The Right Kind of Trouble

by Shiloh Walker

  But special circumstances sometimes warranted it.

  “We’ll keep to the tree line.” He took point, using the light of the moon as he made his way toward the house, taking care to be quiet. Of course, he wasn’t sure it mattered. Moira trampled on every leaf, every branch. Once, he stopped and looked back at her. “Are you trying to announce that we’re here?”

  She smiled at him sweetly. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I was kind of not around the day they taught you how to walk like a damn ghost.”

  He had to bite back a snort and slowed his steps a little, giving her more time to pick where she put her feet.

  It helped. A little.

  Still, there was no sign anybody heard them.

  But somebody was in there.

  Gideon had seen a shadow in the window two or three times now and he was torn between sending Moira back to the truck or just making her wait here in the darkness with Frost.

  A familiar, buzzing sort of noise filled the air, and he glanced back.

  The glow lit the night like a miniature star and he shot out a hand, grabbing Moira’s phone.

  “He—”

  He clamped a hand over her mouth and hauled her deeper into the trees. Not far, just a few feet, but he stood there, waiting until she got the point before he let go.

  “What is wrong with you?” Moira glared at him.

  “Again, are you trying to announce we’re here?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Moira planted her hands on his hips. “I’ll humor you—lets say he does have nefarious plans. We don’t even know he’s here!”

  “Somebody is.” Gideon tugged her closer and pointed toward the house. “Watch the window, second from the left.”

  As she did that, he pulled up her messages and read the one she’d just gotten.

  I thought you were coming. If you’re not, tell me because I can’t wait forever. I’m sorry, Moira, but there are some problems I’ve got to deal with.

  Disgusted, Gideon just shook his head. He almost passed the phone back to her, but then, as an idea formed, he started to smile. He tapped back a response.

  Moira saw what he was doing and she craned her head, trying to read the message.

  “Now you’re the one announcing we’re here,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “No, I’m telling him you’re almost here. I want to see what he does. Now put that in your pocket and don’t touch it again until this is done.” He could all but hear her gritting her teeth over that comment, but she didn’t argue. One thing he’d always adored about Moira McKay was her brain. She was smart. Once he’d pointed out the potential danger, even if she didn’t want to believe him, she’d been willing to let him do what he did best.

  As he waited, his eyes skimmed the house, every sense alert.

  His gaze swept back to the house just as the door opened and he held his breath, hand resting on the butt of his weapon as he strained to see past the darkness.

  Just one man.

  Too far off to make out much of anything else about him.

  As he descended the stairs, the light from the house provided some illumination but it only allowed Gideon to see the man’s profile—and his hair.

  “That’s him,” Moira whispered.

  “It’s dark,” he muttered.

  “The hair.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Gideon focused on the Mohawk.

  “It was a fundraiser for cancer. Him and about twenty others did it. A local boy…”

  “Okay, okay. Hush.”

  Hell, taking Moira out on a stakeout would never happen.

  She rested a hand on his side and leaned in as she peered around him. The soft weight of her body pressed to his and he clenched his jaw, reminding himself they had problems. He needed to focus on the problems they had to deal with before he and Moira could work this out once and for all. And tonight, at least, they needed to deal with this—with Kevin—before he could drive her back to Ferry and get her flat on her back again.

  So … focus.

  By his feet, the dog whined. It wasn’t one of those anxious ones, it was almost as if the dog was trying to get him to do something.

  As the man out in front of the house swung back around and headed inside, Gideon eased out of the shadows of the trees and took her hand. “Come on. Let’s figure this out.”

  * * *

  He watched the remote feed streaming across his computer.

  It pissed him off that he was here instead of out at the cabin, but he understood priorities.

  His house wasn’t particularly a home.

  He’d avoided making anything a home, because he had no place to make one. Everything that should have been his had been stolen from him and that was just the way of it.

  But that didn’t mean it had to stay the way.

  He could get back what was his.

  He was close.

  So close.

  “What are you doing?” he muttered to himself as Kevin Towers paced back and forth across the living room. The carpet was ratty and old and needed to be replaced, but that was a task that would wait for later. Much later.

  This place, it too was rightfully his and one thing Kevin had done right was secure it for him. It had cost a pretty penny, far more than it was worth, but he had money. He had, after all, a generous employer, and few expenses.

  He smirked, amused with himself.

  But the smile faded as Kevin stopped in front of the table.

  Finally.

  They didn’t much look like they were family, but the relationship was distant and watered down. Towers was very much from the idiot side of the family branch, truly. The stupid hair, for one.

  Eyes narrowed, he waited for his long-lost cousin to reach out and take the bottle.

  Please don’t go helping yourself to my food and drink. Buy your own. He’d told Kevin that as he shoved the food he’d bought just for this occasion into the cabinets, including something he’d noticed the man had a fondness for.

  The chocolate almonds were a specialty item. Nothing like them in stores. Then there was the whiskey. One of the two would get him. Kevin had a weakness for sweets and for the bottle.

  Rubbing his fingers together, he leaned closer, waited.

  And Kevin spun away, yanking his phone from his pocket.

  “No, no, no, you stupid…” He blew out a breath and lifted his face to the sky.

  If the fool didn’t make it easy for him, he’d just have to take Kevin out up close and personal. He didn’t want to do that.

  So caught up in his aggravation, he missed Kevin’s action until it was almost too late.

  He was … texting?

  A knot settled in the gut of the man on the chair.

  In a hotel room from nearly an hour away, he reached out and adjusted the control that would let him hear.

  But Kevin said nothing.

  He just started to pace, his agitation growing.

  When Kevin Towers burst out of the house without touching any of the poisoned sweets or the doctored alcohol, his long-lost cousin started to cuss in long, ugly streams.

  It took far longer for him to calm down than normal and when he finally did, so much time had passed that Kevin was back in the house, back to pacing even.

  And Kevin was no longer alone.

  Through the speakers came Kevin’s voice, almost relieved, as he said, “Fuck, you scared me to death.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “You realize I want to beat you to death?” Moira demanded, glaring at Kevin.

  He flinched, his face pale. Kevin was a big guy and he looked even bigger with that ridiculous Mohawk. If he’d learn to find some balls, he’d probably cut an impressive figure, tall and broad-shouldered, a green-eyed blond with a dimpled smile.

  But he had no spine.

  That wasn’t a particularly attractive trait, Moira supposed.

  “I…”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want excuses or lies. I want answers.”


  She was surprised when he turned his head and stared out the window. “I know,” Kevin said quietly.

  He shot a quick look at Gideon. “Guess you brought him to arrest me.”

  The man was an idiot, Moira decided. How had she not seen that? Gideon wouldn’t be able to arrest him—Kevin would be arrested, unless he magically had all that money stuffed away somewhere and could return it and even then, she didn’t plan on letting him off with a smack on the hand. But the crimes he’d committed had been in Jackson, far outside of Gideon’s jurisdiction. Not to mention that they were in Louisiana now, not Mississippi. She might not work in law enforcement, but once you crossed state lines, things got dicey.

  But maybe Kevin wasn’t thinking straight. He’d seen Gideon, recognized him, and assumed. She wasn’t surprised Kevin had recognized Gideon. Most of the people who worked at headquarters came to Ferry at least once a year if not twice—for the annual Christmas party and for a Memorial Day barbecue. And Gideon was always there.

  Has always been …

  Gideon shifted his weight, and she could practically hear his low, steady voice, pointing out that practical things like Kevin’s crimes had been committed outside his jurisdiction. Before he could say anything, she placed a hand on his arm.

  She wanted Kevin freaked out, not relaxing. “Whether or not I have you arrested is all going to depend on what you do in the next few minutes, Kevin. I suggest you start talking.”

  All he did was nod.

  When he moved deeper into the house, Gideon shot out a hand and caught her arm, eyes narrowed. She gave him a look.

  It said, Trust me.

  But Gideon chose not to acknowledge it.

  She found Kevin sitting in what had to be the living room with his elbows on his knees and a pensive look on his face as he studied a bottle of liquor. Moira felt her jaw literally dropping when she saw recognized the bottle.

  Kevin Towers might make good money working for her, but if he was having the kind of money issues she suspected he was having, then why did he have a bottle of Macallan 25 sitting in front of him? There was a glass beside it, like he’d been about ready to have a drink when they showed up.

  “Interrupting something?” She gave him a sharp-edged smile. “Is that what you’re doing with the money you’ve been stealing from me? Buying booze?”

  Kevin gave a short, ugly laugh. “No. This was…” He shrugged then, as if it didn’t matter. “You’ve been a good boss, Moira. I learned a lot at McKay. I shouldn’t have—hell, it’s too late for that now. Too late for a lot of things.”

  Scowling, she shoved her hands into her pockets. “I don’t want—”

  Gideon’s hand came down on her shoulder and he squeezed. There was enough pressure there that she lapsed into silence. As he stepped past her, she caught sight of the look on his face. All cop.

  He wasn’t even pretending otherwise now.

  “Why don’t you talk to us, Towers? Seems to me you’re in trouble.”

  Kevin’s gaze flicked to him, then away.

  Moira saw the man swallow, the skin around his eyes going tight. Now that she was really looking at him, she couldn’t help but notice that Kevin looked like he had aged a good five years over the past few months. Why hadn’t she seen it?

  You haven’t been looking.

  “I don’t think ‘trouble’ touches what I got going on.” Eyes dull, Kevin reached out and picked up the bottle. He slid Moira a look. “You want to join me? I’ve never had any of this before. Heard it’s damn good.”

  Moira’s belly revolted a little but she managed a smile. “Sure. It’s beyond good, though. Like silk and fire, all at once.”

  “Heard Brannon has some of the Macallan 42. He probably uses it to rinse out after brushing his teeth.” He snorted as he got up, heading into the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder at Gideon. “You on duty?”

  Gideon shrugged. “But you two … feel free.”

  A few moments later, Moira closed her hands around the glass and clutched it on her lap while Kevin lifted the whiskey to his nose and swirled it around, sniffing in the aroma slowly. “Man, that’s amazing,” he said.

  “Tastes even better.”

  He nodded, but didn’t drink. “I guess you heard about my gambling problem. Drinking … hell, I could go a month without drinking and never miss it. Never did like to smoke. But you could ask me if I thought it would rain, and I’d strike a bet on the answer. It was just … my weakness.”

  “We all have them.”

  He nodded, shifting his attention back to the Macallan.

  Moira no longer wanted hers, though.

  Still, out of courtesy, she held on to it.

  “I was in trouble. Owed almost fifty grand to this guy. It was his asshole that came to the office, looking for me, I think. I actually got square with him once, but then there’d be a fight or somebody would ask me if I wanted in on the big poker game … I got in over my head. Again and again. And then…” He stopped abruptly, his knuckles going white against his skin as his fist tightened around the glass.

  He surged upward and started to pace. The whiskey splashed around to splatter on his hand, but Kevin didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were overbright and when he swung around, he looked a little wild. “I didn’t have any family, you know. Not after my dad died. Mom died when I was little. Suicide. Everybody acted like she got sick, but what she did was pop some pills and then went to sleep and never woke up. Dad soldiered on and he did a good job, but still … it was just us. I never had a family. I had my work. I had a few friends. And I was good with cards and shit. Then this guy comes along…” Kevin started to laugh.

  Something about that jagged noise was like knives digging into Moira’s ears and she wanted to clap her hands over them to make it stop. He went to take a drink, but stopped, staring down into the scotch like it had suddenly turned into cat piss on him. Revolted, he slammed it down and came striding over toward Moira.

  Gideon cut between them.

  “Ease up there, Towers,” he said, his voice still calm and easy.

  Moira wondered if he had any idea how ready Gideon was for him to do anything. Anything at all. He had one hand up in a calming gesture, the other hooked in his pocket. Moira had seen how quickly that same stance could go to gun raised. She’d seen it. Only once, thank God, but she’d seen it.

  “Don’t worry.” Kevin apparently spoke cop. He backed up, his own hands up. “I’m not going to hurt her. I just…” His gaze swung to Moira, or what he could see of her.

  She shifted out from behind Gideon, not completely, but enough that Gideon could see her face.

  A weak smile quirked his lips. “I used to have a thing for you, you know? I imagined asking you out about once a week. Then you got married and I figured there went my chance.” He skimmed a hand back over his hair.

  Moira’s smile froze.

  Kevin’s eyes slid back to her. “Don’t worry. That’s over. You’d slice off my balls and feed them to me. And everything now … it’s all shit. It’s all messed up.”

  “You’ve mentioned that.” Gideon shifted so that he stood where he could keep Moira in his sight, but close enough that he could still catch Kevin.

  He was wasting his time.

  She wasn’t in any danger. Not from Kevin, at least.

  He looked down at his hands and frowned. Gideon seemed to breathe a little easier when the other man turned away and found his drink. Slowly, he sank down on the couch to stare at nothing. “He comes up to me and I couldn’t believe it when he tells me that we were cousins. He starts showing me everything, how he found me … the family tree.”

  A cold chill broke out down her spine at the absent, sort of lost tone in his voice.

  Kevin shook his head as if he realized what was going on and he lifted the glass to his lips. He took a small sip, then sighed in appreciation. He took another one, draining half the glass that time. “That’s some good shit.” He smacked his lips and tossed back the res
t before he refilled his glass. As he did so, he looked over at Moira. “It’s all about you, you know. You and your brother, your sister. He fucking hates you, Moira. I didn’t realize it. I mean … it didn’t make sense. If I’d known that, I woulda stayed clear. You never did nothing to me. But I didn’t see it. The man hates you. He hates you and he wants you to suffer.”

  “Who?”

  Kevin’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “That’s the funny thing.” Bottle in hand, he came back over to the couch and sat down. He drained another half glass, staring at her with overbright eyes. “One thing about him—he might be fuck-all crazy, but the bastard has excellent taste in liquor.”

  Brooding, he stared down into the glass, but he wasn’t seeing it. Moira had no idea what he saw.

  Uneasy, she edged a little closer.

  “Crazy bastard. You should have heard him rant, Moira. About the museum … or when you would go on a buying trip or Brannon was going up to some no-name winery in the middle of no-name Ohio. He’d rant and rave—throwing things and cussing everybody from you to that Whitehall guy to … you.”

  His voice slurred and he reached up, rubbing at one eye while Moira stared at him. “White … Kevin, what in the hell are you talking about?”

  “That’s what ’m trying to ’splain here, Moira,” he said, talking in a voice that was too loud and too slow—and still his words were jumbled together.

  His hand shook as he refilled his glass, splashing more than a little of the pricy scotch on the table.

  “Okay.” Moira approached, the fumes from the spilled scotch rising in the air. “I think you’ve had enough. Give me the bottle.”

  Kevin closed his hand protectively over it.

  She snapped her fingers and said, “Now.”

  “Fine.” He shoved it toward her but turned his body away as he said, “But I’m keepin’ this.”

  To demonstrate, he took another quick swig from the glass.

  “Fine, you lush.” Moira glanced down at the bottle of Macallan and then sat it down, moving to closer to Kevin. “Gideon, could you get a glass of water?”

  Kevin’s eyes were blurry.

  Behind her, Gideon said, “I don’t know about…”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. He’s already half-piss faced. I’ll get it.”