REILLY'S RETURN

by Amelia Autin

  It was pure luck that she saw it at all, she realized, because it wasn't really visible. Only the direction of the flashlight and the tilt of her head had allowed her to pick up the reflection. The locket must have skittered across the floor when it hit, or maybe she'd knocked it when she fell, because it was lodged at an angle in a small crevice where the floorboards disappeared under the wall.

  Mandy knelt and tried several times to work her fingers into the tiny space in order to pull the locket out. All she managed to do was push it further in. After the fourth unsuccessful attempt, she sat back on her heels, considering her options.

  It wasn't just a matter of grabbing hold of the locket. She might have done that with a pair of needle-nose pliers, which she didn't have. But even if she had, there was the angle, too. The locket would have to be maneuvered around it, and it was almost a given that the locket would be dented or badly scratched in the process.

  Guess there's nothing else to do, she thought after a moment. I'll have to pry that board up somehow. Then she remembered finding Cody's toolbox the other day when she was cleaning and went to retrieve it.

  A hammer and a screwdriver weren't the ideal tools, she decided after emptying the toolbox, but the selection was limited. Reilly would know what to use without destroying the floorboard, but Reilly wasn't here. He was on his way to meet a man who'd already tried twice to kill him, and almost succeeded the last time.

  Don't think of that! she admonished herself, but it wasn't easy dragging her mind back to the task at hand. Compared to what Reilly was doing, retrieving her locket seemed so trivial, but at least she had something to do.

  She grabbed the hammer and screwdriver and went to work, thinking as she did so that Reilly probably had the tools she needed in the back of his truck. She had no intention of traipsing out there at this time of night, though. Not for something she wasn't even sure she'd find. She'd just have to make do with what she had, and hope that Cody wouldn't mind too much.

  Four bent iron nails, two splinters, and a skinned knuckle later, she almost had the floorboard pried loose. It was a lot harder than she'd imagined, and a lot messier. She'd practically shredded one end of the board trying to get the screwdriver underneath it, and there was no way the board could be used again once she got her locket out. But she no longer cared at this point. All she wanted was to get it over with.

  She slid her fingers under the board and pulled up. It creaked and groaned, iron nails screeching as they worked free from the joists, and she pulled harder. It gave way with a loud crraaaack! and the board came away from the wall. Mandy watched in stunned dismay as her locket slipped down, then vanished into the darkness below.

  She tossed the floorboard aside and kicked it. All that work, for nothing. Nothing!

  The heck with that, she thought. I'm not giving up yet.

  She snatched up Reilly's flashlight and knelt on one side of the long, narrow hole, shining the beam toward the side where the locket had disappeared. She didn't see anything, so she moved the circle of light slowly back and forth, hoping to catch a glint of gold.

  What she saw then almost made her drop the flashlight.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  As Walker's 4x4 toughed its way over the uneven road surface in the dark, Reilly leaned the back of his hand against the window and stared out at the blue-black shadows they passed. His thoughts, which should have been focused on the approaching confrontation with Pennington, were miles away in a little one-room cabin.

  What was Mandy doing now? he wondered. Was she curled up in front of a crackling fire as she loved to do, watching the flames dance and sway? A half smile touched his lips as he pictured her that way, and there was a soft, yearning expression on his face that would have surprised him had he been aware of it.

  He'd never known the simple pleasure of sharing a warm fire on a cold night until he'd met Mandy. He could still remember her astonishment when he'd confessed as much. It was inconceivable to her that anyone could reach thirty-eight years of age without experiencing it at least once.

  His smile deepened. I probably would have shocked her less if I'd told her I was a virgin, he thought. Then the smile faded.

  A virgin. She'd never volunteered the information, and he'd never asked, but he was fairly certain he'd been Mandy's first lover. There'd been no tangible proof, but he knew that was often the case with physically active women like Mandy, who'd been riding horses since she was five. Even if she hadn't, a good cop never relied on evidence alone. Sometimes you just had to go with your instincts.

  Maybe it was the way her eyes had widened when he'd stripped off the last of his clothes that first night. Maybe it was the tiny gasp of surprise, barely heard and quickly repressed, when he'd settled between her legs and sought entry into her body. Maybe it was the way she hadn't seemed to know what to do with her hands until he'd shown her. Or maybe it was the wonder in her eyes as they'd climbed the mountain and soared together.

  It wouldn't have mattered to him or to his love for her either way—he hadn't even thought of it before that night. If he had, he would never have expected a thirty-year-old woman in this day and age, especially one as lovely as Mandy was, to remain untouched. Besides, he wasn't a proponent of the double standard, and he could hardly claim she had been his first lover. But it was different with her.

  Maybe that sounded like an old, worn-out line, but it was the truth. A truth every man should experience at least once in his lifetime.

  The 4x4 hit a pothole, and Walker grunted his annoyance as he straightened out the wheels. Reilly glanced over at him. The greenish glow from the dashboard cast eerie shadows on the other man's face, emphasizing the sharp edges and bleak lines.

  Something about him—his expression, the set of his jaw, something!—seemed strangely familiar. At first Reilly couldn't put his finger on it. Then his brows slid together in a frown.

  That could be me over there. Before I came to Wyoming, before I met Mandy. Hard. Cynical. And very much alone. An emotion stirred within him, something he'd never imagined he could feel for Walker, but there it was all the same.

  Pity.

  The discovery rocked him. Pity for the man who betrayed my trust? he demanded of himself. Pity for the man who made love to my woman?

  Confused, Reilly turned away and searched for an explanation that made sense. Anger he could understand, and possessive fury. Any man would feel the same, given the circumstances. But pity?

  Then his own thoughts of a moment ago came back to him—a truth every man should experience at least once in his lifetime—and with a flash of intuition he knew. He knew.

  Yeah, Walker had slept with Mandy, but he'd never shared what Reilly had shared with her. Walker had never known the precious, fragile unity of heart, mind, body and soul that transcended the physical act and transformed it into something rare and beautiful.

  To possess Mandy's body without her love would be the cruelest trick fate could play on a man who loved her, Reilly realized. Hadn't he almost believed it was his fate only two nights ago? Hadn't the wonder and beauty of their lovemaking that night turned ugly and bitter when he'd doubted her love?

  How much worse for Walker, who loved her, too. How much worse to know that the woman you'd loved all your life only came to you to forget another man, and left you with her love for that other man undimmed. No, pity wasn't such a strange emotion, after all.

  * * *

  "What in the world…?" Mandy steadied the flashlight and craned her neck for a better view of the wooden crates stacked neatly in the crawl space beneath the cabin. Black lettering and symbols were stenciled across the crates. Curious, she played the light over them trying to make out what they said, but it was a few seconds before their meaning sank in. What's Cody doing with assault rifles and plastic explosives? she wondered, drawing a complete blank.

  Survivalists stockpiled weapons, she knew, along with food, clothing, medical supplies and various tools and im
plements. Living in Wyoming, she'd come into contact with a few over the years. But Cody wasn't anything like them. Why would he—

  She caught her breath. "No," she whispered, appalled at herself for even thinking something so disloyal to her oldest friend. "That's impossible."

  Or was it? She sat up abruptly, scraping her forearm as she dragged the flashlight out of the hole in the floor. Not Cody, she kept insisting. I don't believe it. But her heart thudded in her chest and her pulse began to race.

  There had to be another explanation, she told herself, trying to marshal her thoughts into some kind of order. But what could it be?

  No other answer came to her, and the more she thought about it, the more possible it seemed. All the pieces started falling into place with frightening ease, making a horrible kind of sense. Cody showing up at the cabin out of the blue, when he was supposed to be working. Cody knowing so much about Pennington, and how the militia operated. She remembered now that she'd wondered about it at the time.

  Cody had been in the marines, too, and hadn't Reilly said that Pennington recruited ex-military men? Even the knife Cody carried concealed in his boot, which was illegal as far as she knew, took on a sinister meaning now that she knew what was hidden beneath the cabin.

  "Wait a minute," she said firmly. "This is Cody you're talking about. This is crazy. Just plain stupid." Her mind worked at a feverish pace trying to reassure herself. "You've known him all your life. He's not … he wouldn't … he couldn't do something like that."

  Could he?

  Her heart was beating so fast now she could hardly breathe, and she was shaking all over. Then a cold wave of terror swept through her.

  If Cody was working for the militia, Reilly was walking into a trap.

  * * *

  A battered black pickup truck with stolen license plates waited at a private airstrip just north of the Wyoming-Montana border. The young driver, excited and scared by his first real mission for the militia, checked his watch nervously, then peered up through the windshield at the night sky. Eight o'clock, he'd been told, and it was past that now.

  Impatiently he turned off the radio and rolled down his window, then heaved a sigh of relief when he heard a faraway sound like the whisper-soft drone of a jet engine. A quick scan of the sky, and he spotted the lights of an incoming plane circling for a landing. He jerked the keys out of the ignition and fumbled them under the seat, then jumped out of the truck and started jogging in the opposite direction.

  He didn't know who was arriving, but his instructions had been clear: he was to stay with the truck and its dangerous cargo until the plane was sighted, then hightail it out of there. He was glad to obey.

  * * *

  Walker braked at the crossroad and shifted into neutral, waiting until a large semi rumbled past them before he turned onto the highway. The 4x4 picked up speed quickly.

  "You're awfully quiet over there, O'Neill," he said. "You asleep?"

  Reilly turned his head. "No. Just thinking."

  "About Pennington? About the plan?" When Reilly didn't answer, he asked gruffly, "About Mandy?"

  "Yeah."

  "Me, too."

  Reilly stiffened involuntarily, then forced his muscles to relax. You can't control Walker's thoughts, he reminded himself, any more than he can. Any more than you can control your own.

  Walker said, "I didn't want to say anything in front of Mandy, didn't want to scare her, but I have a bad feeling about tonight."

  Reilly's instincts had been telling him the same thing for the past few hours, but he saw no reason to pass that information on to Walker just yet. "What makes you say that?"

  "I don't know." Walker frowned. "Nothing I can pinpoint. I just have a hunch things aren't going to go exactly according to plan." His eyes slid in Reilly's direction for a second, then returned to the road. "You're a cop, so you should know what it's like. How many times have you played a hunch?"

  "Too many to count," Reilly admitted.

  "Same with me. I don't know why I'm uneasy, I just know I am, and my hunches are generally accurate." Air gusted out of his lungs. "One thing I do know for sure—Pennington doesn't quite trust me."

  Reilly straightened in his seat. "How do you know?"

  "He's cut me out of the loop."

  "Because of last time? Or something new?"

  "I'm not sure. But it could be a problem for us."

  Reilly snorted. "Add it to the list. We'll deal with it."

  "Yeah, but I'm thinking maybe we should change the plan."

  "Kind of late to be doing that," Reilly said slowly. He glanced at the luminous dial on his watch. "When did you say his plane arrives?"

  "Sometime after nine is all I know. He wouldn't tell me more, and he made his own arrangements to be picked up. But we should have plenty of time."

  * * *

  Mandy didn't waste a minute. She scrambled into shoes and a jacket, then grabbed Reilly's semiautomatic and the keys to his truck from the kitchen counter, where she'd left them earlier. She flung open the cabinet, banging it against the wall, and retrieved the spare clip and the box of ammo. She shoved everything but the gun into her jacket pockets, then checked that the safety was still on, and raced for the door.

  She skimmed across the clearing on autopilot and skirted Reilly's traps the same way, distantly thankful she remembered where they were located. Then she pounded down the path to the truck, heedless of obstacles in her way. She tripped once, and stumbled, but caught herself before she went down, and pushed on.

  Conscious thought was impossible. All her awareness was focused on two things: breathing and putting one foot in front of the other in mindless motion. But just below consciousness one phrase kept repeating itself in rhythm with her strides. Not this time. Not this time. Not this time.

  * * *

  Reilly nodded thoughtfully, making mental notes as Walker outlined his proposal. "Sounds good," he said finally. "Riskier, in one way, but—"

  "But it gives us more options," Walker finished for him. "Yeah." He assimilated the changes and made a decision. "We'll do it."

  Neither man spoke for a few minutes after that, each keeping private counsel, then Reilly said, "Hey, Walker."

  "Hey what?"

  "About Mandy."

  There was a guarded pause, then the other man said, "What about her?"

  "If something happens to me—" He broke off, then started again. "Look, I know I said some harsh things to you, and I meant them. But if I don't make it this time and you do, take care of her."

  "You know I will."

  "I don't just mean look out for her." The words came harder than Reilly had expected, and he fought back a surge of possessiveness. "I mean, take care of her, any way you can. Even if it means … the way you tried before."

  The truck spurted forward a little, then slowed back down to the speed limit.

  "I don't believe you're saying this." Walker rubbed his chin, which sported a distinct bruise where Reilly had decked him yesterday morning.

  "Yeah, well, I've done some thinking since then." His jaw tightened. "I'm no saint, but it's different this time. This time it's for keeps. If I die tonight, I won't be coming back." He shook his head. "I don't want her to be alone again." It hurt like hell just thinking of it, but Reilly played his trump card. "And you love her."

  "But she doesn't love me," Walker stated flatly.

  There wasn't any response Reilly could make that would help the situation, so he waited a bit, watching the other man's profile in the darkness, gauging his mood. Then said quietly, "I know what I'm asking."

  "Do you?" Walker spared him a bitter glance.

  "I think I can imagine."

  "I doubt it."

  The thrum of steel-belted tires over the smooth surface of the highway and the muted growl of the engine filled the silence that followed, until at last Reilly forced himself to say, "If I were dead, Mandy would eventually—"

  Walker's harsh laugh cut Reilly off. "Is that what you re
ally think?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I thought you were smarter than that, O'Neill."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Figure it out for yourself." But only a moment later he explained roughly, "Mandy loves you. I won't kid myself anymore that she'll ever feel any different."

  A minute passed. Then another. And another. The tension inside the cab was so tangible Reilly thought he could almost feel it pressing against his chest.

  Then, in a low voice, Walker said, "She cried. Did she tell you that?"

  Puzzled, Reilly asked, "You mean when she lost the baby?"

  "No. I mean when she and I—" Walker drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. "Imagine," he said, raw emotion bleeding out of him with every word. "Imagine what it's like to sleep with the woman you love, knowing all the while she's pretending you're someone else." He drew another breath. "Imagine what it does to your heart, not to mention your ego, when she calls you by that other man's name at the moment when you—" He paused and swallowed. "Then imagine holding her afterwards, listening to her weep as if her heart were breaking all over again, and knowing there's not a damn thing you can do to make her pain go away." Tight-lipped, he shook his head. "When you can imagine living through that, then ask me to take care of Mandy for you."

  The echoes of Walker's pain reverberated in his own soul, but still Reilly said, "I'm asking."

  Walker shot him a narrow-eyed look as all-encompassing as it was brief. "Damn you, O'Neill," he said bitterly. His gaze returned to the highway stretching endlessly out in front of them.

  He didn't say anything more, but he didn't have to for Reilly to know he'd do it. There wasn't a lot of privacy possible in the cab of a 4x4, but he turned away to give Walker as much as he could while the man got his emotions under control. It wasn't until they were entering the southbound interstate access ramp that he felt safe in saying, "Thanks."

  "Don't thank me." Walker clipped his words. "I'm not doing it for you."

  "I know, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it just the same. If our situations were reversed…"