She was going to drive him crazy.
That’s just all there was to it.
“Where is she?”
The half-panicked question came at him just as he was shoving off the wall, and he found himself face-to-face with Charles Hurst.
Cheeks ruddy, blue eyes partly hidden behind a pair of glasses, the man came to a halt, sucking air hard.
Gideon stared at Moira’s ex-husband with little more than apathy.
“Morning, Chuck.”
Charles drew himself up to his full height—two inches, give or take, taller than Gideon’s five ten, and stared down his nose. “Don’t be petty, Gideon. Where’s Moira? Is she…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “She can’t be hurt too seriously or you wouldn’t be out here trying to annoy me.”
“I live to annoy you, Hurst. Don’t you know that?” Since Charles was trying to swing his dick, Gideon rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “Before you go taking off to check on your former wife, I got a few questions. Mind telling me where you were last night?”
Charles looked taken aback. His mouth flattened out and then he took a slow, controlled breath. “Is this your idea of entertainment or am I to believe you actually think I could have hurt her?”
“Just doing my job.” Gideon shrugged. “You don’t mind me doing my job, do you?”
“Yes, Chief Marshall. You do your job … you continue to play these petty games with me while the woman I love lies suffering in her room alone.” The acid in Charles’ voice, underscored by the cool, crisp tones of London, might have cut a lesser man to size.
“Nah.” Gideon shrugged. “She ain’t alone. You know how those McKays are. None of them are ever really alone. Brannon’s in there with her. We got a few minutes. Now … your whereabouts last night?”
* * *
“Two? Marshall, you’re trying to kill me. You got any idea what my wife will do to me if I let two of our babies go?”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “Zeke … now correct me if I’m wrong, old man, but I’m pretty sure the reason you breed and train these dogs is so you can sell them.”
On the other end of the line, Zeke made a disgusted snort. “Shit. I breed and train these dogs because I love them. I only sell them because I got no room for all of them.” He sighed and then blew out a breath. “Who is it you’re needing them for?”
“A couple of friends.” He was proud of himself. His voice didn’t hesitate at all when he called Moira a friend. He pulled his cruiser up in front of the police department and climbed out, switching the Bluetooth off as he lifted the phone to his ear. He hated the stupid gadget, but he had to set an example for the people of McKay’s Treasure. If he didn’t want them driving and talking on their phones, then he couldn’t be doing the very thing he told them not to do. “Moira McKay was attacked—”
“Wait a minute. Did you say McKay? As in the fucking McKay family?”
Gideon came to a stop. “Is there a problem?”
There was a period of a silence so strained, Gideon thought he could hear some imaginary prickle in the airwaves between them. Then, finally, Zeke said in a terse voice, “I don’t think I got two dogs to spare.”
Without another word, the old man hung up.
“What the hell?”
“Chief?”
Gideon looked up from his phone and met Pendleton’s eyes, found his second-in-command eying him oddly. “You ever get the feeling that life would be easier if you just moved to a deserted island and lived by yourself?”
“Yeah.” Pendleton nodded, his hangdog face pensive as though he indeed did consider that very thing on a regular basis. “But here’s the problem. Where the hell am I going to get coffee, beer, and books if I’m living on a deserted island?”
“I hear you can get anything online—find somebody to ship to you.” Gideon held the door open for him as they shoved into the warmer air of the station—and like a switch had been flipped, the low buzz of chatter went abruptly silence.
“Well. Nice to see business carried on as usual while I was taking some personal time,” Gideon said with a wry shake of his head.
Griffin Parker cut him off. “Is Moira okay?” he demanded.
“She’s…” He stopped and then shrugged. “She will be. She’s too stubborn not to be.”
Griffin opened his mouth, then stopped. Finally, he said, “Any idea what the perp wanted?” He angled his chin over at Pendleton where he sat with Detective Deatrick Outridge “Pendleton all but glued Deatrick’s mouth shut, and Hoyt isn’t saying anything, either.”
“There’s nothing to say right now.” Gideon cut around the younger cop.
Destination: his office.
Goal: silence.
If he had enough of it, he thought he could maybe string together some sort of cohesive theory on what was going on, why. All of it. It was just a matter of degrees. Everything was connected. He just had to find the connection.
And two fucking dogs.
CHAPTER SIX
“You’re going to make yourself go blind.”
Maris came up behind him and rested one hand on his shoulder, her chin on the other.
Gideon grunted and didn’t look away from the computer. Over the past few years, one of the trusts set up by the McKay Foundation—who else?—had paid for the library to digitize much of their archive, including many historical documents pertaining to their ancestry.
He’d spent every free second of the past eighteen hours going blind looking for solid data on an elusive treasure—or maybe it was illusive. It was hard to get a grip on it … or just it might not exist at all.
No.
There was something there.
He knew it in his gut.
There was something there and he just had to find it.
The phone rang and he snatched it up, stared at the phone number for two seconds before he tossed it down. It wasn’t anybody from the department, and it wasn’t Zeke. Therefore, he didn’t want to waste time making nice.
“You’re worked up.” Maris straightened up and rubbed his neck. “What’s the deal?”
He opened his mouth, a biting answer lingering there, but he stopped himself before he could let the words fly out. It wasn’t her fault that he was in this state.
He couldn’t even blame the woman who was tangentially responsible, and he knew it.
As long as he was around Moira …
He closed his eyes as the truth struck him.
He’d idly considered the idea before, but now he realized he needed to do a lot more than consider. It wasn’t enough that he’d stopped holding out and hoping. Wasn’t even enough that he’d tried to date another woman. Slowly, he straightened up, his back screaming from being hunched over the computer for hours on end.
There was a tie that ran between them, him and Moira.
What he needed to do was sever it—get the hell out of her orbit so maybe time could lessen the impact she had on him.
He needed to leave Treasure.
And fuck all that he figured it out now, when she was in danger, when everything was winding up to a fever pitch. A deserted island wasn’t in his future, no. But neither was Moira McKay.
“Gideon?”
He reached up and caught Maris’ hand, squeezing it gently.
Maris wasn’t in it, either. And he was a miserable, selfish bastard if he kept letting her think otherwise.
He pushed back from the desk slowly, giving her time to back out of the way. She did, but instead of moving, she came around and settled in his lap. He closed his eyes, mind already whirling.
He couldn’t leave now and he knew it. Not until he knew Moira was safe. There wasn’t anybody in the department with the experience to handle what was going on. Deatrick could, in a few years. Pendleton, he might be the highest-ranking officer and he definitely had experience. He was also one quite happy in his current position. He had no desire to be in charge, a fact he’d made clear more than once. Hoyt had no desire
to do it, either.
They’d have to look outside the jurisdiction, hire an outsider.
He could start looking now. Word would get out. But he wouldn’t leave until this was settled. Until she was safe—all of them. They were family, in all the ways that counted. Save for Moira. She was his soul.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
He lifted his lashes and stared into Maris’ eyes. She already knew, though. She was trying to pretend otherwise, but in the back of soft brown gaze, he saw the knowledge. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it.
“Ever wished you had control of over who and what you loved in life?”
* * *
It was almost ten, and he was just one or two more drinks from being completely shitfaced when the phone rang.
Gideon glanced at it blearily.
It wasn’t Zeke. The old son of a bitch had told him off when he’d finally returned Gideon’s call. I told you, damn it. I ain’t selling to no lousy McKay.
Gideon wasn’t done with him yet. But since he didn’t really want to talk to anybody else, he had little interest in talking to the man on the phone.
He knew Brannon, though. The man was just as stubborn as he was.
He grabbed it in the middle of the last ring, just before it would have gone to voicemail. “You know, civilized people usually call before this.”
“Well, you and me both know I’m not civilized. I need a favor.”
“Too bad. I ain’t in the mood to grant favors.” He splashed another liberal serving of scotch into his glass and held it up, watching as the dim light from the hall reflected through the liquor.
“You will. It’s about Moira.”
“Again, too bad.” He ignored the tug at his heart. “Find somebody else.”
“Like her ex?” Brannon’s voice was sly. “I bet he wouldn’t mind driving her sick self home tomorrow. Sure, I’ll call him.”
Gideon’s hand tightened on the phone, but he managed a level tone as he replied, “You do that.”
He was lowering the phone when he heard Brannon’s voice bark out, “Wait!”
He should have just hung up.
Blowing out a sigh, he brought the phone back to his ear. “What do you want, you pain in the ass?” Although he wasn’t totally drunk yet, he was well past the point where his filter was fully engaged.
Brannon was quiet a moment. Finally, he asked, “Are you drunk?”
“Not yet.” Gideon lifted his glass and took a swallow, sighing in satisfaction as it burned its way down his throat. “I’m working on it, though. So please hurry this along.”
“Why are you getting drunk?”
Gideon tucked his tongue against his teeth and thought that through. “Why…” he murmured a moment later. “Well, let’s see.”
He shoved himself upright and had to pause there a moment, his head spinning around. “Let me just see … I broke up with Maris. She left here crying, and I wish she would have just hit me. I—don’t interrupt me, McKay. I’m talking here. I spent two hours after that writing up an ad for a new chief of police—gotta run that by the city council and ain’t that gonna be a bitch? Gonna look at putting my house on the market, figure out where to go from here … yeah. It’s been a bitch of a day.”
He wound down and stood wobbling in the middle of the room. “Yeah.” Brooding into his scotch, he mumbled, “Bitch of a day.”
Brannon’s voice exploded in his ear. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Gideon tossed the rest of his drink back and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m done, man. I’m just … done.”
Then he disconnected the call and tossed the phone at the table. It missed by a mile, but he didn’t care.
Stumbling back to the couch, he dropped down, face face-first. He was asleep in moments, but found no respite there.
Even in his dreams, Moira haunted him.
* * *
“I’m not kidding, if you try to leave that hospital with anybody but me, Moira, I will have your ass.”
He listened for the pitiful croak that was his sister’s voice, but he felt little sympathy for the obvious pain as she ground out, “It’s not like I’m going to walk. Just hurry.”
“I can’t hurry an OB appointment.” Then he disconnected and flung the phone down. The wind tore at his hair as he shot a look at Hannah. “Want the windows up?”
“No.” She had her eyes closed. “I like the air.”
“It’s cold.”
“I have a coat.” Then she turned her head and looked at him. “You know he didn’t mean it.”
He didn’t respond. There weren’t many things his fiancée was wrong about, but this was one of them. He kept hearing the bitterness that underscored Gideon’s voice. I’m done …
He’d heard that tone before.
In Hannah’s voice.
Yeah, she’d given him another chance, but that was because he’d chased after her and realized what an idiot he was. Moira wouldn’t look at Gideon and see him. Nobody could make her accept that.
“Talk to her.”
Hannah brushed her fingers down his hand as he turned his over, linking their fingers as he navigated the long, winding road that led to McKay’s Treasure. “You a mind reader now?”
“Well. I know you.” She squeezed his hand and added, “Now that you’ve let me in, I’m getting to know you even better. And that look on your face? It only means one thing. You’re brooding. You only brood about family.”
“Gideon isn’t family.”
“Like hell.” Her voice was wry. “He’s the brother you probably never realized you wanted, but he’s family all the same. You’ll miss him like crazy. But that’s not the point, is it?”
Brannon heaved out a sigh and glanced over at the glowing face of his bride-to-be, the mother of his child. “Why don’t you tell me what the point is, smart-ass?” he asked.
“Smart-ass, huh?” She lifted her chin. In a lofty voice, she informed him, “Cracks like that will land you on the couch, pal.”
“That house has got a lot of beds, sugar.”
She sniffed, the perfect Southern belle acting extremely put out. Nobody could do affronted like the women of the South. Brannon would have bet money on it. “Fine. It will land you in a bed without me in it.”
He brought her hand up and pressed his lips to the soft underside of her wrist, scraping his teeth along it. “I bet I could change your mind.”
“I’d love to see you try.”
He shot her another look, saw the gleam in her eyes. “Might be a fun bet. Some other time. Again, what’s the point … Hannah?”
“Moira.” She said it plain and simple. “She’s the point. If he leaves, she’s pretty much done. She’s shutting down more and more and don’t tell me you don’t see it. She used to go out to the pub once a week, have a drink, sit down with the girls and talk. She might come out once a month now. Once he’s gone, she’ll shut down even more. She’s already laughing less. Living less. The two of them belong together. He knows it. Deep down, so does she. I think…”
When she trailed off without adding anything, he stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. “What is it?”
“Maris.” Hannah cleared her throat and said, “Maris changed something in her. I’d look at Moira’s face when they were out together and you could see the misery there. I think she finally realized that he was done. That he couldn’t keep waiting … but that she didn’t want to wait anymore. I think she was finally ready to reach out.”
“Fuck.” Brannon tugged his hand free from hers and returned it to the wheel, staring down the ribbon of road. Not many miles remained between here and Treasure. He wanted to put the gas pedal to the floor, feel the engine come alive as he sped off, and let the controlled power of the car carry away some of the tension rising inside him. But he’d decided his need for speed was becoming an addiction of sorts and he needed to get it under control. He was going to be a daddy soon, a husband even soo
ner than that. So he gripped the wheel, absently twisting his hands back and forth as he stared at the road. “He’s been waiting for years—like more than eighteen years in fact. My sister isn’t stupid. What does she think he’s been doing all this time?”
“It’s not him,” Hannah said. “It’s her. She’d either convinced herself she was over him or she’s a knucklehead like you. Maybe she had convinced herself that life was just easier not letting herself fall for somebody and risk losing them. Maybe it’s something else entirely … maybe she’s blaming herself over something and this was her way of atoning. I don’t know. I do know she was ready to try … something.”
“Shit.”
“So … talk to her.”
“Shit,” he said again. He started to tap his fingers on the wheel as the town came into view. “Fine. I will. It ought to be you or Neve doing this, you know. I’m the guy. I don’t do feelings.”
“I have faith in you.” She patted his shoulder and then shot him an impish grin. “Maybe I’ll even make it worth your while … you do feelings and then I’ll do … you.”
* * *
Gideon woke up hungry, hungover, and horny. Those three things added up to make him one miserable, angry bastard.
As he brushed his teeth, trying to remove the cottony taste from his mouth, he recalled his conversation with Brannon. It had been right before he’d taken that last drink, the one that had put him over the edge and sent him into oblivion.
He’d called about Moira.
Moira.
Immediately, he groaned, because he knew why Brannon had been calling, now that he was thinking with a mostly unmuddled head.
Moira was being discharged.
But Hannah was supposed to be seeing the doctor.
Shit, shit, shit …
He didn’t want Moira leaving that hospital and going home to an empty house.
She doesn’t want your help. She doesn’t want you.
He knew that—he’d gotten the original memo like eighteen years ago, and all the little reminders sent out since then. The one time he thought there had been a change in status? Back in the boathouse two months ago? Yeah. Forget that. It had been a momentary setback—that was how Moira, ever the businesswoman, would view it. The way she’d shut him cold in the weeks that followed had made him realize just how much she felt the need to keep him at a distance.
The Right Kind of Trouble Page 5
