“I’m not talking about years ago.” Brannon jammed his hands on his hips. “I’m talking about today.”
“I was talking about today, too.” Then Gideon shrugged. “Or at least last night.”
Brannon’s eyes narrowed. Then he squeezed them shut, lifting his face to the sky as he muttered something.
Gideon thought he might be counting.
Just annoy the bastard, he said, “Your sister knew what sex was before you knew what your penis was, Bran.”
“She did not.” Brannon’s voice was surprisingly mild, and he finally looked back at Gideon.
To Gideon’s surprise, the look in his eyes was one of sympathy. Brannon looked around the mostly empty bullpen before he slipped inside Gideon’s office and sat down. “You sure you wanna go down this road, man?” Brannon asked softly.
Gideon stared at his friend. Brannon was like a brother to him. Had been for a long time. “I would have thought you’d be here to tell me to take it easy with your sister,” he said levelly, slumping back in his chair.
“My sister’s been carving your heart out for close to twenty years,” Brannon said, shaking his head. “I’d be blind not to see it. You almost seemed level, Gideon. You were seeing Maris. What happened?”
“I realized I was lying to myself.” He shrugged and shoved upright, moving over to the window. Fire trucks were still parked out in front of the bookstore, but it had nothing to do with the blaze and everything to do with the reasons behind it. Looking for why that fire had started. “It’s never been anybody but her, never will be anybody but her. I wasn’t being fair to Maris. I had to end it.”
“And when Moira gets scared again?” Brannon sounded uneasy.
Gideon looked back at him.
Brannon held still for a moment and then, as if the stillness was foreign—and miserable—he all but leapt out of his seat and started to pace. “Look, I’m not saying … I love Moira, you know that. I want her happy, but I think she’s happier being … miserable. Miserable and safe, so nobody can get in and hurt her.”
Gideon listened, although Brannon wasn’t saying anything he didn’t know.
“So what do you do when she panics again?”
“I leave.” Gideon had made up his mind during the day. He was the moth to Moira’s flame and he was too weak to deny the heat of her. As long as he was here. Turning to Brannon, he told the truth. “If she turns away again, even one more time, Brannon, that’s it. I’m done. I’ll leave.”
He made a gesture at the office, his badge. “This, Treasure … even you and Neve. I’m walking away and I doubt I’ll even stop long enough to say good-bye. I can’t keep living like I have been.”
“Have you thought maybe it would be better to just leave now?” Brannon’s voice was low.
“Yeah.” Gideon dropped down behind the desk, bent over the notes he’d been making. “But I’ve always been a dumb-ass idiot, Bran. You know that better than most. I’ve got work.”
There was a taut moment of silence before Brannon blew out a breath. “Okay, then. You’ll let me know what you learn about the store, right?”
“Yeah.” Grim, Gideon stared at his notes as Brannon left his office. He’d let him know. Shit, he could do it now.
Somebody had a big, righteous hate-on going for the McKays.
He’d heard what Mrs. Stafford had said—she’d had a quick smoke in the back. But she’d flushed it down the toilet. She always did. That didn’t mean much to him. He knew it wouldn’t mean much to the investigators either.
What mattered to him was every bad thing that had happened to the McKays in recent months.
Hannah’s crash aside, there was the attack on Moira. Now the bookstore was destroyed.
Everybody knew the importance that bookstore had to the McKays.
Son of a bitch.
* * *
The door squeaked like a deranged mouse when Brannon let himself into the loft. He rarely slept here anymore, but he’d needed to talk to Gideon and he hadn’t wanted Hannah by herself.
The son of a bitch who’d stabbed him, who had likely killed Shayla and Roger Hardee, was still out there somewhere and Brannon wasn’t taking chances.
Which was why there was a big, brooding Scot on his couch.
The Scot was supposed to be awake. How he’d slept through that door opening, Brannon didn’t know.
He took one step in Ian’s direction, determined to club him across the head for falling asleep without setting the alarm.
“Do y’know,” Ian said, his brogue thicker with sleep. “That soddin’ door sounds like a mouse with rabies?”
Brannon stopped midstep. “I thought you were asleep.”
“What kind of fool could sleep through that ruckus? I’m just resting m’ eyes.” Ian tipped a glass his way. “Had a pint while I was waiting.” Then he nodded toward the spare room on the far side of the converted loft. “My beautiful bride-to-be was worn out. She’s fallen asleep. I guess that means I’m sleeping over.”
“I don’t mind my sister bunking with me.” He paused before continuing. “That doesn’t mean you need to.”
“Where goes the redhead, so goes I,” Ian said contentedly.
Brannon flipped him off as he headed into the kitchen to pour himself some wine. He went with the scuppernong they’d bottled not too long ago and settled down on the armchair. Meeting Ian’s eyes, he said, “Moira and Gideon.”
“I saw.” Ian shrugged. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“I sure as fuck am.” Brooding, he looked into his glass. “He’ll leave. She’ll pull back and this time, it will be too much. He’ll just be gone.”
“Or…” Ian bobbed his head from side to side as if weighing options. “He won’t leave. Because she’s finally realized she’s ready to let herself live.”
“You’re an eternal optimist, Ian. I never would have thought.”
Ian shook his head. “No. What I am is a man who knows the sight of a woman when she’s reached the end of her rope.” He sighed, stretched massive arms over his head before he straightened up and sat so that he faced Brannon. “I’ve seen that look, Bran. Maybe my gran didn’t have the same reasons as your sister, but desperation is desperation. Gran was looking for something to hold on to—and she had me. Then she didn’t. Moira is looking for something, too. She’s got something—some body. Gideon’s always been there. She’s just been fighting it. Fighting herself.”
Brannon scowled into his wineglass as he thought through what Ian was saying.
“It’s not the same,” he said finally. “Moira didn’t … your grandfather was an ass, Ian. I know that. It’s not the same with Moira.”
“No. With Moira, life is what’s beating her down. And sometimes, she is responsible for the beatin’. Often, though, she wasn’t. She loses her parents and had to raise the two of you, had to finish university, had to take over this massive empire your family has created.” Ian’s face contorted into a grimace. “Neve tried to explain some of the things McKay has their hands in and my eyes all but crossed. Moira was what … eighteen when she had to take over? And Neve…”
His eyes fell away.
“We fucked up there,” Brannon said sourly.
“Aye.” Ian wasn’t one to beat around the bush, not even for his best friend. Rising to his feet, he moved halfway across the floor, his eyes on the closed door that led to where Neve slept. “I’m not going to say you’re to blame. You were a kid yourself. Moira too. If Ella Sue had pushed?”
He shrugged and looked back at Brannon. “She needed a parent. Needed adults who could say no, who could make her feel safe. She didn’t have that and it just made everything harder for all of you. But this isn’t a case of fault. None of you had a fair shake. Moira had a man who wanted to stand with her, help her … but she had to play martyr.”
“That’s not what—” Brannon cut himself off and started to laugh. “The fuck it ain’t. She wouldn’t see it as playing martyr, but the hell if that isn’
t what she did. Gideon only wanted to be with her.”
“Likely, she wanted the same. My take? She didn’t think it was fair to him.” Ian shrugged. “Maybe she’s ready to stop being stupid, stop worrying about fair and just think about what they both need.”
“If you two boys are done talking about your feelings…”
They both turned as one.
Brannon felt blood rushing up to his cheeks as he saw Hannah standing in the doorway of the room they shared—when they slept here. She wore one of his shirts, the hard mound of her belly making a slight curve against it. She looked insanely sexy and somehow innocent, her hair a tangle around her shoulders and her eyes sleepy.
“I’m really, really tired and unlike Neve, I don’t sleep like the dead these days.”
“I’m not sleeping like the dead!” A muffled voice shouted from behind a closed door. “I just like listening to them when they don’t know I’m listening.”
Ian’s grin spread across his face while Brannon’s flamed hotter.
The door to the room Neve was sharing with Ian jerked open and his little sister stood there, eyes wide. “Are you just now telling me that Moira and Gideon are back together?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Are you serious—what, no. Fine.” Moira braced her hands on the desk and stared at the printouts in front of her. As a voice continued to yammer in her ear, she squeezed her eyes closed. “I said fine, Baxter. I’ll be in there by…”
She looked up at the clock, gauged the time. “I need two hours.”
Her admin squawked and she laughed. “I’m not killing myself to get there any sooner. I’m down at the ass end of Mississippi. Two hours is the best I can do.”
“Okay … I … I guess I’ll stall them or something but Moira … please hurry. These people aren’t joking around.”
“I didn’t think they were. The IRS doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
She slammed the phone down, took a deep breath. All that did was make the phone ring again.
She wanted to shriek, and almost ignored it, but the name that flashed across the caller ID made her belly go hot.
“If you have bad news, just hang up,” she said in lieu of greeting.
There was a faint pause and then Gideon Marshall said, “I guess you’ve been having a rough day.”
“Lousy. Are you calling to make it worse?”
“Actually, I was hoping I could talk you into playing hooky for a few hours.”
She wanted to say yes. Imagined calling Baxter and telling him the IRS idiots could deal with the lawyers. That’s why they had them. But Baxter had told her they’d requested to meet with her … personally.
That was just odd.
It wasn’t like McKay hadn’t gone through audits or anything. There were probably audits she wasn’t even aware of—again, that’s why she had accounting and why she had lawyers.
“I can’t.” Regret was a knot in her chest. “I just had a call from my assistant in Jackson. The IRS wants to talk to me.”
There was a pause. Gideon said slowly, “Did you say the IRS?”
“Yeah. Go figure.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I don’t see how. We run a clean business, Gideon.” She scowled. “Okay, we as a company are clean. But I can’t speak for every single soul under me. If I find out…”
“Moira, take a deep breath. Find out what’s going on.”
She stuck her tongue out at the phone.
“Call me later, okay?”
He disconnected a moment later and she dropped the phone onto the counter, leaning forward to smack her head on the door of the nearest cabinet. It didn’t help. She hit it harder.
Still no help—she was conscious.
“Try counting to a hundred.”
At the sound of Ella Sue’s soft voice, she glanced behind her. “It won’t help.”
“Why did I hear the vicious little letters … I R S?” Ella Sue looked concerned as she wandered into Moira’s office.
“Because they are coming by today. They’d like to see me, ask me a few questions.” Moira managed a brilliant, sharp smile. “At the main branch.”
“Did that idiot boy explain that you don’t live in Jackson?”
Moira sighed and passed a hand over her eyes. “Baxter panicked. I’ll get this taken care of. It’s not like I don’t have records upon records to back things up. It’s probably nothing major.” She gave Ella Sue a distracted smile, although her mind was on Gideon.
She would have loved to play hooky.
“I need to hit the road. I’ll be pushing it as it is.” She gave Ella Sue a quick hug before grabbing her laptop and the backup hard drive that held the most important data.
It took less than ten minutes for her to hit the road.
By eight twenty, she was cruising down the highway, on her way into Jackson.
* * *
“Well, so much for that idea.” Disgusted, Gideon tossed down his phone and then looked out the window. He’d already made plans to drive out to Zeke’s and try to talk him into relenting.
The fire at the bookstore had pretty much cinched it.
Although there was no official response yet, the investigator was almost positive it had been arson. That meant just one more weird thing in a string of weird things that had been following the McKays around like a cloud for months.
He was going to get Moira—and Neve and Hannah—damn dogs if he had to wring Zeke’s neck to talk him into it. He wouldn’t have to, though. He’d just remind Zeke that he owed him. Zeke would balk and it would probably destroy their friendship, but it would do the job and that was what Gideon cared about at the moment.
But he’d wanted to take Moira with him.
Maybe she could help get to the bottom of why Zeke had a problem with her family.
The door to Brannon’s townhouse swung open and Gideon cocked his head, watching as Neve and Ian, then Hannah and Brannon came tumbling out.
Actually … maybe what he needed wasn’t the boss of the clan, but the charmer.
He tugged out his phone and punched in a number, watching as a couple hundred feet away, Neve pulled her phone from her pocket.
“I hear you kissed my sister.”
Gideon rolled his eyes.
“I hear you’ve been kissing the bartender.”
Neve’s response was a chuckle.
“Listen, Trouble … I’ve got to do something today and I need your help. Please don’t say no.”
She slid a glance his way—or toward the government building that housed the police station. He didn’t know if she could see him or not, but he could see her as she lowered the phone and turned her head, speaking to Ian.
A moment later, she was back on the phone. “What do you need and when?”
* * *
“Ah … are you sure you’re not lost?” Neve looked around as Gideon pulled his truck onto the unmarked lane. They’d been driving for two hours, and they’d left Treasure and then the state of Mississippi behind entirely within the first hour of the drive.
At her question, Neve saw a grin crack Gideon’s grim face for the first time that morning. “Come on now, Trouble. Since when have you ever known me to get lost?”
“Okay.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and tugged, releasing it slowly as she continued to study the greenery surrounding them. Kudzu was so thick, it looked like it was trying to take over the road. As a matter of fact, just about everything green was so thick. Mother Nature was fighting to take over here with a vengeance. Spanish moss fell in a heavy curtain, all but blotting out the sky, while the vines of the kudzu blocked out everything that wasn’t in front of or behind them. “Maybe you’re not lost. But you do know, there’s a first time for everything.”
He laughed. “Relax. I’ve been here before. Zeke just likes his privacy.”
“I thought dogs needed to be around others … get socialized.”
“They get socialized. He takes them out. H
e just doesn’t live out in the middle of people.”
Huffing out a breath, she crossed her arms over her chest and went to looking out the window. She’d avoided it most of the drive in, but the green wrapping around them was making her claustrophobic. “So. You and Moira in a liplock. What else?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
She slid him a narrow look and then crowed. “Hot damn! Finally!”
Gideon sighed.
“So are you two like … back?”
He shot her a look then focused on the road, coming around a turn. Finally, light showed at the end of the road—real light, not just sun filtering down through gaps in the canopy. “I don’t know what we are, Neve. Not yet.”
“But…” She stopped, frowning and shaking her head. “If you two…”
He chuckled. “I can’t believe you’re getting shy at this point.”
“Oh, shut up.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “I can’t girl talk with you, Gideon. Don’t worry. I’ll do that with Moira later.”
His cheeks went red.
Cheered by the sight, Neve grinned. “Anyway. What is going on?”
“I’m taking it as it comes—one day at a time.” Gideon eased down on the brake as the truck broke out of the trees. “All I can do, Neve.”
She just stared at him.
Aware of her intense study, but not willing to look her in the eye yet, Gideon focused on the house and the sprawling grounds. “Best to take it slow, Trouble. If…”
When he didn’t continue, Neve took over. “If she changes her mind, it will be a little easier for you if you’re not head-deep.”
“I’ve been head-deep with her since I was sixteen.” Gideon didn’t think anything about this was easy. But he had to protect what he could.
Neve leaned across the truck and hugged him. “It’s going to work out this time, Gideon. I promise.”
By mutual agreement, they climbed out of the truck.
There was a lean, grizzled man on the porch, already waiting for them.
He had to be in his sixties, but there was no spare flesh on him, and from where she stood, watching him, she could see the hard, carved lines of his face. He looked like he’d been made of leather.
The Right Kind of Trouble Page 12
