both partners. How did Egan truly feel about her? He hadn’t told her that he loved her. Not in the past. Not in the present.

  Within half an hour, they had dressed, eaten and taken down the tent. Morning sunshine spread quickly, lighting the sky and illuminating the forest thicket that surrounded them. Egan stashed their equipment behind a boulder, freed their horses and held out his hand to Maggie.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  “No matter what happens, concentrate on only one thing—saving Bent. Don’t even think about me.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  When he noted the stricken expression on her face, he ran his hands up and down her arms, then released her. “This isn’t a suicide mission for me. I have every intention of coming out alive. But I’m prepared to die, if that’s what it takes.”

  The look in her eyes said it all and said it far more eloquently than words could have. Egan had never wanted to live as badly as he did now. Now that he knew Maggie still cared. Now that he knew he had a son.

  “Let’s go,” he told her.

  “You lead. I’ll follow.”

  Today was the day he had been waiting for all these years. The day Egan Cassidy would suffer the torment of the damned. Grant’s head ached slightly. He had consumed a little too much wine last night. But why not? He’d had every reason to celebrate. Later today, he would celebrate even more. And Egan would be present for the event! Ah, the games he would play with them. The fun he would have. He would keep most of his soldiers on guard, preparing for the inevitable attack. But he could spare a dozen or so to witness the game playing. He would take more pleasure in the proceedings if he had an audience present. An audience of devoted followers.

  A smile curved Grant’s lips as he thought about making both father and son watch while he enjoyed himself with Maggie. Egan’s Maggie. The mother of his son.

  He had no intention of killing his captives quickly or painlessly. The joy would be in their suffering. The real pleasure would come from listening to their pitiful cries for mercy.

  Even in his most vivid fantasies, revenge had never been this incredibly perfect. He’d never dared hope that out there somewhere Egan had loved a woman and fathered a child.

  Grant laughed, the sound echoing in the stillness of his bedchamber. Good things come to those who wait, he thought.

  He rose from the bed, naked and aroused.

  After the first four miles, Maggie and Egan took a five-minute break. Hiking up a mountainside took more stamina than a fast-paced walk in the park, but Maggie had held her own. He was proud of her. A Southern lady through and through, with breeding, education and a keen intelligence, she impressed him even more now than she had fifteen years ago.

  He had never fallen so hard, so fast, as he had for the twenty-three-year-old Maggie. She had represented the unobtainable. She was everything he’d ever wanted—and more. He’d had no right to take her, but when she’d come to him willingly, happily, offering him her heart and her body, he had been unable to refuse her. Not fifteen years ago. Not last night.

  There had never been another woman—before or after Maggie—who had meant as much to him. No one else had been unforgettable. Only Maggie had remained a part of him, a memory he hadn’t been able to erase. All those old feelings had resurfaced last night. That gut-wrenching hunger. That animalistic need to mate. That emotional yearning. He wanted her now, more than ever. And deserved her even less.

  “Thirsty?” Egan asked.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  He uncapped the canteen and they shared the tepid water. With weak smiles and looks of understanding exchanged, they resumed their journey. Three and a half miles later, Grant Cullen’s towering rock and wood fortress appeared before them, like a giant monster emerging from the bowels of the earth.

  Maggie skidded to a halt when they were within ten yards of the massive entrance gates. She grabbed Egan’s hand. “I’m scared.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I know. So am I.”

  Hand-in-hand, they approached the gates. As if by magic, the nine-foot-high metal gates swung open and a six-man guard quickly surrounded them. The men wore tan uniforms, the insignia of the Ultimate Survivalists organization attached to their jacket sleeves and emblazoned just above the bill of the their caps: a crossed black rifle and a red sword, on a field of white.

  A stocky young man, apparently the officer in charge, issued orders for the guests to be searched. Egan tensed at the thought of one of these militant idiots touching Maggie, but he held his tongue and his temper. When Maggie’s gaze caught his, he nodded, signaling her not to protest.

  First they were asked to remove their jackets, which the soldiers searched and then returned. The searches were thorough, but quick. And despite the flush that stained Maggie’s cheeks, she appeared unaffected. With her head held high and her backbone stiff, she remained silent.

  “The general is expecting you,” the young officer said. “I’m Colonel Sherman. If you’ll come this way, please.”

  “Where is my son?” Maggie demanded.

  Without looking directly at Maggie, Colonel Sherman said, “I’ll bring your son to you when the general requests his presence in the grand hall.”

  Egan gave Maggie a nod and the two of them fell into step with their captors. When they entered the compound, Egan noted the flurry of activity. He counted two and a half dozen soldiers preparing for battle. Expecting and thus preparing for an attack from the outside. Apparently Cullen had figured that Egan wouldn’t come alone. But what Cullen hadn’t counted on was a federal agent named Sawyer MacNamara.

  Sherman led Maggie and Egan into a massive round room filled with benches. A large dais had been placed in the center, directly beneath a circular skylight. What was this place? Egan wondered. A meeting hall? A place of worship? An enormous, intricately carved throne sat in the middle of the podium. Of course, this was the hub of the fortress, the grand hall Sawyer had mentioned as the place where Cullen would bring Bent for the showdown.

  Egan�
��s stomach knotted as realization dawned. This was Cullen’s throne room, where he held court. This was the place he had chosen to come face-to-face with his longtime enemy. Cullen would want an audience to watch while he brought Egan to his knees—figuratively and literally. That meant part of his little army would be summoned to the grand hall to act as witnesses. While the feds kept Cullen’s troops busy with their frontal attack, the Dundee agents could concentrate on this area.

  The thought of bowing and scraping to that bastard sickened Egan, but he would do whatever he had to do. He had to make sure everything was timed perfectly, even if it meant waiting and enduring some humiliation. Nothing could go wrong. Absolutely nothing. Bent’s life depended upon precise action.

  The man who had introduced himself as Colonel Sherman motioned to one of the front benches. “Sit here and wait.”

  “I want to know where Bent is! Where is my son and how is he?” Maggie glared viciously at the colonel.

  “Your son is quite safe, Ms. Douglas,” Sherman said. “He’s unharmed.”

  “Where’s Cullen?” Egan asked.

  “I’m here, Cassidy.” The voice came from the doorway.

  Egan and Maggie whirled around just in time to see the general make his grand entrance. Wearing an ostentatious uniform, as gaudy as any movie star dictator, Grant Cullen marched into the arena. Flanked by an honor guard carrying rifles, the madman smiled fiendishly, as he saluted Egan.

  Time had taken a toll on Cullen, but Egan suspected the evil within him had aged the man far more than the passing years. Although his hair was gray and his face heavily wrinkled, his body seemed to still be hard and thickly muscled.

  “My old comrade, we meet again,” Cullen said, then with a wave of his hand dismissed his guard. They fell away from him, but remained in two separate lines of three, awaiting his next command. He leaned over and whispered something to Colonel Sherman, who clicked his heels, saluted and left the room.

  Boys, Egan thought. A bunch of boy soldiers. Not a one in the lot over twenty-five. Easily brainwashed youths, seeking a charismatic leader. Well, they’d found one in Cullen. But they had also signed their own death warrants by following a devil doomed to his own particular hell.

  “We’re here, as you requested,” Egan said. “Maggie and I. Now, we want you to hold up your end of the bargain and release Bent.”

  “Ah, yes, Bentley Tyson Douglas…a fine young man. Reminds me a great deal of you, Cassidy. He’s got your grit. You’d be proud of him. He pretty much told me to go to hell.”

  Maggie shoved her fist against her mouth in an effort to mask her frightened gasp. In his peripheral vision, Egan caught a glimpse of the terror in Maggie’s eyes. Don’t unravel now, he wanted to tell her. That’s what Cullen wants. He will feed on our fear and our anger.

  “No need to worry, Ms. Douglas,” Cullen said, his smile widening. “I haven’t harmed a hair on your son’s head, despite the fact that he hasn’t appreciated my hospitality. Bent has been under the watchful eye of my most valued soldier, Colonel Sherman.”

  “Where is Bent?” Maggie asked.

  “I’ve sent for him,” Cullen told her. “You’ll see him shortly. Until then, please be seated. Both of you.”

  Egan took the suggestion as a cordial command. Grasping Maggie’s arm, he pulled her down beside him on the front pew. “So, what now?”

  “We wait.” Cullen climbed the three steps up onto the dais and took his place on the majestic throne. “And while we wait, we can either talk over old times or we can discuss the present. Which do you prefer?”

  “I prefer not to talk to you at all,” Egan said. “I prefer that you allow Maggie and Bent to go free and that I stay here for the two of us to settle this between ourselves.”

  Cullen’s boisterous laughter echoed off the walls. “So, you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Not yet.” His gaze settled on Maggie. His lips twisted into a vicious smirk. “But you will. You will. You didn’t trust me to keep my word any more than I trusted you to keep yours.”

  “Are you saying that you aren’t going to let Bent and Maggie go free?” Egan asked, knowing the answer only too well, but playing the game by Cullen’s rules.

  “And are you telling me that there isn’t a group of agents on their way here, prepared to attack my fortress? Want to tell me when they’re arriving? This morning? This afternoon?”

  Maggie shuffled at his side. Without looking at her, he dropped his hand to the bench between them, palm open and down, in a stay calm gesture. Then he focused his attention on Cullen. “You said for us to come alone. With Bent’s life at stake, would I lie to you?”

  “Yeah, sure you would. And I told you that I’d let the boy and his mother go free, didn’t I? Looks like we’re both a couple of liars.”

  Marching through two double-wide doorways, uniformed soldiers began assembling. Egan scanned the room, counting bodies. Two dozen, give or take. Thirty-some-odd men in the outer courtyard preparing for an attack and half that number congregating for Cullen’s upcoming stage show.

  All in all, possibly fifty men. A small army, but an army all the same. Personally trained by Cullen, a shrewd professional. Soldiers equipped with up-to-date weapons. But from what the feds had found out about this operation, Egan’s guess was that half the troops were green recruits, still being trained. And if he knew Cullen—and he did—the trained soldiers were the ones preparing for attack and the unseasoned ones were right here in the grand hall.

  Good. That meant the Dundee squad might be outnumbered, but they would be dealing with amateurs. The odds in their favor just improved.

  “Well, there’s the young man of the hour.” Cullen grinned as he held out his hand in a gesture to draw everyone’s attention to the middle aisle.

  “Bent!” Maggie came halfway to her feet.

  Egan jerked her back down and gave her a disapproving frown. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she twisted her head just enough to catch a glimpse, over Egan’s shoulder, of her son.

  Egan inclined his head slightly, in order to take his first look at Maggie’s child. The boy was no longer a boy, but a young man. Tall, lean and handsome. A bit gangly in the way most fourteen-year-old boys are. Thick black hair, the color Egan’s own hair had been before the gray set in. And dark gray eyes. Cassidy eyes. Like Egan’s and Egan’s father’s. Looking at Bent was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself at that age. Except his son was better looking, having inherited a touch of glamour from Maggie that softened his features just a bit.

  Bent walked down the aisle, head high, shoulders squared. He was probably scared out of his mind, but he didn’t show it. Never let them see you sweat, son!

  Egan’s heart filled with pride at the sight of the child Maggie had given him. And he ached with a fear akin to none he’d ever known. He had already decided that he would gladly forfeit his life to save Bent’s, and seeing his son only reinforced that resolve a thousand times over.

  “Would you like to hug your son, Ms. Douglas?” Cullen asked. “And talk to him for a few minutes? Before we proceed with more important matters.”

  Maggie glanced at Egan, who nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’d very much like to hug my son.”

  Colonel Sherman walked Bent up the steps and onto the dais, halting him a good eight feet to Cullen’s left.

  Cullen motioned to Maggie. “Come up here.”

  Maggie stood on unsteady legs, trying to keep her composure and not allow Grant Cullen the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart. After taking a deep breath and saying a quick, silent prayer, she hurried up onto the dais. The moment she reached Bent, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him fiercely.

  She wanted to never let him go. If only she could pick him up and hold him, the way she’d done when he was a little boy. If only she could carry him out of this prison and flee with him to safety. This tall, proud young man was her baby. If anything happened to him, she wouldn’t want to go on living.

  “Are yo
u all right?” she asked, her voice low.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Some men are going to rescue you,” Maggie whispered. “They’re friends of your father’s. When they arrive, go with them and do whatever they tell you to do.”

  Cullen snapped his fingers. “Enough! Say your goodbyes.”

  “Mama?” Bent looked to Maggie for an explanation.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you, too, Mama.”

  Colonel Sherman grabbed Bent’s arm and hauled him over to one of two poles that ran from the floor to the ceiling on each side of the dais. As if preparing Bent for a firing squad execution, Sherman draped Bent’s hands behind the pole and secured them with rope. Then he wrapped a length of rope around the boy’s chest and looped it together behind the post.

  “What are you doing?” Maggie cried.

  “Bring Ms. Douglas to me,” Cullen ordered.

  When Sherman grabbed her, she struggled at first, but when her gaze met Egan’s, she stopped fighting and went with the young colonel. He shoved her down at Cullen’s feet, then pulled a dog collar and leash from the pocket of his jacket. After attaching the collar to Maggie’s neck, he handed the leash to Cullen.

  Egan balled his hands into tight fists. Every protective instinct he possessed ordered him to attack. But now was not the time. Not yet. He glanced casually at his watch. Thirteen minutes. He had to keep Maggie and Bent alive for thirteen more minutes. And if he’d guessed correctly about Cullen’s intentions, his old enemy had planned the next couple of hours to consist of only pregame preparations. Setting the stage for the big show.

  But once the feds attacked, Cullen would immediately step things up and put the deadly game into high gear. He no doubt believed his army could hold off an attack, mainly due to the almost impenetrable location of his mountainside fort and due even more to his own illogical, cocky self-assurance. The man thought he was invincible. He had probably planned for endless hours of torture, perhaps even days, despite the fact that he was well aware of an imminent attack.