Egan Cassidy's Kid

by Beverly Barton

  Damn! Egan thought. I have to get out of this truck before it topples over the side and winds up at the bottom. He checked to see if there was any space in which to maneuver on the other side. There wasn’t. Less than six inches of level ground. The truck creaked and swayed. No choice! It had to be jump now or be swept over the cliff and down into the deep ravine, along with the truck.

  Egan grabbed the rifle, flung open the driver’s side door and bailed out, bracing himself for the downward lunge. He rolled over the steep embankment, the huge jagged rocks ripping through his clothes and slicing into the exposed skin of his hands and face. After tumbling a good fifteen feet and losing his rifle in the process, he landed on a smooth boulder sticking out from the side of the mountain.

  Every muscle in his body ached and he was pretty sure he had cracked a few ribs. Just as he checked his holster for his gun, he heard the tumbling crash of the old truck and looked up just in time to see it somersaulting past him down into the gorge a good fifty feet below where he rested on the ledge.

  No doubt Cullen would be coming for him, so he’d better get on his feet. But that simple task proved more difficult than he’d thought. Pain sliced through his side when he tried to stand. Not only did his ribs hurt like hell, but a piercing ache radiated from his left thigh. When he glanced down, he saw a jagged rock sliver sticking out of his thigh. After casting his gaze upward, checking for Cullen, Egan used both hands to remove the thin slice of rock from his leg. Blood seeped from the wide, deep gash.

  Keeping one eye open for Cullen, Egan ripped off a strip of material from the hem of his shirt and used it as a makeshift tourniquet to bind his thigh and slow the flow of blood.

  Suddenly a loud boom vibrated the earth. Egan glanced down into the gorge. An explosion ripped through the old truck, shooting flames and swirls of smoke into the sky.

  Despite the pain, Egan forced himself to stand and then to move. Just as he took shelter behind a crumbling rock formation, dotted with scrub grass and scraggily brush, Grant Cullen appeared at the top of the ridge. The moment Cullen saw Egan, he took aim and fired. The bullet splintered fragments from the rock formation and ricocheted off, hitting the nearby boulder. Egan got in a couple of shots, both landing just shy of their target.

  “Too bad you didn’t die, Cassidy,” Cullen shouted. “Too bad for you, that is. I’m going to enjoy killing you slowly.”

  “I don’t see it that way,” Egan said. “Looks like a fair fight to me. We’re both armed.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t just get banged up the way you did.” Cullen’s maniacal laughter echoed off the canyon walls.

  Egan kept watch, using his pistol sparingly, waiting for Cullen to get within range. He had ten bullets left in this clip and then he’d be out of ammunition. He figured Cullen was equally armed. Maybe Cullen had another clip, but Egan figured it would be back in the SUV. Egan watched and waited as Cullen made his way down off the roadway, using every available rock formation and tree as cover on his descent.

  When Cullen hid behind a parallel cluster of rocks, Egan waited for the gun battle to begin. He didn’t have long to wait. Cullen fired several times, not even coming close to hitting his target. Egan assumed that Cullen had to be frustrated, wanting so badly to kill him and yet unable to reach him.

  What were the odds, Egan wondered, that Cullen’s men would return before either the Dundee agents or the FBI arrived? If Cullen’s men came back, the chances of him killing Cullen instead of the other way around were slim to none. And if the feds showed up before he’d taken care of Cullen, then they would arrest him and his fate would be in the hands of the justice system. Egan didn’t like those odds. For every criminal doing time, there were half a dozen walking around free. They’d gotten off on some technicality or another. He couldn’t risk allowing Cullen to live. If he did, Maggie and Bent would never be safe.

  “Looks like we’re in a Mexican standoff, doesn’t it?” Egan called loudly. “What do you say we end this here and now? The better man walks away alive.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Cullen asked.

  “We both throw out our guns and meet face-to-face,” Egan replied. “A couple of old soldiers in hand-to-hand combat. That is unless you’re afraid I can whip your butt.”

  “It’d take a tougher son of a bitch than you to whip my butt, Cassidy.” Cullen tossed his weapon out onto the steep incline that separated the two rock formations. “Now, you, Cassidy. I trust you to keep your word.”

  Egan knew there was a possibility that Cullen had another weapon on him, so he’d have to be careful. But it was a chance he had to take. He threw his Glock out on the ground so that Cullen could see it. “Now, who comes out first?”

  Cullen emerged from behind the rocks, indeed an old soldier, but one in superb physical condition for his age. Motioning with his hand, he said, “Come on out, Cassidy. Let’s find out who the better man is.”

  Ever cautious, Egan eased out from the protection of the rocks. Prepared to drop and roll if Cullen produced another gun, Egan took several tentative steps forward. Ignoring the pain in his leg and ribs, he faced his opponent.

  “You look a little worse for wear, old buddy,” Cullen taunted.

  “Just a few scratches. Nothing to keep me from ripping you limb from limb.”

  Motioning again, Cullen grinned. “You want me? Come get me.”

  The two warriors circled each other, each wary. Suddenly Cullen whipped out a knife from the sheath strapped to his leg, then brandished the shiny blade in Egan’s face.

  “You didn’t honestly think I’ll give you an even chance, did you?” Cullen smirked, then lunged toward Egan.

  Egan sidestepped the attack, then swerved around and braced himself for the next assault. Cullen recovered quickly and moved in again, jabbing repeatedly as he drew closer and closer. Attack. Avoid. Attack. Avoid. Suddenly Egan lost his balance when he slid across a section of loose gravel. He went down on his wounded knee. The pain spread outward from the cut and raced through his whole body. Cullen took that moment to swoop down, hoping for a kill. Despite great discomfort, Egan whirled sideways, deflecting the direct stab. The knife ripped through his shirt and sliced across his shoulder. Blood seeped through the material, creating a large red oval.

  Realizing that now was the time, the exact moment to make his move, when Cullen felt all-powerful, Egan rammed into him, disregarding the threat of the deadly knife. Taken off guard, Cullen bounced backward from the direct blow. Egan wrestled his opponent to the ground and grabbed the hand that held the knife. Struggling fiercely, the two men rolled around on the rocky ground, each battling for supremacy.

  Tossing Cullen onto his back, Egan manacled his wrist, then lifted his hand and repeatedly knocked it against the hard earth until Cullen’s hand opened and the knife fell out. The two exchanged repeated blows as they tossed and tumbled downward, landing with brutal force on top of the protruding boulder. Their combat intensified. Cullen knocked Egan within an inch of the edge, then dove toward him in an effort to knock him off into the deep gorge.

  Just as Cullen thought he was about to land the fatal blow, Egan counteracted with a last-minute maneuver of his own. Cullen cried out when he realized that he and not Egan would be flying through the air in a downward spiral, free-falling to the jagged rocks below. Dropping to his death.

  Egan saw the realization on Cullen’s face the very second he careened over the edge. Shock. Disbelief. And resignation, as if he were glad the battle was finally over, regardless of the outcome.

  Cullen’s continuous, bloodcurdling shriek echoed in Egan’s ears long after Cullen’s body had landed in a broken heap fifty feet below, inside the canyon. Egan stood on the boulder and looked down at death. The death of fear. The death of a wasted life. The final chapter written in blood.

  As he made his way up the mountainside, his legs unsteady, Egan heard the approach of a vehicle. Damn! He turned to search for his Glock where it still lay on the ground, a few feet from Culle
n’s Ruger. Just as he reached for the pistol, he heard Joe Ornelas calling his name.

  “Egan? Where the hell are you?”

  “Down here!” Egan cried out.

  “Where’s Cullen?”

  “Dead!”

  Within minutes, Wolfe and Joe Ornelas made their way down the mountainside. Just as they flanked Egan and lifted his arms, one around each of their shoulders, Egan glanced up to the edge of the roadway. Maggie and Bent stood there together, mother and son side by side. Alive. Unharmed. Free from fear now and forever.

  Maggie had insisted that Egan return home to Alabama with Bent and her to recuperate. After an overnight stay in the Flagstaff hospital, Egan had checked himself out, against doctor’s orders. Hunter Whitelaw had stayed on several days, until his wound had begun to heal, then he had flown back to Atlanta, just as Joe and Wolfe had done.

  Once Maggie took charge, Egan had given in and allowed her to boss him around. If truth be told, he kind of liked having Maggie clucking over him like a mother hen. But Bent didn’t seem to approve. Not of Egan living in his home nor of his mother giving Egan a great deal of TLC.

  Egan had been ensconced on the soft leather sofa in Maggie’s den most of the time during the three days since they’d arrived in Parsons City. Bent had returned to school immediately upon their return and the boy avoided Egan in the evenings. Three days of indulgent care and Egan was climbing the walls. He was unaccustomed to lying around doing nothing and being waited on hand and foot.

  “Lunch is ready,” Maggie called from the doorway.

  Egan glanced up to see her standing there, a tray in her hand. “I can come to the table. You don’t have to keep treating me as if I were an invalid.”

  “I know you’re not an invalid.” She brought the tray to him. “But you’re recovering from five broken ribs, a deep cut in your thigh that required twenty stitches and a knife wound on your shoulder that required thirty-five stitches. And you left the hospital before you were supposed to.”

  “I’m not used to be mollycoddled.”

  Maggie eased her hand behind his back to help him sit up straight, then she fluffed his pillows and rearranged them for him.

  “You’re acting worse than Bent does when he gets sick,” Maggie scolded. “Why is it that you can’t just relax and enjoying letting someone else take care of you?”

  Egan inspected his noonday meal. Homemade vegetable soup. A grilled cheese sandwich. And a large slice of Maggie’s apple pie. What did he tell her—that he could easily get used to this kind of treatment? That he loved having her fuss over him, but he didn’t dare let himself become accustomed to it.

  This was a temporary arrangement. A visit with his son until he was fully recovered. That had been Maggie’s reasoning when she’d insisted he come home with them. At the time he’d been too physically weak and too soul-weary to argue with her.

  Egan nodded toward the overstuffed, plaid armchair beside the sofa. “Sit down, Maggie. We need to talk.”

  “About what?” She rubbed her hands together nervously.

  “Sit,” he said.

  She sat on the edge of the chair, placed her hands in her lap and sighed. “I’m sitting. So what do you want to talk about?”

  “About you and me and Bent. About my staying here to recuperate.”

  “You’re not leaving!” Maggie shot to her feet.

  “Please, sit back down, honey. No, I’m not leaving today or even tomorrow. But you and I know that sooner or later, I’ll have to go. Bent has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want me here. He’s not going to give me a chance, no matter how much you and I want him to.”

  “You’ve been here three days,” she said. “That’s hardly enough time. You and Bent are still strangers to each other.”

  “Do you honestly think that if I stay here a week or a month or even six months, Bent will come around?” Egan rubbed his forehead. “He can’t even stand to be in the same room with me. He hasn’t said ten words to me since—”

  “You are staying here until you’re fully recovered. You haven’t given Bent an opportunity to get to know you.” Maggie eased down and sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa, then reached out and took Egan’s hand in hers. “I’m asking you to stay. For your own sake as much as Bent’s. You need your son in your life as much as he needs you.”

  “You actually care about how I feel, don’t you? After all I’ve put you through, you’re willing to forgive me and help me win my son’s affection. You, Maggie Tyson…Douglas, are one hell of a woman.”

  “Yes, I know.” A soft, delicate smile curved her lips. “Bent will be home early today because he took his last final exam,” Maggie explained. “I told him this morning that I expected him to spend the afternoon with us.”

  “And just what do you have planned?”

  “I thought we’d go to the river and take the boat out. We could even stay overnight at our cottage down there. Bent loves the river and you could soak up some fresh air and sunshine.”

  “Sounds like a nice plan, but what if Bent doesn’t want to—”

  “He’s already promised me.”

  “What did you do, twist his arm?”

  “I asked him to do it as a favor to me,” she admitted. “Now, you eat your lunch, while I go pack a few things for our little excursion.”

  Before Maggie reached the hallway, she heard the back door open.

  “Bent?”

  “Yeah, Mama, it’s me. And wait till you see who I’ve got with me.”

  When Maggie entered the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks. There beside the refrigerator that Bent had opened searching for a cola stood her ex-husband.

  “Hi, Mag,” Gil Douglas said.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I called him,” Bent said. “I thought if anyone could talk sense to you and make you see what a mistake it is letting that man—” Bent nodded in the direction of the den “—back into your life, it would be Dad.”

  “Bent, you had no right to involve Gil in our affairs.”

  “Maggie, the boy is just worried about you,” Gil said. “And since when don’t I have a right to be concerned about my son?”

  “Oh, he’s your son, now, is he? Funny thing that you suddenly remember you have a son, just when Bent’s biological father comes into his life.” Maggie huffed loudly. “You haven’t been a father to Bent since our divorce. You weren’t even concerned enough about him when he was kidnapped to come here, so why is it that you can take off time from work to drop by and tell me how to run my life?”

  “See, I told you that she wouldn’t listen to me,” Gil said to Bent. “She has a blind spot when it comes to Cassidy. She can’t see him for who he is—a hired killer who used her and dumped her. He couldn’t care less about her…or about you.”

  “Mama, listen to him, will you?”

  “What I don’t understand,” Maggie said, “is why you’re listening to him.”

  “Why shouldn’t he listen to me?” Gil took a stand there beside Bent, two unlikely allies. “I was around the first time Egan Cassidy stormed into your life and nearly destroyed you. I don’t want to see it happen a second time. The first time he wrecked our relationship. This time he’ll wreck your relationship with Bent. Is that what you want?”

  “How dare you! You have no right—”

  “Legally, I’m Bent’s father, so that gives me a right.”

  “I want you to leave,” Maggie said. “All you’re doing is stirring up trouble. Why, Gil? Have you been waiting fifteen years to pay me back for loving another man more than I could have ever loved you?”

  “See?” Gil pointed a finger at Maggie, then glanced at Bent’s stricken face. “I told you that she’s still in love with him.”

  “Damn you, Gil Douglas!” Maggie screamed. “Get out of my house!”

  The door leading into the hallway swung open. Egan Cassidy filled the doorway. “I think I heard Maggie ask you to leave.”

 
; “It’s been a long time, Cassidy,” Gil said. “But I see you haven’t changed. You just walked in here and took over again, didn’t you? Well, you might be able to manipulate Maggie, but you have no power over my son. Bent knows what kind of man you are.”

  “Maybe so,” Egan said. “But my guess is that he knows what kind of man you are, too.”

  “Please, Gil, just go. Now.” Maggie looked at her ex-husband pleadingly.

  “If Dad goes, I go,” Bent said.

  “What?” Maggie glared at Bent, shocked by his outburst.

  “You heard him, didn’t you?” Gil smirked. “Bent wants me to stay, but he wants Cassidy to go. So, what’s it going to be, Maggie? Do you choose your son or your lover?”

  “Why you slimy, jealous-hearted, backstabbing…” Maggie fumed. Of all the problems she had anticipated in trying to unite Bent and Egan, this one hadn’t even entered her mind. During their marriage, Gil had tried to be a father to Bent, but he’d failed miserably. And since their divorce, Gil hadn’t really been a part of their lives. But here he was, big as life, playing the role of protective parent.

  “You’re leaving right this minute.” Maggie marched across the kitchen and pointed her index finger right into Gil’s face. “And don’t you ever come back, without an invitation from me.”

  “I told you that if Dad leaves, I leave,” Bent repeated his threat.

  “Pack a bag and meet me in the car,” Gil said, then turned to Maggie. “I’ll have him call you when we get to Nashville.”

  “He’s not going anywhere with you,” Maggie said.

  “He’s not a child,” Gil reminded her. “He has a right to—”