by Amelia Autin
She couldn't tell him that, of course, but she couldn't think of anything else to say, so she brushed past him, heading for the beckoning shelter of the cabin.
He caught her arm. "Wait." She refused to turn around, but that didn't stop him. "I owe you another apology."
"What for?"
"For before, in the cabin," he said. "For what I led you to believe." After a couple of seconds Mandy figured out he was referring to his statement that he'd been Pennington's right-hand man, the statement that had triggered her flight.
"I don't know why I said it that way," he continued doggedly. "Maybe I was testing you. I don't know. But I was wrong, all the way down the line, and I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted," she whispered, then slipped out of his grasp. She picked her way carefully across the rough ground, conscious of his eyes on her, and went inside.
After a minute he followed her.
* * *
Reilly waited until Mandy took a seat at the table. After a short, awkward silence he picked up the story again. "The FBI was getting desperate." He leaned against the counter. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, or even if she believed him, but her eyes never left his face.
"Small bombs had been set off in courtrooms where some New World Militia members were on trial. There'd been death threats before that against federal prosecutors, federal judges, even a U.S. senator, and still they couldn't tie anything to Pennington or his people. That's when the Feds came to me."
"But why you? What could a carpenter do?"
"I wasn't a carpenter, Mandy. I was an ex-marine, like Pennington. And an undercover cop. One of the best." Her slight indrawn breath betrayed her shock, and Reilly met her eyes squarely. "Woodworking was a hobby of mine, but until I moved to Wyoming I never made my living from it."
"Oh." She blinked at him and Reilly wondered what she was thinking behind those wide blue eyes.
"It was an 'unofficial' operation all the way," he continued. "The law says the FBI can't infiltrate an organization without evidence of a crime, but they couldn't get the evidence without getting inside. It was a vicious circle."
He sighed. "I'm not saying the law is wrong. It was passed for very good reasons, and the Feds brought it on themselves by abusing their power in the past. But while Pennington sat safely inside his multimillion-dollar compound on Long Island, the militia kept spreading their doctrine of hate and violence. That's where I came in. The Feds had their hands tied, but I could infiltrate the organization on my own."
"One man against an army?"
His eyes slid away from hers and stared into the distance for a moment, remembering. "It only takes one man sometimes," he said slowly. "One man can make a difference." His gaze returned to her face. "I wasn't alone, though. I had my partner, Josh Thurman. And others.
"Anyway," he said, "the FBI set me up to be recruited by Pennington's bunch. A guy I'd gone through the police academy with was already a member of the New World Militia, so I had an in. The story we put out was that I was a renegade cop, fed up with the system and all too willing to take justice into my own hands. My partner and I set it up for me to be brought up on charges of police brutality, with him testifying against me. To make it convincing, I spent time on Riker's Island awaiting trial before the charges were 'dropped,' and I was allowed to resign in disgrace."
"I … see."
He wondered exactly what she did see, but didn't ask. If she didn't already know, he wasn't going to explain that prison was hell for an ex-cop, that he could all too easily have ended up with his throat slit or a shiv in his gut. He wasn't going to tell her about sleeping with one eye open and a hand on a makeshift knife the whole time he was there. Nor would he tell her how he'd made his rep his first day there, so that the other prisoners left him pretty much alone after that. There were some things a man just didn't tell his woman, especially if he loved her.
Too restless to sit still any longer, he stood and strode about the confines of the small room. "I was recruited by the militia almost before the ink was dry on my resignation. I have to admit, they talked a good line, and I could see how convincing they could have been if my situation had been real.
"Josh was still my partner in this. He took a leave of absence from the force, supposedly for medical reasons, in case anyone was curious. We worked as a team—me on the inside, him on the outside. I started as a grunt—" Her eyebrows raised a fraction and he explained, "That's military talk for a foot soldier, a private. Anyway, I started at the bottom, feeding Josh what little information I had access to, and Josh turned over what I found out to the Feds."
Reilly picked up his now cold cup of coffee, stared unseeingly at it for a minute, then tossed the dregs in the sink and refilled the cup from the pot on the stove. "I worked my way up through the ranks over the next two years—"
"Two years!"
He nodded. "I knew going in that it wasn't a short-term commitment. It took me two years to reach the inner circle, where the decisions were made. You see, we were gunning for more than just a slap on the wrist for Pennington. We wanted to put him away for a good long time and smash the organization in the process. For that, we needed irrefutable evidence against Pennington, a direct order for an illegal act made to a witness who could testify against him. Me."
She absorbed all that in thoughtful silence, then asked, "And did it work?"
"Yeah." He swallowed some coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste. The coffeepot had been sitting on the back burner for quite some time. He put the cup down. "Along with the upper echelon of the New World Militia, Pennington was arrested, tried and convicted. Conspiracy to commit murder, among other things. My testimony got him twenty years to life. Afterward, I entered the federal witness protection program."
Her delicately arched brows drew together in a frown of confusion. "But I don't understand. If he and the others were in jail, why did you need protection?"
Had he ever been that naive? If so, it was so long ago that he couldn't remember. "Revenge, Mandy. The Mafia has a saying, 'Revenge is a dish that tastes best cold.' And like the Mafia, the New World Militia has a long memory. I broke the code of the brotherhood, remember. I talked. Even worse, I put the grunts out of work, stopped the gravy train."
His thoughts winged to a federal courtroom two years ago, and a confrontation with an enraged Pennington after the verdict had been read. "You're a dead man, Callahan!" David Pennington had screamed at him, his normally cold eyes wild with fury. "I'll see you in hell!" Pennington's own lawyers had had to physically restrain their client before the bailiffs closed in on Pennington and escorted him from the courtroom.
But that was another thing he couldn't tell Mandy, that Pennington had put a price on Ryan Callahan's head and had raised it every time he eluded the militia's grasp. Last Reilly had heard, the going rate was half a million dollars.
"Reilly O'Neill isn't your real name, is it?"
He shook his head. "No. It isn't even the name I go by now."
"What—" She paused, undecided, then asked, "What was your name?"
He hesitated, then realized he had no reason not to tell her. "I was christened Ryan Patrick Callahan. Patrick was my dad's name. He died when I was four."
Mandy's eyes softened momentarily, and Reilly regretted that last sentence. He didn't want Mandy feeling sorry for him. He forced himself to look away from the sympathy reflected in her eyes, and focus on finishing the story. There wasn't much of it left, and he wanted to get it over with.
"I was a marked man," he said gruffly, "so the Feds gave me a new identity—Reilly O'Neill—and a new life. Any kind of police work was out of the question, of course, but I'd known that before I started. It was a choice I made."
And like other choices he'd been forced to make, the price was high. He'd always loved his work, loved bringing justice to his little corner of the world. It hadn't been easy, making the decision to give up years of his life to catching Pennington and then sacrificing the rest of his career. He'd talk
ed it over with Josh, his partner on the force since his rookie year, knowing it would affect the other man's life, too.
"It comes down to this, Ry," Josh had said. "Is it worth it to put Pennington out of business for good?" Put like that, Reilly knew he'd only had one choice.
Mandy's voice interrupted his contemplation of the past. "What made you choose Black Rock, Wyoming? I mean, if you were trying to hide, why pick such a small town? Wouldn't you have been better off somewhere where you could blend into a crowd?"
He nodded. "Maybe. But small towns have one advantage. Strangers stick out like a sore thumb, just like I did when I moved here. If someone's tracking me, I prefer to know about it. At least then I have a fighting chance." There was another reason he'd chosen Black Rock, but he couldn't tell Mandy. It wasn't his secret to tell.
She was silent for a moment, then said in a small voice, "Is that what happened? Did someone track you to Black Rock?" Her arms were crossed over each other, and she was rubbing them as if she were cold. "Is that why you left?" Her soft blue eyes pleaded for an explanation. "Is that why you pretended to be dead?"
"Something like that."
"Something like that? Something like that?" Mandy jumped to her feet, as riled now as she'd been before. "You walked out of my life without a word, without even a backward glance, and that's all the explanation you have?" Her hands clenched into fists, but she didn't seem to know what to do with them. "Or didn't I matter to you?" Her voice broke on the last word. "Is that it? Was I just an … an easy lay while you were passing through?"
"No!" He strode toward her, grabbed her arms and shook her hard. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that!" Words poured out of him unchecked. "You mattered to me! You still do, more than you'll ever know."
She was biting her lip to keep from crying. He knew her well enough to know that. "Then why did you leave me?" she asked, bewildered. "Why?"
"It's not that easy, Mandy."
"It was easy enough for you to leave me."
"No, it wasn't!" He shook her again. "It was the hardest thing I've ever done."
"Then why?"
"To protect you, damn it!" He hadn't meant to say it, but he couldn't bear for her to think he'd deserted her, couldn't stand the thought of adding to her pain by letting her think he hadn't cared.
"To protect me?" Her head moved slowly from side to side in denial, and she whispered, "That doesn't make any sense. No one was after me."
He let her go so suddenly that she teetered before regaining her balance. "Maybe not then," he said, "but the way things were going it was only a matter of time before they found out about you. I couldn't take that chance."
Anger kindled in her face, and if he hadn't been so caught up in his own turbulent emotions, he would have wondered why. "You couldn't take that chance? Who made it your choice?"
"I did." She swung on him, just as she had earlier, but this time he parried the blow before it could land. When her other arm came at him, he captured both arms and held tight. "Stop it, Mandy!" She struggled, her breathing shallow and hoarse, and his anger grew to match hers. "I said stop it! I left because they'd already tracked down my partner. And after they'd tortured what little information they could out of him, they killed him!"
"Oh, my God." Mandy was stunned. Things like that just didn't happen in real life. Not in this country. She didn't realize she'd said the words out loud until Reilly answered her.
"Yeah, they do, Mandy." Grief flickered over his face. "The militia tried to use Josh to get to me." He let her go and took a step backwards, his arms dropping to his sides. "They kidnapped his wife and baby son. Josh knew how the militia operated. He knew. He managed to get word to me, warning that we'd been betrayed. Then he went after his family, knowing he was a dead man. But what else could he do?" He brushed a hand across his eyes, as if he could shield his emotions from her that way.
"They didn't just kill him, though." Reilly's internal struggle was reflected on his face, as reluctance to tell her the rest weighed against the need to convince her. "The militia wouldn't believe Josh didn't know where I was, so they threatened to kill little Jeremy and Dara, Josh's wife, unless he told them. But Josh couldn't tell them what he didn't know. So they killed Jeremy and Dara in front of Josh, then slit his throat and cut out his tongue as a warning to others."
Her breath caught and she gave a small moan of denial. "How could they?"
"Easy. Haven't you figured it out yet? They want me dead. And they don't give a damn who else dies in the process. "
She didn't want to believe him. It was like something that belonged between the covers of a book. Grisham, maybe, or Ludlum. This callous disregard for the sanctity of human life that he was talking about didn't belong in her safe little world.
But her world hadn't been safe for a long time, a tiny voice whispered in her mind. Not since Reilly, or Ryan, or whatever he called himself now, had entered it.
He had to be telling the truth. You couldn't fake the kind of grief and guilt that emanated from him. Besides, even if he could make up a story like that, why would he? What did he have to gain?
"So what happens now?" Her voice surprised her. She didn't feel anywhere near as calm as she sounded. She must have taken Reilly by surprise, too, because he didn't answer at first.
"Now we set a trap," he said finally.
"With us as bait?"
He nodded reluctantly. "If I could, I'd stash you someplace safe until this is all over. But the safest place for you right now is wherever I am."
"What about Cody? Does he know where we are?"
"Only if he guessed. I didn't tell him."
"Why—"
"I don't trust anyone that much. I told him I'd be in touch."
"Is he going to help us?"
"Yeah. We mapped out a plan, but he's checking a few things for me to start with. We'll go from there."
Mandy glanced down at her hands, then back up at Reilly. Ryan. Whoever he was. No, she couldn't think of him as anyone but Reilly, even if he no longer resembled the man she'd fallen in love with.
He did, though. His features were different, his hair was darker, and the mustache gave him a dangerous, rakish look that hadn't been there before. But his eyes hadn't changed. They still gazed at her with the same intensity as they used to, the same … longing?
She shivered inside. It wasn't wise to remember too much about the past. The longing was there in her, too, the desire simmering just under the surface. She'd just had a potent reminder of how easy it would be to let herself fall under his spell again, to lose herself in his arms, and she wasn't going to let it happen. Not if she could help it.
"I want to know what your plans are," she said as firmly as she could. "Don't think I'm going to let you leave me in the dark again."
His eyes narrowed. "It will get ugly," he warned.
"I know."
"People could die."
He wasn't sugarcoating anything anymore, and Mandy was grateful. "I know that, too."
"Your friend, Walker, might be one of them. If he screws up…"
"I'm not a child, Reilly."
"No, but have you ever seen a man die?" He knew the moment the words left his mouth that he'd made a mistake, but it was too late to stop the damage.
White-faced, shaking, Mandy said, "Yes. I've seen a man die. I saw you die." He took a step toward her, but she backed away. Her voice trembled. "I know now that you didn't, but at the time…" She swallowed and fought for control. "I didn't even know if I could go on without you."
"Mandy…" Reilly reached for her, and this time she let his arms encircle her shaking body. He didn't say anything more, just pressed her head against his chest and held her until the shivering stopped.
"You weren't supposed to be there," he said at last. "You were supposed to be at work."
"I came to see you." The words were muffled against his shirt.
"Why?"
She stiffened. One moment she was soft and pliant in his arms, and the nex
t she was taut and unyielding. It was the scene outside all over again.
She pulled away, then turned and put the distance of the room between them before facing him again.
"What's wrong, darlin'?" The endearment slipped out unnoticed by Reilly, but if anything it made Mandy stiffen even further.
"Nothing." The hard, little pellet of a word shot across the room at him. She wrapped her arms around herself, closing him out. "Nothing's wrong."
"Something is wrong, and I want to know what it is." He spread his hands wide. "All I asked was why you weren't at work that day, why you came to see me, and all of a sudden you freeze up as if I said something terrible." The cornered expression on Mandy's face knifed through him. God almighty, what had he done that she would look like that?
"I don't remember why I went to see you," she said desperately. She was lying, and Reilly knew it, but he also knew that there was no point in confronting her, no reason to try and force the truth out of her when she didn't want to tell him.
"Okay," he reassured her, backing off. "It's not really important," he added, even though he knew in his gut that it was. She'd tell him in her own time, though, or not at all. "Come on," he said in a different tone of voice, heading for the back door. He stopped in the tiny hallway and turned to look at her. "If you want to know what I've got planned, I'd better show you our first line of defense before I go any further."
* * *
Too bad she didn't drink, Mandy thought later, as she paced the cabin's confines, waiting impatiently for Reilly's return. After their brief tour of the perimeter traps, he'd gone off to retrieve some things from his truck, declining her offer of assistance. That left her alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts, and her memories, neither of which made pleasant company.
